I hate hospitals. I hate them with a fiery passion that is beyond any of my words, and I am an author, so that should say something rather significant. Hate isn't really even a strong enough word for my feelings for hospitals. I despise them. I abhor them. They make my skin crawl. I shudder whenever I have to drive past one, and my children can testify to that, for they are the ones that have to sit along side me in the car.
The only reason that people go to these damned facilities are to either die or sorely attempt to get better. Car rides gone wrong, bald children vomiting up their last meal, and then some because of the poisons being injected to their veins. Gang members, with gun shot wounds, due to drug deals that managed to spiral in to violence. Some one didn't want to share the damn heroin and was so addicted, that they couldn't take it without making sure that the other person was out of commission, for fear of being followed and possibly killed. So they wouldn't be caught by the police, that always never seem to be there when you need them.
Little did that gang member turned drug dealer know, the man that he stabbed was an undercover cop (there for the right reason, at the wrong time, as usual,) and now his family was sitting waiting, wondering whether or not their husband and dad would ever come out of that operating room. Little did that addict know, he never would. And now, that mother sitting in the waiting room has to bear the burden of raising 4 little kids on her own. She has to wake up every day, alone, in the bed that once was her husbands and hers, along side of her kids, who are too afraid to sleep, because daddy used to scare the monsters away from under their beds. He was in the wrong place at the right time. Will that drug dealer ever be caught? No. He died in the hospital bed right next to the man that he killed of a heroin overdose 24 minutes ago.
It was cases like these that my wife of 13 years spent her life prosecuting. Bring down the drug cartels, arrest the murderers. Convict the pedophiles that molest, rape, and kill little 8 year old kids. My kids age. She spent her life working for good. And how did she die? No, it's ok… you can ask. She died of a brain tumor that went completely unnoticed for 5 years. They gave her a week to live, told me to stay out of the room, and died that night in my arms. And then they told me that she could have lived, the tumor could have been removed. They misjudged the area that it was in her brain. She died because the law does not allow homosexual partners to make medical choices for the other should one of them fall gravely ill. Kerry had no family, and I was not allowed to make any suggestions to prolong her life, with her permission, for as long as we possibly could. All because I am gay. And she was my wife. And now? Now I have to raise my two beautiful children and brave this world all on my own. I'll be lucky if I can find a mother as graceful and genuine and as good to them as she was.
My name is Charlie Reels. I am female. I am 33 years old, and I was married to my wife Kerry Reels, for 13 amazing years. I live at 23 Wiltshire Place in Colorado Springs, and I have dinner to make, bed time stories to tell, monsters to kill, and teeth to brush. And a funeral to plan.