The Hospital Stay
by Sheri Sherman
The marriage had its problems, because, among other things, it was a very long marriage, 40 years long. None of it was easy either. He snored, he cheated, and he worked too many hours; always had. This is what the wife thought when she looked out to the ocean, thoughts as relentless as waves. So, her affections naturally, turned toward their demon of a Jack Russell. She spoiled that thing to twice its size the vet would have preferred her to be. The husband was a product of an obsessive workout routine with not just one but two trainers. So, it was a surprise (kind of because, food) he started to have weird feelings in his chest and maybe hand. But then, he was a bit of a hypochondriac as doctors often are, especially those so well trained. Soon it was off to the hospital in an ambulance he called for himself, because the wife was busy putting the dog in her crate and making sure she had water and a treat since no one knew how long they’d be away.
In the hospital there were tests most of the night which determined not a whole lot, but he reasoned that he was already there so why not have the procedure anyway—in and out easy. He knew since he was a surgeon himself. He could tell if he needed a stent if they let him watch the procedure. Naturally, he was directing his own care. That night and the next morning he was on the phone with his office several times while simultaneously sending emails all over the world to other well-known surgeons. “Put him to sleep already,” said the wife. “He clearly can’t give himself a rest.” The husband smirked lovingly because he knew she was right as usual.
Just before the doc started to wheel him on the hospital bed toward the operating room she said, “see you on the other side” meaning in the recovery room, but everyone stopped in horror of what she said. Not “I love you” blah blah blah and no kisses either. So, defending herself, she said, “What? I know I don’t have to worry about him, (she paused for effect), because only the good die young.” Trying not to laugh, the doctor put his head down and ordered a forward motion. They disappeared behind those huge swinging double doors like an albino whale into a wide sea.
In the recovery room he was all smiles and opiates. He said, “I knew it” and “I’m bionic” and other stuff the wife didn’t listen to, because he asked her to facetime his best friend to say hello. The wife thought, ok… and dialed. Finally, after the show and tell and all the laughter ended, she said, thinking about the other side, “by the way, it’s not til death do us part, and certainly not eternity.” The husband laughed this time knowing she meant every word. She wouldn’t ever be seeing him on the other side of anything, now or later. The wife can picture the light outside falling into the dark waves as it does every day around this time. “Besides, it’s late,” the husband says. They call the kids to let them know everything is fine and they’d be headed home in a couple of hours.
An MFA graduate of Vermont College of Fine Arts, Sheri Sherman has worked as a copywriter and freelance journalist as well as a horse trader and appraiser for equine show jumping. Having lived in every region of the United States, she grew up in Virginia and now resides in Southern California. Sheri graduated with a B.A. in English Literature from American University in Washington D.C. She has also attended the summer Iowa Writer’s Workshop, taught by James Galvin. Her writing has been published in Cutthroat, A Journal of the Arts, has an upcoming critical essay in The Ashville Review, and has been published in the University of Ljubljana journal. Her landscape photography and poetry show her affinity for the natural world. Her Instagram handle is @silverhairdontcare, and her email address is sheriffc999@gmail.com.