But she was

I saw my friend in the hospital today. The operation was this morning, and from what I know I think it was rather long and difficult. They had to put some things back together.

Yesterday her friends had spent the day frantically calling around everyone we knew in the medical profession, trying to find out who her surgeon was, since as of Sunday the nurses had been able to tell us nothing except his last name. We wanted to know, was he good? Was he the best? Eventually we did find out who he was, that he is a top surgeon, and that she would be great hands.

I thought she was unconscious this afternoon when I came into her hospital room. When I got there somebody told me that she hadn’t really wanted any visitors today. But I wanted to sneak a look at her sleeping.

Some people manage to be beautiful even when they are all banged up. I’m sure I wouldn’t be, but she was. Even lying there amid all the tubes, her stricken face white as a sheet. At first I thought she was unconscious. But then she sort of opened her left eye just a little, and to my surprise she made a brave attempt to lift one hand slightly off the bed and move it weakly back and forth to wave to me. I could tell this was not an easy thing to do. I felt guilty that she was making such an effort on my behalf, that she felt the need to do anything on my behalf at a time like this.

I’m sure the last thing she needed was anybody near her right now, some well meaning fool touching her poor bruised post-operative body. I blew her a kiss from where I was standing, and smiled, and told her I would see her tomorrow.