It's All Over But The Suffering
December 4th brought the first snowfall of winter to New Jersey. I used to love it's magical beauty as a child. Now, I feel it's nothing but a bad omen. I was woken up by my mother at 8am Sunday morning, who informed me my father was spitting gobs of blood from his mouth. An oral surgery incision had ruptured, so I took him to the hospital emergency room. They compressed the area with gauze, shot him with epinephrine to stop the flow, and nothing was working. They called in to his dentist to meet us at his office, and we rushed over so that the wound could be carterized and packed. He came home after a morning of purging the life from his body, had a protein shake, and relaxed on the couch. I went downstairs to take care of some work and heard a large thud from above. I rushed upstairs and found him face down on the steps, moaning and incoherent. I instinctively dialed 911, and within a few minutes my house was full of paramedics and technicians. They ran tests and determined he should be taken in for observation. After 6 hours of bloodwork, EKGs, and a cat scan, they inform me he should stay overnight. I finally got home at 11:30pm, Sunday night. Today it was the same routine, and it will likely be so tomorrow as well. I hate hospitals. I hate waiting. I hate incompetent, uncaring nurses. I hate watching my father suffer. I hate being tired, depressed, and hungry. I hate everything. And yet, I bring my camera and take pictures. I finally realized why. It's my way of dealing with reality. When you look through a viewfinder, you become detached from the world you are immersed in. You can feel no pain or grief. You're no longer part of the scene. It exists only as a captured image on a tiny screen. I don't know. I think without a camera, I'd have killed myself long ago. Did I mention I hate hospitals?
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