I was scared. I had never been so scared in all my life. The ride to the hospital seemed to take forever.
Driving along the 605 freeway, in bumper to bumper traffic, I began to think we were never going to get there. It didn’t help that my very, very sick husband was beside me in the front seat and my five-year-old daughter was in the back seat, terrified. Life had never looked so bleak.
I’d driven this route before but suddenly the scenery all looked different. It could’ve been the pace we were keeping which was equivalent to a slow walk, if that. It didn’t help that my husband Rick kept insisting we’d already arrived and was continually taking off his seatbelt and trying to open the car door. It also didn’t help that traffic was nearly at a standstill now. No, nothing about this trip was fun. Memorable, yes; fun, no.
Strange things went through my head at that moment.
I found myself planning a speech. A speech about my husband’s awful illness. Somehow I just knew I’d be talking about this moment again … for years to come. Somehow I knew.
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