Ask Bimbo _ _ ♯shortstory

Bimbo was restless.

The seat beneath her felt like thorns. Though she was slender and the chair wide enough, she shifted repeatedly, unable to find comfort. The waiting room was well-ventilated, yet her body betrayed her, she was sweating heavily, as if the air had turned into fire. To her, the future looked bleak. Every passing second without her husband beside her, alive and well, felt like a curse. The mere thought of death snatching him away made her heart thump wildly, as if trying to break free from her chest.

Inside the operating theatre, Jairus lay unmoving. His eyes were open, but his mind was distant. He watched the doctors and nurses in white coats and green scrubs, moving quickly from one side of the room to another. He could see them clearly, hear their voices, but his thoughts refused to connect to their actions. He noticed one of the doctors insert a syringe into a hanging bag of blood. He saw the deep wound carved across his chest. Oddly, he felt no pain. He wasn’t even aware of the gash on his head.

But he remembered Bimbo’s face.
He remembered her tears as they wheeled him in.
That stayed with him.

Back in the waiting room, Bimbo rose from her seat again, for what felt like the hundredth time. She sat, then stood again, just like a five-year-old child in a repetitive game of musical chairs. Suddenly, her head throbbed. She clutched her forehead with one palm, the other reaching for the wall to steady herself. Her friend rushed to her side and gently helped her back into her seat.

“Just keep calm, Bimbo,” she whispered. “Everything will be alright.”

Bimbo exhaled heavily. The headache lingered a while longer before fading. Her clothes clung to her damp skin, but still no tears came. She stared into space, and her mind wandered.

She remembered their first meeting at the university: how unexpected it was, how beautiful it became. Their love had grown with them, through laughter, through storms. Bimbo knew without question: she would never trade a single moment with him for all the tea in China.

Then, the wall clock struck.
Midday.
Twelve hours since she'd arrived.
Twelve long, aching hours.

She tried to stay calm.

"I'm scared!" she suddenly screamed, startling everyone in the room.

“Take it easy, madam,” a nurse said gently.

“We need to be brave, Bimbo,” her friend added, placing a hand over hers. “Okay? Now inhale… and exhale slowly. That’s it.”

Bimbo followed her lead. Deep breath in. Slow breath out. For a moment, the chaos inside her quieted.

Inside the theatre, Jairus writhed slightly on the bed. Tears welled in his eyes; not from pain alone, but perhaps from life clawing its way back into him. The doctors, however, now wore faint smiles of hope and relief.

When the theatre door finally opened, Bimbo sprang to her feet before she even realized it. Her knees trembled as the doctor approached. Her soul braced for impact.

But he smiled.
And that smile healed something in her even before he spoke.

“He felt pain,” the doctor said warmly.

The meaning of those words registered instantly.
Pain meant life.
Pain meant Jairus was still with her.

Her friend pulled her into a long, warm embrace — the kind that didn’t need words. And for the first time since she'd stepped into the hospice, Bimbo felt air flood her lungs again. She could breathe.

So, if you ever want to know how it feels when someone you love is on the edge of life and how staying calm can carry you through, even when it’s nearly impossible —

Ask Bimbo.

Thanks for reading. What do you think of this story?