Sadness
I am in the waiting room of a hospital. My wife, Sara, has had a heart attack. She's is in the operating room since more than three hours. After trying to find out something by asking the nurses, she finally approaches the surgeon.
I'm shaking. The uncertainty does not let me speak.
"Are you Sara's husband?"
"Yes. Is she OK?"
"We have saved her in extremis. The images we took of her heart before the operation showed something undefined moving towards the right atrium. When I opened her chest, and entered the vena cava, something was trying to hide. I used tweezers and managed to catch what looked like a piece of paper. And it was amazing, it had the word 'sadness' printed on it. If we had waited a few hours, sadness would have entered his heart and surely he would have died. Please take care of her and don't let something like this happen to her again in the future."
Tristeza
Estoy en la sala de espera de un hospital. Mi mujer, Sara,
ha sufrido un infarto. Hace una eternidad que entró en el quirófano. Después de
intentar saber algo preguntando a las enfermeras, por fin se acerca el
cirujano.
Estoy temblando. La incertidumbre no me deja hablar.
-¿Es usted el marido de Sara?
-Si. ¿Cómo está?
-La hemos salvado in extremis. Las imágenes que tomamos de
su corazón antes de la operación mostraban algo indefinido que avanzaba hacia
la aurícula derecha. Cuando abrí su pecho, y entré en la vena cava, algo
trataba de esconderse. Utilicé unas pinzas y conseguí atrapar aquello parecido
a un trocito de papel. Y fue asombroso, tenía impresa la palabra ‘tristeza’. Si
hubiéramos esperado unas horas, la tristeza habría entrado en su corazón y
seguramente habría muerto. Por favor, cuídela y no permita que algo así le
vuelva a ocurrir en el futuro.
