The broken Mist

Fumadores afuera de los hospitales

Posted in Uncategorized by Jiménez-Smith on September 10, 2008

And there is the whiteness they all promise. There is a blindfold they all mention, not to consider the aisles, the cleansing smell of distant Death. The third emergency room on the week. But it all started as always with a gray morning, a little life in an obscure Monday.

My debate of the threads of light was interrupted by contiguous crying, It was my mother. “It comes and goes,” Said she, “better go fetch your books from the post office.” A pink volume of poetry and a novel. And so I did, walking swiftly, in order to return soon. Fifteen minutes later I came back and I had the feeling that I would be reading the whole afternoon. She was already calling a friend. The same stubborn arguing she had had with my grandma some years ago, was being performed by her. “I will not go to the hospital,” and since I was a child when I saw my gradma arguing over the matter, I can vividly recall her tone of voice. Both of them, missing already their beds whenever the word Hospital came through. Hospital, Hospital. It was gaining life and it would be lived by us, by her denying it. The angst started with a relief, somewhere hidden in the voice of a doctor. “I’m on my way.”

Minutes like hours and he arrived. Evidently, he noticed that my hands were trembling. Chidden of everything, he realised that I realised. It came to me that I had never been a grownup, almost useless, he spoke to me saying what made me not calling him earlier. I did not answer, I nodded and kept listening to the instructions. The hospital. It was no more an echo, but a need. He left. She told me she wanted some more minutes in her bed, sighed. My mother suddenly had the cat and I, summoned in her bed. The three of us, a family. Silently we hugged, and Wes miaowed. And a big Why started soaring my head. “You know where all the papers are.” Certainly I knew but I was mute. There was I listening what she thought, were instructions, but I took as proofs that I was not ready for anything. “Stay” In every possible meaning. The last thing she said before we left to the hospital was “You are alone,” and I clinged onto those words. I felt them. These, confirmed my guesses. This was new for her.

So we went to the hospital. Doctors, nurses and all those repetitions of white tones, gathered. After hours of waiting outside with my friend, after hours of Miller’s prose we had news. The physician tells me it is neither dangerous nor complicated a procedure. She needs a curettage. By 1 am in the morning we leave.

Another gray morning and I hit the snooze button several times. Tuesday. I didn’t attend to my class of 9 am. Yet I was willing to go to the one at 3 in the evening after knowing how she was feeling. She told me she didn’t feel that bad so I left and the Facultad was somewhat of a hope. I imagined the classroom, I imagined how I was able to forget everything when speaking of poetry in those chairs. But this time it was different. I entered there and felt absence and didn’t know what was I doing. I came back to my home after seven minutes of being inside the classroom.

“We have to go back to the hospital,” and I was already packing up stuff we both would need. For my part, two books. She would be more complicated; paper, pads, sandals, water, etc. I felt like writing a message text. “Here we go again. . .” I wrote, but futility was there. I didn’t come across a bloody single name. Nobody was in position to receive that text message. So I canceled it.

We entered through the wrong place, so we had to come down in order to arrive to the right place. A ramp, full of moaning whisperers who, as my mother, had to be helped by their relatives. I felt their tremors, I felt her but I tried to give some security, recently invented, created. That was hours ago and I don’t know if I ever have transmitted the sense of firmness.

Clerks again, doctors, and a negligence that becomes common. She will be passing the night there. Here I am, waiting until tomorrow they tell me everything has passed. That although it is something normal at her age, it is chaotic. It desolates, the hospital desolates.

Hope everyone who reads this is perfectly healthy. No se la deseas a nadie.

I must be there at 10 am, so I’ll get some sleep.

Music:
Equatorial Stars

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2 Responses

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  1. Jav said, on September 13, 2008 at 6:10 am

    Well “This is just to say” that everybody has had an awful week, actually an awful period beginning. I feel really bad for not having answered your sms, that is why I’m sick now beacuse “I have eaten all the plums.” Anyway I miss last semester, when everything was idle; now we’ve to think on our thesis.
    We should go play footy one day, there’s been a whole month!!
    btw. Que son esas mamadas de borrar blogs y poner sonetos (70 o 71 no recuerdo bn cual es)!
    There were some outstanding posts such as “Back to the Old House.”

  2. Gabi said, on September 17, 2008 at 3:51 pm

    Muchos abrazos a los dos!!!! Espero que ya todo esté mejor.


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