I’m convinced waiting can be its own kind of torture. When anxiety is high, minutes imitate hours and time constantly threatens to stand still. Once I had to call 911 to help someone I love. When I think back on that call, I remember the careful and measured words of the operator: she said “I am going to wait here with you. It won’t take long—help is on the way!” I can’t tell you whether it was her promise to stay with me, or the assurance that help was inbound that helped to calm my nerves at that moment—I think it must have been the combination of those promises. I didn’t have to worry because I wasn’t alone, and I could trust that things might be okay because, after all, help was on the way.