The Hospital Room

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I’m sitting in the hardback chair, making my back ache, while staring into the eyes of my new born child. The little pain from the chair gives me a head’s up for the slight pain that I’m going to have trying to raise my newborn child. Trying to get my mind off of the long journey ahead of me, I turn on the television on an apparatus, supported in the air over the metal-framed hospital bed my wife is sleeping in. Flipping through the channels, I can’t seem to find anything to change my train of thought. I turn my attention to the bowl of all different types of fruits, making me realize all the different great adventures I’m going to have raising a child. But then I look at the night stand with the plastic pitcher and a water glass filled all the way to the tippy top. The full water glass reminds me that now that I have a child, I can’t make even the smallest mistake without affecting my child. Just like slightly bumping the water glass, and having a little water spill out. I then glance at the box of Kleenex that is halfway empty, due to the tears of joy from my wife. Her used Kleenex’s were piled up in the small trash can with a plastic bag in it, resembling the number of problems that are going to get piled on top of me taking care of my child. After looking at the small clock radio and realizing how late it was, I doze off while looking at the pastel of cows standing in a grassy field, with sun and mountains beyond, thinking how easy the cows have it, not having to raise their own child in this crazy world.

The time reads “1:33 a.m.” on the small clock radio. I stand in front of my slowly dying mother while she lies helplessly in her metal-framed hospital bed. I glance over at my sister who is sitting on a hardback chair balling her eyes out. I can’t help to shed a couple tears myself. I look for a box of Kleenex to wipe my nose, but find it empty in my sister’s lap, and all the Kleenex’s piled up to the top of the small trash can with a plastic bag in it. The box of Kleenex was gone so fast but was still needed, just like how my mother was still needed by everybody. The television on an apparatus, supported in the air over my mother’s bed, remains blank, just like how my heart feels right now. I feel slightly thirsty and hungry looking at the night stand with a water glass and plastic pitcher and bowl of fruit, but I can’t bear to eat or drink anything with this terrible feeling I have in my stomach. I then glance over at the pastel of cows standing in grassy field, with sun and mountains beyond, wishing I was one of the cows, not having any worries and living peacefully.





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