The Electric Shock, Final part of four.

  

They both fell into separate beds, allowing exhaustion to take over.  It had been a marathon day.  She herself hadn’t slept more than 4 hours in a row since she had stepped off the airplane 2 days earlier.  Grandma, in her early 80s, had endured the long road trip to see her son’s decline. 

The sunlight had brought the 8:00am meeting.  They all knew what the meeting was for.  As his only child, she had won a spot on this particular committee.  Grandma was invited in as well.  He had married his longtime girlfriend, about two years earlier, was the only other invitee.  She arrived at the hospital at 7:55 with her entourage in tow.  Somehow, the wife’s sister and nephew were also ushered into the small room for support.  It was made clear as the meeting began that she as his daughter, and wifey would be the decision makers in the room.  Everyone else was just there to support.  The conversation started: Brain activity was severely enough declined, ventilator doing all the mechanical breathing, being kept comfortable in a comatose state, cirrhosis of the liver means damage beyond use.  The choice: to sustain life through machines in a vegetable like state or to remove the ventilator and allow him to expire.

There was no question in her mind.  Her dad would not want his life prolonged for this kind of life.  Dad was an alcoholic.  He worked hard to kill a part of himself every day.  He had always told her, when I die you can burn me and flush my ashes down the toilet.  The response from her father over the last 36 hours had been the absolute minimum.  It was only his spirit really, that confirmed to her that he even knew she was there.

All eyes turned to his wife, whom the doctors expected to have the first say.  She spoke up quickly, “We need to end it.”  What ensued was a tirade of reasoning why, as her eyes darted to her sister and her nephew.  It became apparent that they were present, not so much for her support in pain…but as her sidekicks in battle.  Her list of reasons and overexplaining filled the room like toxic gas.  Nephew and sister nodding in unison and quiet murmurs of “MmmHmmm” and “yes.”  It was all surreal, and all, so unnecessary.  Reason like cost and mental state and the challenges of care.  They had prepared an arsenal of reasons why to end his life; they had assumed his daughter would try to keep him alive.  They were wrong.  The wife’s words hung in the air and dropped like a heavy cloud over them all.  When the supporting points and reasoning were finished.  Eyes finally turned to his daughter, who quietly stated, “He wouldn’t want to live like this.  I agree to turn off the ventilator.”  Grandma squeezed her hand tightly to indicate the answer they both new was the right one.  His primary doctor explained that at 8:00 am the following day they would remove it.

Wife’s entourage retreated and left after a quick peek into her father’s hospital room.  She and grandma headed into the room; aunt, uncle and the crew showed up.  All but her headed out to get some breakfast.  She went into his room, took her place next to the bed.  All was planned.  She listened to the monotone of the forced breathing; she bent down close to his left ear. 

“Daddy,” she began, “tomorrow we are going to get this ventilator off you.  Tomorrow they will turn all of the machines off.  Then you can be comfortable.  You can go when you want.”  Immediately, there was a hiccup in the monotone.  A wave of attempt, his body jolted and tensed for a millisecond.  Around the tube that was protruding from his lips a gurgling arose.  Eyes fluttered, and a surge of tears spilled from one side.  Then, just aftermath.  Blood welled up from his mouth and then the slight settling of his body post-surge.  She rang for the nurse, who showed up and began to clean up his face.  She explained what had happened; the nurse brushed it off, “It’s probably just a coincidence.”  But she knew better, she knew that her dad was relieved.  Ready and relieved.

She spent the entire day with him, only leaving to grab the comfort food chicken pot pie from the cafeteria for lunch.  Wife showed up after lunch for a brief visit.  As she walked the stepmom to the doorway, she quietly asked, “What…were my dad’s wishes about being buried?”  Wife looked surprised.  Her eyes hardened, “You, aren’t in the will.  He…didn’t put you in his will.”  She didn’t understand, that wasn’t what her question had been about.  AND.  This was new, confusing, and ill-timed information.  So…. apparently, there was no plan.    She secretly prayed that the plan was NOT to flush him down the toilet.  Somehow the day turned into night and she left late, for some sleep before her dad’s last hours of life.  She intended to be there when he passed.

            The alarm went off the next morning.  She and grandma quietly prepared.  Quiet 5-minute drive to the hospital.  Wife hadn’t wanted to be there, and she respected that.  But all blood family in the room, for the removal of the ventilator.  Well, they actually stepped out while the nurse and doctor actually pulled the tubing out, but then they were brought back in.  Immediately, her father’s body began to gasp for the air.  No one had prepared her for that. 

            Without the life supporting equipment, her father’s body went into an anxious state of attempt to stay alive.  The forced monotone that had been the ventilator’s rhythm was transformed into a hoarse, gasp for air…desperate and gravely…but STILL monotone.  It was slower, but steady.  She had never heard a sound such as this before.  Not quite the bark of a seal, but there was a throaty desperation in the intake of the air; And it took his body every ounce of energy to get to the next breath.  ‘It won’t be long now,’ she thought with relief.  She was anticipating the peace of seeing his body more comfortable.

            But again, she wasn’t prepared for or warn about how LONG this might take.  One hour passed, then two.  When they started the third hour…all in the room were clearly growing weary of listening to her father’s desperate attempts to get air.  It was a merciless bark that reminded her of the tick, tick, tick from Edgar Allen Poe’s The Tell-Tale Heart. Constant, pulsating, maddening.  She had never sat in such a state of constant anticipation, awfully anxiety, and awe.  But she could not leave, she was determined to stay and see her father through this final challenge.  Hour, after hour, after hour.  Twelve hours later, his sister and her family finally left.  Around 10:30 pm, it had been over 14 hours; nerves worn thin and feeling sleep deprived, she and her grandma relented and asked the nurse’s opinion.

            “His vital signs have been constant,” she had said.  “You all are exhausted.  I think he will remain stable if you get some rest.  I promise to call the minute there is any change.”  So, reluctantly…they both crawled out to the car and back to the hotel for some quality sleep.  Same routine for the past 3 nights.  They each visited the one basin, then fell into their separate beds.  Somehow bonded now, whatever resentment she had harbored for her grandmother…this shared experience would move her through to a deep, lasting, bonded love for her.

            As she slipped into the necessary slumber, her body yielded.  It wasn’t done yet, but the end was near as she groggily tried to process how she got where she was right now.  But her fatigue took over and she drifted off…  Then the stark and cold ring of a phone.  Confusion, grabbing for the receiver, knocking over the bottled water next to the bed.  He had just passed. 

            She missed it.  They missed it.  It was like he had been waiting all day...for them to leave.  She had a sense that he had waited, as a final grace to protect them.  He wanted to be alone.  It hadn’t even been a full hour since they left his room.  Lights back on.  Contact lenses pushed into tired eyes.  Grabbing shoes and coats.  Out into the icy cold.  Rush into the elevator, up to his room.  Halt.  Deep breath.  Entering the room, all was dusk.  The immediate peace struck them.  No more desperation.  No more gasping.  No more buzzing or beeping.  There he lay still and peaceful.  The room, warm and heavy.  The rush had been such, that they hadn’t even removed coats or gloves.  She was the first to approach from the nearest side.  Grandma walked around the other side of the bed.  White sheet, shoulders peeking out. 

            This was the first time she’d ever seen a dead body, been the close in proximity to someone without life.  He hadn’t even been gone 30 minutes, and there was this palpable energy in the room.  As she approached and pulled off her gloves, she couldn’t help herself.  She reached out to touch his bare shoulder.  Like lightening, a bolt of static energy surged through her finger and right through her.  It surprised her and she jumped, startled at the charge.  Glancing at grandma, who had witnessed this…no words were said.  Sighs of relief that he was finally, thankfully, at peace.  He died on the first day of Spring at the very end of the day’s hours – and snow fell as the sun rose on the next day.

Then take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind
Down the foggy ruins of time
Far past the frozen leaves
The haunted, frightened trees
Out to the windy beach
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow

Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky
With one hand waving free
Silhouetted by the sea
Circled by the circus sands
With all memory and fate, driven deep beneath the waves
Let me forget about today until tomorrow

 

Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to
Hey, Mr. Tambourine Man, play a song for me
In the jingle jangle mornin' I'll come followin' you.

 

Bob Dylan