Lawrence Hall
[email protected] Hospital Waiting Room in Advent
“How could I bear a crown of gold when the Lord
bears a crown of thorns? And bears it for me!”
-Heilige Elisabeth von Thuringen
The pre-dawn parking-lot is crowded enough,
And almost pretty with the high orange-ish light
Reflecting nicely on the rainy pavement.
The cold wind blows a lonely paper cup along
Among the puddles and the lonely cars
With the more-than-one-family-members
Dozing or reading their MePhones - it seems
as if the world itself is a waiting room for now
In the lobby a queue forms, everyone standing
Six feet away from each other as ordered by
Plastic signs on the floors. A cheerful-enough
Volunteer aims a little plastic gun
At each human head as it passes,
And asks each owner of a head
DO YOU HAVE ANY SYMPTOMS DO YOU HAVE
A SORE THROAT HAVE YOU BEEN AROUND ANYONE
WITH THE CORONAVIRUS
HAVE YOU BEEN OUT OF STATE RECENTLY
Does Louisiana count?
Pass, friend.
A cold and fashionable Christmas tree obscures
An image of Saint Elizabeth of Thuringen
Next to the row of elevators marked ‘B’
Along a covid-silent corridor
A visitor with his mask and his pass
Can hear his footsteps echoing-echoing
As he passes through the silences,
And reads signs announcing activities
Scheduled long ago that were canceled
Long ago because of the lockdowns.
Only rarely will he see a masked and gowned figure
Seemingly scuttling into hiding
While carrying a tray of lab specimens
Or pushing a cart or whispering into
An official glowing screen. Doors that used to be
Open are secured with NO ENTRY
Or STAFF ONLY signs, and former passages
Are blocked with new plywood panels
Or panes of clear plastic in this unclear time.
The cardiovascular ICU waiting room
Is empty – ONE FAMILY MEMBER ONLY,
Reads a sign scotch-taped to a door, and
NO COFFEE BECAUSE OF THE CORONAVIRUS
YOU WILL FIND COFFEE IN THE CAFETERIA
Announces another. Some seats are marked off-limits
With yellow crime-scene-ish tape even though
There is no one in the room to be made off-limits.
The television is dark and silent,
The floors and plastic chairs are clean-upon-clean
From repeated daily wipings and scrubbings
And sprayings although almost no one
Ever goes into that room now. There are no people,
No magazines, no bottles of water,
Nothing in the litter baskets. It’s like
A scene from one of those Star Trek episodes
In which an away-team beams down
To a deserted space ship, a deserted city,
Or a deserted planet, only there is no
Thematic background music in the hospital.
This is the block of floors and space given over
To cardiac care and surgery;
The areas where CV patients are treated
Are hidden behind doors and walls and faces
Of appropriate secrecy and discretion.
Behind those doors and walls life and death
Are worked out through the work and thought and education
And brilliance and industry and love
Of so very many ministers of grace,
From physicians to the nice fellow with
The bucket and mop, and through the mysteries
Of God and His saints.
As for our visitor, he can do nothing but take a seat –
One without the yellow crime-scene-ish tape – and wait
In silent prayer for one he loves.
Saint Elizabeth, pray for us
My brother is to have surgery tomorrow, and this has been a week of isolated waiting rooms.