"Go home and get some rest," the Hispanic nurse that was assigned to Justin's ICU room insisted, calmly pushing me out of the small caged room. He had yet to open his eyes and respond to the visitors, hospital staff or friends that had attempted to coax him into responding to them. He continued to just lay there. His only occasional response was a deep, painful groan.

The repetitive sounds coming from the machines – hisses, high-pitched beeps, and gushes of air – made it almost impossible to focus on anything besides the noises themselves. Each swoosh of the oxygen machine reminded me where I was, and why. This was no simple accident that Justin would walk away from. He wouldn't be walking out the hospital today, tomorrow or anytime this week.

The stark dull whiteness of the room and the dull buzzing from the overhead lights made me dizzy, or perhaps it was the fact that I had sat hunched over my husband for the past eight hours. I wasn't sure, but I was positive it didn't matter. I wouldn't complain that my back ached from the sitting position, or that my throat was parched from a lack of water, or that my stomach loudly grumbled from not eating a single meal today. None of it mattered. How could I complain about small pitiful things when Justin was suffering?

Watching him, I prayed that he would just open his good eye, the one not swollen shut, and tell me everything was going to be okay.

That's all I prayed for; a simple sign that everything would be okay.

With the door open, I could hear the sounds of other machines in other occupied rooms. A small part of me felt guilty for being overwhelmed with my own petty anger at the world for putting me in this situation when others there were far worse off than Justin. It was hard to be grateful that he wasn't dead when I had sat there all day and night watching him, refusing to leave because he could wake up at any second.

Fear shot through me at the thought of him waking up and no one being there. I was so tired, ready to go home, yet I wanted to be there when he opened his eyes; be the first one he saw just so he knew he wasn't alone. To be the one to tell him he was alive and to reassure him that he would be okay.

"Maybe I'll stay a little longer. He could still wake up," I told the nurse as I tried to make my way back to the chair by Justin's bed.

"Go home and get some rest. Come back in the morning. I'll be here all night; I'll call you right away if anything changes." She rested her warm hand on my back, gently guiding me once again towards the door.

My head still felt light and dizzy, the floor swaying under my weary feet. "Do you have my phone number? Please call me if anything changes, or he wakes up... Anything... Please?"

"Your number is right here on his chart. I'll personally call you about anything, good or bad." She smiled, her white teeth gleaming against the smooth darkness of her skin. I silently wondered how hard her job was – to watch family members grieve over their loved ones.

Nodding my head, I hesitantly followed her out through the thick mechanical doors that led out of the ICU. Once the doors shut behind us, all the noises that had once filled me with dread were gone. The hospital stood quiet, aside from the buzzing of the overhead lights.

"Do you know how to get to the parking garage?" the nurse asked quietly as she pushed the button for the elevator.

I nodded. I had come in through the main entrance of the hospital, but I knew I could find my way back out by following the signs. Any directions she gave me would be forgotten before I reached the ground floor anyway.

My head threatened to explode; my ability to focus having diminished hours earlier. Everything the numerous doctors and nurses had told me was gone. I couldn't remember anything besides that they couldn't give me an answer as to when I would be able to take Justin home. The world around me felt surreal. I wanted to believe that I was just in a bad dream, one that I was struggling to wake up from.

"Is he in pain?" I asked the nurse quietly, my mouth dry again. It was the only question I'd had all day, but I hadn't asked it yet, afraid of the answer. How could I function knowing Justin was in pain? My breath caught in my throat as I waited for her to answer.

When the doors to the elevator opened, the nurse followed me inside and pushed the button for the ground floor. Then walked back out.

"He's on morphine, so any pain he might have is bearable. I know you won't stop worrying but go home – have a glass of wine and get some sleep," she reassured me, her words sounding rehearsed. She removed her hand from the elevator door that she'd been holding open, and the doors closed slowly, leaving me alone with my thoughts and feelings.

My heart raced, and I was afraid that if I pressed my hand to it, I would feel it beating rapidly under my sweaty palm. Anxiety crashed down on me for the billionth time it seemed, spreading through my body and limbs, forcing me into the corner of the small elevator.

Wondering if this was what death felt like, my ears roared, and my head pounded in rhythm with my heart. Across the elevator, I saw my reflection in the steel mirror, wondering if I was watching myself die from a heart attack. Surely death wouldn't be so easy?

I studied the dark circles under my eyes that had, at some point, attached themselves to my pale face. Justin would've teased me if he had been standing there, and called me a vampire. I could only imagine the jokes he would make. A small smile formed on my crusty lips.

The floors continued to click down as the elevator descended to the ground floor. With each floor that passed, relief filled me. I prayed that I could hold myself together for a few more minutes, just long enough to make it to the security and privacy of my Mercedes.

I pushed into the corner of the cramped elevator more, allowing the two walls to hold me upright, unsure if my legs could hold my weight any longer.

Again, I questioned the entire day, forcing my weary brain to recall every event. From the moment I had clumsily rolled out of bed, to this exact moment where I stood alone in the elevator. It was unreal; the day flashing before my eyes like a movie reel. Each second that played out made me relive the overwhelming misery of Justin's medical situation. There was an urge to just stay in the elevator and ride it up and down for the rest of the night just so I could hide from reality that little bit longer.

The doors opened, shaking the elevator cabin slightly, and sucking me back into reality. After stepping back out into the real world I so badly wanted to escape from, I walked through the deserted lobby of the old hospital, recoiling from the coldness that had settled on my soul.

A large security guard sitting at a small desk near the entrance was the only other person around. I took a deep breath, holding it, and counted each step as I made my way past the guard, toward the sliding glass doors of the hospital. Each step took more and more strength to make it outside.

"None of this is real, is it?" I wanted to ask the guard, but as I passed him, I said nothing. He nodded at me once, then looked away, and I swear I saw pity in his eyes.