Friday, January 22, 2010
"Jesus love me, this I know," I sing the words.
A nurse with white skin and pink cheeks administers sleeping gas. It's a mask, but Lucy doesn't mind. Her eyes flutter. She waves an arm. I hold her small pudgy hand and lean close. "Yes, Jesus loves me - - yes," the chorus encircles us. She's asleep and still I sing out the last words.
So many blue gowns and each one waits. And still I sing. All the perfection of a surgeon's team, the intersection of man and science, microscopes and scalpels that make 1mm incisions, precision, and still, they wait for my song's end. An unexpected reverence.
"Can I kiss her cheek?"
"Yes, you may."
Another nurse whisks me away. I feel as though we walk on water.