Dying 04.04.15
Note: This installment is humanized.
— § —
Skipper sat in the emergency room waiting area, his face in his hands, as he waited for the doctor to come back with news. His college roommate and best friend, Kowalski, sat inayofuata to him, wishing he could think of something to say to bring him comfort. They’d been waiting there for almost an hour. Finally, a surgeon stepped out of the operating room, her hands and arms wet after scrubbing out. She pulled his face mask under her chin.
“Mr. Guin?” she inquired toward Skipper, who stood.
“Yes. How is she?” he asked rubbing his bloodshot eyes.
“I’m Doctor Sullivan. Your mother has suffered serious head trauma,” the surgeon explained regretfully. “She is bleeding from the brain. It’s minor, but still fatal. We need your permission to operate,” she explained.
“Of course,” Skipper alisema without hesitation. Sullivan held up a hand.
“Before wewe make your final decision, I need to tell wewe the risks of the operation,” she said. Skipper swallowed and nodded. “Your mother is—old. Without the surgery, she might live a long while before passing on. However, she will slowly deteriorate in that time, and likely do nearly nothing but sleep, not even eat. She’ll likely experience many splitting headaches as well. If we do operate, there’s a chance we could save her, but I’m afraid it’s rather slim. There’s a high chance she’ll die during the operation,” she explained.
Skipper nodded and broke eye contact. Sullivan pressed her lips together.
“I’ll give wewe a few moments to make a decision,” she alisema before turning and leaving him.
Kowalski put a hand on his shoulder from behind. “Skip, I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” he alisema softly.
Skipper cringed and shook his head. “It’s my fault. If I’d have been there, I could’ve—done something,” he alisema running his hand over his face.
Kowalski gripped his shoulder tighter. “No, Skipper, wewe couldn’t have known. She could’ve just as easily fallen down the stairs if wewe had been there. It’s not your fault.”
Skipper pinched the bridge of his nose. “So my only options are let my mother suffer for who knows how long, au let her die now on the operating table. Doesn’t seem very fair.” He opened his eyes and looked at the doors to the operating room, as if he could see his mother beyond them. “She always told me life isn’t fair.”
Kowalski looked at him sympathetically. “So, what are wewe going to do?” he asked quietly.
Skipper looked at him, and then at Sullivan across the waiting room making notes on a chart. Without answering, he went to her.
“Doctor,” he called softly from behind. She turned and set her chart aside.
“Yes, sir?” she replied. “Have wewe come to a decision?”
Skipper looked down at the floor. “The surgery,” he started, “will she feel anything?” he asked slowly.
Sullivan put her fingers in her kanzu, koti pockets with her thumbs hanging out. “No. She’ll be sedated. If we successfully stop the bleeding, she’ll only experience some headaches for a little while, and will be very tired for a week au so. And—if she doesn’t make it, it’ll be just like dying in her sleep,” she explained as she studied him.
After a moment of silence, he nodded. “Do the surgery,” he alisema without making eye contact. Doctor Sullivan nodded and turned to retrieve the consent papers, but Skipper put a hand on her shoulder. “Can I—have a moment alone with her first?” he requested.
Sullivan nodded sympathetically. “Of course. But she’s still sedated, so she may not realize you’re there,” she told him. Skipper nodded and Sullivan led him to the ICU, where his intubated mother was unconscious in bed. Sullivan left him and Skipper gently sat on the side of the bed. He took her hand.
“I don’t know if wewe can hear me, but I want wewe to know that everything will be okay. The doctors are going to take good care of you. I promise.” He swallowed and looked at her hand in his. “You’ve always taken good care of me, no matter what. It’s my turn to return the favor. I know it’s long overdue, and I’m sorry. But I’m going to now. And I promise I’ll make wewe proud.” He looked back at her peaceful face as she slept. He picked up her hand and gently kissed it. “I upendo you, mom.”
A nurse entered the room with a team ready to take his mother for emergency surgery. “We need to get her to the operating room, Mr. Guin.”
Skipper nodded. He looked at his mother once zaidi and leaned over her to kiss her on the forehead. “Thanks for everything,” he whispered. He stepped away and watched as the team wheeled his mother away.
That was the last time he saw her alive.
Note: This installment is humanized.
— § —
Skipper sat in the emergency room waiting area, his face in his hands, as he waited for the doctor to come back with news. His college roommate and best friend, Kowalski, sat inayofuata to him, wishing he could think of something to say to bring him comfort. They’d been waiting there for almost an hour. Finally, a surgeon stepped out of the operating room, her hands and arms wet after scrubbing out. She pulled his face mask under her chin.
“Mr. Guin?” she inquired toward Skipper, who stood.
“Yes. How is she?” he asked rubbing his bloodshot eyes.
“I’m Doctor Sullivan. Your mother has suffered serious head trauma,” the surgeon explained regretfully. “She is bleeding from the brain. It’s minor, but still fatal. We need your permission to operate,” she explained.
“Of course,” Skipper alisema without hesitation. Sullivan held up a hand.
“Before wewe make your final decision, I need to tell wewe the risks of the operation,” she said. Skipper swallowed and nodded. “Your mother is—old. Without the surgery, she might live a long while before passing on. However, she will slowly deteriorate in that time, and likely do nearly nothing but sleep, not even eat. She’ll likely experience many splitting headaches as well. If we do operate, there’s a chance we could save her, but I’m afraid it’s rather slim. There’s a high chance she’ll die during the operation,” she explained.
Skipper nodded and broke eye contact. Sullivan pressed her lips together.
“I’ll give wewe a few moments to make a decision,” she alisema before turning and leaving him.
Kowalski put a hand on his shoulder from behind. “Skip, I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” he alisema softly.
Skipper cringed and shook his head. “It’s my fault. If I’d have been there, I could’ve—done something,” he alisema running his hand over his face.
Kowalski gripped his shoulder tighter. “No, Skipper, wewe couldn’t have known. She could’ve just as easily fallen down the stairs if wewe had been there. It’s not your fault.”
Skipper pinched the bridge of his nose. “So my only options are let my mother suffer for who knows how long, au let her die now on the operating table. Doesn’t seem very fair.” He opened his eyes and looked at the doors to the operating room, as if he could see his mother beyond them. “She always told me life isn’t fair.”
Kowalski looked at him sympathetically. “So, what are wewe going to do?” he asked quietly.
Skipper looked at him, and then at Sullivan across the waiting room making notes on a chart. Without answering, he went to her.
“Doctor,” he called softly from behind. She turned and set her chart aside.
“Yes, sir?” she replied. “Have wewe come to a decision?”
Skipper looked down at the floor. “The surgery,” he started, “will she feel anything?” he asked slowly.
Sullivan put her fingers in her kanzu, koti pockets with her thumbs hanging out. “No. She’ll be sedated. If we successfully stop the bleeding, she’ll only experience some headaches for a little while, and will be very tired for a week au so. And—if she doesn’t make it, it’ll be just like dying in her sleep,” she explained as she studied him.
After a moment of silence, he nodded. “Do the surgery,” he alisema without making eye contact. Doctor Sullivan nodded and turned to retrieve the consent papers, but Skipper put a hand on her shoulder. “Can I—have a moment alone with her first?” he requested.
Sullivan nodded sympathetically. “Of course. But she’s still sedated, so she may not realize you’re there,” she told him. Skipper nodded and Sullivan led him to the ICU, where his intubated mother was unconscious in bed. Sullivan left him and Skipper gently sat on the side of the bed. He took her hand.
“I don’t know if wewe can hear me, but I want wewe to know that everything will be okay. The doctors are going to take good care of you. I promise.” He swallowed and looked at her hand in his. “You’ve always taken good care of me, no matter what. It’s my turn to return the favor. I know it’s long overdue, and I’m sorry. But I’m going to now. And I promise I’ll make wewe proud.” He looked back at her peaceful face as she slept. He picked up her hand and gently kissed it. “I upendo you, mom.”
A nurse entered the room with a team ready to take his mother for emergency surgery. “We need to get her to the operating room, Mr. Guin.”
Skipper nodded. He looked at his mother once zaidi and leaned over her to kiss her on the forehead. “Thanks for everything,” he whispered. He stepped away and watched as the team wheeled his mother away.
That was the last time he saw her alive.
