source site I can still feel the cold steel of the waiting room bench pressing against my skin — biting, oppressive, foreboding. My mom had been wheeled back into surgery prep what seemed like hours ago, and here I was in the waiting room, alone and scared. Some time later, I finally heard the faint sound of my name, but it was muffled by the fog of the moment and suffocated by the blur of my troubled mind.
They had to say it twice before I finally came to. I was out of body.