Time slows the closer we reach the speed of light. And in hospital waiting rooms.
Our daughter had oral surgery to correct a host of problems. Nothing major. But we sat in the waiting room, staring at the status monitor, locating her patient number. Over and over. Tried to read magazines. Tried to have casual conversation. But always looking up, always locating the number.
When two hours passed, time began to slow. Each minute fell like a feather. Landed like a rock. Thoughts piled up. Even simple procedures can go wrong.
The doctor came out. Surely they don't deliver bad news in the waiting room. Flanked by resident medical students, he said, "Everything went fine."
And I began breathing again.
Your child in a hospital gown. An oxygen mask. An IV. These things slow time. When the doctor says all went fine, they renew life.