her any reason to worry or be afraid. But here, in the depths of the night, with only the beeping of the monitors and the quiet shuffle of nurses in the hall for company, he couldn't keep up the charade. In the dark of the night, he purged himself of his despair and pain, if only to be ready to smile again in the morning for his little girl.
In the lonely quiet of that hospital room, Sam's tears continued to fall.
Thursday
It was just after 6.00 am when he awoke to the sound of his daughter vomiting into a bedside pan. A nurse was already there, helping her, so he took that moment to stumble groggily into the tiny bathroom and splash some water on his face. He checked his expression in the mirror. His eyes were still puffy from the previous night's crying, but he didn't think Jessica would notice. His game face was holding; his daughter would find nothing to fear in his expression this morning, he vowed to himself for perhaps the hundredth time since the ordeal had begun.
The nurse was gone by the time he emerged from the bathroom.
"How you doin' this mornin', pumpkin?"
Jessica tried to smile. It was a weak effort, but an effort just the same. "Not so good, Daddy," she said. "My belly hurts."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. That's just your new medicine. You'll get used to it in a few days."
He walked over to the bed and moved her gently to one side, giving him room to climb up with her. His big frame seemed to dwarf her more than usual, though that was probably just a result of the news he'd received the previous night. He was careful not to put any undue stress on any of the connections wiring her to the half-dozen machines surrounding the bed. "It's still early and the nurse won't be back to run your vitals for at least another hour. Why don't you try to sleep some more? I'll stay right here with you, okay?"
She snuggled against him. "Okay," she said, closing her eyes. "I'll try."
"That's my girl."
He held her close, waiting for her to drift into sleep, wondering the entire time if this was the beginning of the end or just the end of the beginning.
Only time would tell.
When the nurse came in an hour later, Sam gently disengaged himself from his daughter's sleeping form and tried to convince the woman to let the girl rest, but to no avail. Given Jessica's condition, the hospital were wary of a lawsuit if they didn't follow the rules on even the simplest things. The nurse had no intention of putting her head on the chopping block, and bluntly told him so. Leaving her to handle the morning duties, Sam decided to go for a walk and grab a cup of coffee, maybe something other than hospital cafeteria food to eat for breakfast. After giving his daughter a kiss, he headed for the door.
***
Sam emerged from the quiet of his daughter's room to find the hallway full of people. He knew the boy in the room across the hall was dying of leukaemia, as he had run into his parents a few times since Jessica had been admitted. They hadn't spoken for long - families of the sick tended to keep to themselves, he noticed - but they'd always been courteous, friendly. Now it looked like their church had turned out for an all-day prayer vigil; people of all ages lined the hall, sitting or standing in small groups, heads bowed, lips moving in unison.
He kept his head down to avoid eye contact and started off down the hall.
He hadn't taken ten steps before a man disengaged himself from a nearby group and intercepted him. Sam noticed the man's white clerical collar and dark clothing with more than a hint of annoyance.
"I'm sorry to hear about your daughter," the newcomer said.
"Yeah, thanks," Sam replied, not interested in conversation, particularly with a priest. He nodded, stepped around the other man, and continued on his way.
But behind him, the other man wasn't yet finished.
"We'll pray for her. And for you."
The comment froze Sam in his tracks. He slowly turned and looked back at the priest.
"I'm sorry?" His pulse beat at his
In the lonely quiet of that hospital room, Sam's tears continued to fall.
Thursday
It was just after 6.00 am when he awoke to the sound of his daughter vomiting into a bedside pan. A nurse was already there, helping her, so he took that moment to stumble groggily into the tiny bathroom and splash some water on his face. He checked his expression in the mirror. His eyes were still puffy from the previous night's crying, but he didn't think Jessica would notice. His game face was holding; his daughter would find nothing to fear in his expression this morning, he vowed to himself for perhaps the hundredth time since the ordeal had begun.
The nurse was gone by the time he emerged from the bathroom.
"How you doin' this mornin', pumpkin?"
Jessica tried to smile. It was a weak effort, but an effort just the same. "Not so good, Daddy," she said. "My belly hurts."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart. That's just your new medicine. You'll get used to it in a few days."
He walked over to the bed and moved her gently to one side, giving him room to climb up with her. His big frame seemed to dwarf her more than usual, though that was probably just a result of the news he'd received the previous night. He was careful not to put any undue stress on any of the connections wiring her to the half-dozen machines surrounding the bed. "It's still early and the nurse won't be back to run your vitals for at least another hour. Why don't you try to sleep some more? I'll stay right here with you, okay?"
She snuggled against him. "Okay," she said, closing her eyes. "I'll try."
"That's my girl."
He held her close, waiting for her to drift into sleep, wondering the entire time if this was the beginning of the end or just the end of the beginning.
Only time would tell.
When the nurse came in an hour later, Sam gently disengaged himself from his daughter's sleeping form and tried to convince the woman to let the girl rest, but to no avail. Given Jessica's condition, the hospital were wary of a lawsuit if they didn't follow the rules on even the simplest things. The nurse had no intention of putting her head on the chopping block, and bluntly told him so. Leaving her to handle the morning duties, Sam decided to go for a walk and grab a cup of coffee, maybe something other than hospital cafeteria food to eat for breakfast. After giving his daughter a kiss, he headed for the door.
***
Sam emerged from the quiet of his daughter's room to find the hallway full of people. He knew the boy in the room across the hall was dying of leukaemia, as he had run into his parents a few times since Jessica had been admitted. They hadn't spoken for long - families of the sick tended to keep to themselves, he noticed - but they'd always been courteous, friendly. Now it looked like their church had turned out for an all-day prayer vigil; people of all ages lined the hall, sitting or standing in small groups, heads bowed, lips moving in unison.
He kept his head down to avoid eye contact and started off down the hall.
He hadn't taken ten steps before a man disengaged himself from a nearby group and intercepted him. Sam noticed the man's white clerical collar and dark clothing with more than a hint of annoyance.
"I'm sorry to hear about your daughter," the newcomer said.
"Yeah, thanks," Sam replied, not interested in conversation, particularly with a priest. He nodded, stepped around the other man, and continued on his way.
But behind him, the other man wasn't yet finished.
"We'll pray for her. And for you."
The comment froze Sam in his tracks. He slowly turned and looked back at the priest.
"I'm sorry?" His pulse beat at his
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