Standing outside of the double doors, I hesitate for a moment. I'm familiar with the scene that awaits me and it chills me to my very core.
I push one of the doors open and go inside.
The sentinels are still there, emotionless, their digital displays glowing in the half-light. Coloured LEDs wait patiently, ready to alert the knowing to any changes.
Sometimes, I want to unplug every damn one of them and just curl up on the floor with my pain.
But I can't, because this array of life support machines are the only things keeping my husband alive.