As a writer, ideas come from all sorts of places.
Two weeks ago, my husband Mark went from having chest pain at work, to an ER visit, to an inpatient stay, to a cardiac catheterization, to bypass surgery. Most of this took place in the span of six hours, and then the change from catheterization to “needs bypass” to surgery taking place was less than two days. As you can imagine, I was completely overwhelmed.
Thank goodness, my husband is doing much better and is healing well.
It was a very long day when they did his surgery, starting with a rush to the hospital when they bumped his surgery up in the schedule, and ending that evening at his bedside. I brought a book, but couldn’t read at first, and I found myself looking at the other people in the family waiting area, and imagining their stories. Who was the loved one in surgery? How did they get along? What did they do in their everyday lives? That middle-aged man. Was he waiting for news about his sister? Mother? Wife? Was he alone because they didn’t have family nearby?
Strangely enough, wondering these sorts of things was a bit therapeutic for me. There was no way I had the concentration to put words on paper, but I was able to let my mind wander, focusing on something else beside my husband’s surgery. And I may have collected the gossamer threads of a story from those mental wanderings.
When Mark was moved to a room and seemed more like himself, my guard came down and creativity sparked. One of his nurses had a unique name and I asked her if I could use her name in a book. She said absolutely, and another gossamer thread of character added itself to the plot, another layer.
I have no idea when I’ll write this story, as the events are just too close to the surface right now. Still, I can’t deny that my imagination provided a very welcome respite from the stresses of the event.
And that book lingers on the creative horizon.