hallway of the hospital. My wife is next to me. A doctor tells us our
My wife and I hold each other. We cry for our son. We go into his
back and forth.
“Good morning,” I say.
“You need me to do anything.”
If he wants, he can go faster than me. We stop. I can barely
breathe. I sit on a bench with him in front of me, rolling back and
R
are gone. The sky is bright. The sun shines into my room, bathing
My son is racing towards it with others in wheelchairs right behind
like a cannon on my chest. I press the call button. The nurse comes
“I can hardly breathe.”
She tells me I nearly died earlier. That I passed out and
it looked like I was going to pass. She tells me I stabilized. She
checks my chest. I have a collapsed lung. She asks if I want it to be
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