"Pray for me to stay calm"

"Pray for me to stay calm," She said.

She had just waved me back into my chair. For nearly twenty four hours, she'd been struggling for every breath.

I did. I prayed every prayer I could summon in my head - the Rosary, the Divine Mercy, the 23rd Psalm. I knew I needed to stay calm, too - for her. I went out to the nurses station.

"She's getting frightened," I said, frightened myself, "As you know, for an asthmatic, that is the worst thing that can happen. Please... is there anything... a calming agent, that can be considered here?"

"The doctor will be out of the delivery room soon," is all I got for the third time.

The moment passed, though it seemed to take forever - the doctor came, saw that she needed to be in the ICU and transfered her up there. She's better. But in those few moments I prayed hard, because I could see finally all that was at stake. Everything that we were - every happiness and moment we had - was fleeting and fragile. This woman represented all my hopes and dreams. More than I ever, ever realized I knew in that moment that she is the reason I wake up in the morning with a smile, the reason I bike as fast as I can on my way home, the reason I want to go camping, make music, or even look at the stars. The two desperate runs for the Perth hospital, so much like the one of two years ago, were scary. But these frightening moments made me realize how much I love her, and how fragile love makes me. But I don't care. She's everything to me.

I still have her. K is not out of the hospital, because the doctor says, "You're in much better shape than when you came in, but its still crappy." But she remains in my life. This alone makes my heart burst with a hundred songs.