I don't know his name, his age or what he even looked like. Each time I came in contact with him,
a curtain or a wall separated the two of us. He probably doesn't even know I exist. To him, I am nothing but to me he was everything!
I first met him in Pre-Op. He was behind the curtain across from me. I heard him calling his wife to ask what medications he was on. I also overheard him asking the nurse if he could tell his wife she could go home and wait. His voice was gruff and raspy and I swear I heard a hitch in his voice when he told her goodbye and that he loved her.
He talked to the nurse about being in the war. Which one I don't know. I do know that when he spoke about it, he probably sat up a little bit straighter and held his head a bit higher. You could hear it in his voice how proud this made him.
He hated needles and didn't trust anyone to "poke him". His words not mine! He knew his mind and spoke it often. He was a Proud man, that I could tell. I loved listening to him talk and hearing a little bit about his life. It kept my mind off my own situation for a bit! It wasn't long before he was wheeled off to surgery and I was once again left alone with my own thoughts and worries.
Little did I know that in a few sort hours, it would be his voice I'd hear over and over again.
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