I spent the night at the hospital with Mom. Sleep came in fragments, light and uneasy, repeatedly interrupted by the soft beeping of machines and nurses creeping through the hallway. But even with the discomfort of the hospital chair and the cold tiles beneath my feet, I didn’t care. Being next to her gave me a strange kind of peace.
Dr. Fern was on duty, and he made sure we lacked nothing. Every hour, he came in to check her vitals, adjust her IV line, or simply speak to her softly, encouraging her recovery. He treated Mom with such gentleness that I almost forgot that was his profession.
Morning sunlight eventually filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow across Mom’s bed. She looked a little stronger, still tired, but her breathing was calm.
She was awake when Dr. Fern cam
