I sat up as the doctor stepped into the room. My daughter laid in the hospital bed, sleeping.
“Lab results are back. It’s some sort of virus.” His gaze drifted towards the bed, his eyes stopping on my daughter. “We’ll give her fluids, as well as something for nausea and pain.” He paused to sigh. “I’m also going to have her do breathing treatments while you’re here.”
I thanked him and he left the room. I glanced up at the tv just as another Christmas commercial flashed across the screen. With a tired sigh, I stood up and walked to the bed. I reached out and touched my daughter’s hand. “I’m going to go find some coffee,” I whispered. Her eyes never opened, but she nodded, letting me know she heard.
I stepped into the busy hallway, gently closing the door behind me. Tinsel and ornaments hung from the walls and nurses’ station. I slowly headed down the hall, feeling the need to move.
I shoved my hands deep into the pockets of my hoody as Bing Crosby crooned the lyrics of White Christmas over the speakers. I headed through the double doors, back to the waiting room. It was completely empty. The windows were trimmed in colored Christmas lights, illuminating the black sky outside. I looked up at the clock on the wall. It was just after midnight.
After pouring watered-down coffee into a paper cup, I stirred the powdered creamer in as best I could and then took a seat near the corner of the room. The chair faced a large green Christmas tree covered in gold and silver ornaments.
I took a sip of the coffee and stared at the tree as thoughts began to weigh me down like a concrete blanket.
It had been a month since my career ended. A month of feeling lost. A month of feeling like a failure.
“I’m sorry. There’s just no money. We have to let everyone go.”
That was it. No apology. No empathy. No words about the extra hours I put into the job. And, of course, it happened right before the holidays.
I grabbed my phone, needing a friend. Habitually, my finger hovered over her name. Her picture still in my contacts. My friend. Another position from which I was fired.
I scrolled through my contacts as tears filled my eyes. The hurt and rejections reanimating deep inside my mind.
“Hey!” His voice familiar and comforting. I looked up as he walked to me. “I got all of the stocking stuffers on the list. I stayed within budget.” He hugged me before kissing the top of my head. “Utility bill is paid and I went ahead and filled up your car with gas.”
A tired smiled spread across my face.“Thanks.”
”How is she?” He asked.
I took a deep breath. “Um, she’s okay. They said it’s a virus and they’re giving her meds and fluids. She’ll be fine. She’s sleeping.”
He sighed. “I wonder how much this is going to cost us.”
The tears threatened to fall, the lights on the tree blurring into colored streaks. “Everything is just . . . bad . . . right now,” I said, softly.
As he took my hand in his, a man dressed as Santa walked into the waiting room. We both looked up, watching him.
He walked up to us and looked down at my cup. “That’s not coffee!”
We laughed, somewhat uncomfortably.
He opened the big sack he was carrying. “Let’s see here,” he said.
He pulled out an iced coffee and handed it to me. “Oh! Hang on!” He dug around a little more until he pulled out a red and white straw. “There you go!”
I thanked him as he continued to dig around in his bag. He pulled out a protein bar and handed it to my husband. “And for you,” he said.
I watched as my husband stood up and shook Santa’s hand. “Thank you, sir,” he said.
“Don’t mention it.” His gaze settling on me. My eyes rested on the brown eyes resting under the white trim of his Santa hat. He held my gaze. “‘Tis only a season, my dear.”
He winked before heading to the desk and cheerily shouting, “Ho, ho, ho!”
I stuck the straw in my iced coffee as we headed back to our daughter’s room.
For a moment, things didn’t feel all bad.
