Bed side manner

The room is like a shotgun hallway that has been blocked by deep tan colored walls on each end. The smell of burned coffee is overwhelming and the concern of germs is exhausting. The sound of nervous laughter fills the room as strangers try to forget their troubles and find some sort of awkward comfort in one another. The knowledge that we share the same worry for a loved one forges a bond between us.As I sit in the ICU waiting room, I am trying desperately not to focus on the paint that has been chipped from the wall or the desire to seek out a Clotox wipe to scrub a dingy spot off the floor. Then, a member of the Pink family speaks to me. "We are running down to get something to eat but we will be right back." With that I am instantly brought back to the real world.There is an unwritten rule that you must checkin with the other waiting families. Each one knows where the other has gone just in case a doctor stops in or the phone rings. The waiting room is our base camp, where we may always be found. I have eaten meals with these families, answered calls for these families, and slept with these families. I have even comforted these families after receiving devastating news. We check on one anothers progress, as if their family member is one of our own.While I'm not sure how many days I've been here (because the days are starting to run together) I have been amazed by this experience. Only days before these people were strangers but now they are friends. Despite ethnicity, social standing, or regious beliefs this community of ICU family members has formed a support system for one another. The way people come together during hardship will always fascinate me. Why can't it always be that way?