Angielski
The room felt small and confining, the walls threatening, we had been asked to leave room 209, a number to be forever engraved on my mind. The recalcitrant nurse had at last understood the condition of my wife, and had finally visited the room, almost 4 hours after being informed that her patient was complaining of lack of oxygen. How could this be?
Our destination in the promised land was Cole Harbor to a few miles East of Dartmouth, Nova Scotia. The intention of us coming here was that we were to work on the poultry farm of Iris's brother, eventually coming to be joint owners.
There are things in one's life that remain in your memory forever, like the hit tune on our honeymoon "Oklahoma" and another was the overwhelming joy I was experiencing on this day. Iris was dressed in a salmon coloured suit, hemline provocatively placed just above the knee, a filmy white blouse, flesh coloured nylons, with white shoes and handbag.
When I reported for duty, I was a little overwhelmed, to be told I would be working as the cryptographer in the office of the CCOS (Canadian Chief of the Staff Secretariat.) The Official Secrets Act bans me from divulging any more than that.
In the late evening of February twenty fifth, (that night) the roller coaster for both of us began in earnest. I was awakened by a ringing of the telephone, to be told by the nurse in Chemainus hospital, that Iris had been rushed to the Duncan Hospital, and was admitted to the ICU.
