Long, painful, interminable hours. Hours of worry and anxiety, of frantic plea bargaining with something or someone I’m not sure I even believe in, let alone can see or hear or confirm actually exists.I’ve still no news yet. I’m not sure there’s anything worse than waiting for potentially bad news alone, is there? This suspension of time, this absence of knowledge, this anxious isolation are all far less bearable than any physical pain I’ve ever known, even that which brought me here in the first place.I don’t think my inscrutable, white world has ever felt so stark before. Or so severe. Or so solitary. It’s never felt so vast, so empty, so far from everyone I know and love. They’re an eternity away and although I’ve known, deep down, since I arrived that what separates us is not just the unpredictable white mist clouding my view, but the division between the active and the passive, between the living and the netherworld, between life and death, it’s only now that I really feel it – painfully, viscerally – as though the knowledge has seared itself on to my broken heart and is burning through whatever solace, whatever consolation, whatever misguided sense of involvement I had left.Right now, I’m not sure I even trust that I’ll ever be able to see them again.
