Marty knew that his parents would not live forever. Heck, nobody lives forever. However, he had, for a long time, run over this scenario in his head imagining what this would be like. Consequently, when his mother had died eight years ago, it hadn't come to him as a shock. It was more like "Oh, it's finally happening." There was part of this that made Marty chuckle to himself. Ever since he was a little kid, he had always been scared to death of horror movies. The suspense of waiting for the bogeyman to jump out drove him nuts, so much so that he would sometimes run out of the room to hide. As he got older, he started using a technique to prepare himself to not be surprised or shocked. When he'd watch a film and the music gave the signal that we were building up the suspense for some big moment, Marty would sit there saying silently to himself, "The bogeyman is going to jump out... now! ... Okay.... now!" Then when the bogeyman did jump out, Marty at least didn't hit the ceiling. That build-up of suspense was, if you will excuse the irony, murder.
Marty had used this technique to a certain extent with his own parents. For a long time, he had imagined their leaving. What would he do? How would he feel? What were the legal steps to follow when a member of one's family died? When Mom died from cancer, Marty was sad but he wasn't unprepared. It was more along the lines of having gotten ready for something and finally, that day arrived. No surprise, no shock, it was all completely expected.
Marty got the news late Sunday night. Dad had suffered a heart attack, apparently a massive heart attack and been rushed by ambulance to hospital. He was put into intensive care and according to the doctor, things did not look good. Marty came into town first thing Monday morning and during the course of the day visited with his father and talked with the medical staff. Obviously, the hospital was preparing for the worst as they requested a copy of the power of attorney Dad had had drawn up some time ago which stated his wishes that no "heroic efforts" were to be made to resuscitate him in the event of something dramatic. Okay the paper didn't say "something dramatic" but talked of a medical emergency such as this, a heart attack.
The nurse had raised the one end of the hospital bed so Dad was propped up looking out the glass front of the room straight down the hall. His eyes were shut as though he was sleeping. Marty had noticed that Dad wasn't very lively. Even when he sat with his father and tried to carry on some sort of conversation, Dad seemed to find it exhausting. He would occasionally look at Marty but would ofttimes close his eyes.
"Mr. Brachman?" A man in a white coat came into the room and stuck out his hand.
"Yes?" said Marty standing up and shaking the man's hand.
"I'm Dr. Johnson. I'm the doctor on duty right now overseeing your father's case. Would you have a moment for a private discussion?" The doctor moved his hand in direction to the door indicating he wanted Marty to go elsewhere.
"Sure," said Marty. His father's eyes were now open looking at the doctor. "I'll be back shortly, Dad. Hang in there."
Marty went out the door and the doctor followed him.
"Mr. Brachman, let's go down the hall here. There's a little alcove just off to the right where we can talk." The doctor took the lead as Marty and a nurse followed.
"Mr. Brachman, this is Ms. Landley. She is the head nurse in ICU. I thought it important that we have everyone involved in your father's case on hand."
"How do you do?" said Marty sticking out his hand.
"Fine, thank you," said Ms. Landley shaking Marty's hand.
Dr. Johnson and Ms. Landley took up positions in the alcove while Marty stood partially in the hallway. The doctor went on to explain just what was going on. Greg had indeed suffered a serious heart attack but the more important aspect of this attack was that the doctor estimated it had killed at least half the capacity of the heart. That is, the heart was still beating but only 50% of the muscle tissue was functioning. As a result of this, the doctor was predicting that Dad would probably have another attack or the heart would just suddenly stop beating. This meant Dad would obviously die. However the second option was that the heart continued to beat and Dad would live. The doctor then went into describing the issue of quality of life. With the heart is such a weakened state, it was not circulating the amount of blood the body needed. This would greatly curtail any and all of Greg's activities. He would no longer be able to play golf. He would have difficulty walking even short distances. The body would be deprived of oxygen just because the heart would be unable to pump sufficiently. This resilient muscle which had done its job faithfully and unwaveringly for nearly 80 years had suffered a massive trauma and had reached the end of its useable life.
The doctor was bringing all this up to ensure everybody was in agreement as to what to do. Marty's father had clearly specified in his power of attorney that his wishes were to not make a heroic effort to resuscitate him if indeed he was going to die. The doctor wanted Marty to understand just what was at stake. Yes, Marty's father would more than likely have another heart attack or possibly the heart would just stop. Yes, the medical team could step in and do their best to ensure Greg was kept alive but doing so would potentially see Greg paying a high and unpleasant price if the team managed to be successful. Greg had signed the power of attorney putting Marty in charge and now, was Marty in agreement with his father's wishes?
During the doctor's explanation of the various aspects of his father's condition, the head nurse Ms. Landley began chatting with the doctor about something. Marty patiently followed along not fully understanding everything and his attention wavered a bit. He realised that while the doctor had asked him to come out of his father's room for this frank discussion of his father's condition, the position of the alcove hide the doctor and the nurse but left Marty standing somewhat in the hall. He turned his head to the right to look back down the hallway and suddenly realised that Marty was standing in plain view of his father. Greg was propped up in his bed now wearing an oxygen mask as opposed to the nasal tubes and looking through the glass wall of the room straight down the hall directly at Marty. Oh, oh. Marty was thinking they were keeping this little conference a secret but no, his father could actually see where they went and the fact they were having confab together.
Marty stood frozen for a moment looking at his father as the realization sunk in how his father had been watching everything. Suddenly his father raised his right forearm supporting it with the elbow on the bed and slowly waved his hand at Marty as if to say, "Hello there. I can see you." Marty was a little surprised and a little embarrassed.
Marty, the doctor and the nurse finished up their discussion with Marty stating that he was in full agreement with his father's wishes. Quality of life was more important than quantity of life and if heroic efforts would leave his father incapacitated or greatly diminished, it would be better to not step and to let nature run its course.
Marty walked back up the hall alone and returned to his father's room. He stood at the edge of the bed and his father looked up at him. "Well, what's the prognosis?"
Marty didn't know exactly what to say but tried to sound chipper, "Don't worry, Dad. We should have you out of here shortly."
Greg looked at him unwaveringly at his son. "What? Feet first?"
Marty chuckled. Dad always loved to joke and even now when faced with this grim situation, he could still find something humorous to say. Now what could Marty say? His Dad knew the score and what was the point of mincing words? We're not fooling anybody at this point! Marty briefly retold the state of affairs as per the doctor's assessment.
"I thought as much," his Dad said. Marty continued to stand. Greg turned his head away from Marty and shut his eyes. It was another one of these mini-moments of rest? Greg put his hand up. Marty grasped it and his father squeezed. Marty felt a wave of tenderness for his father. This was it. They both knew it. Marty leaned over and kissed his father on his forehead. Still bent over, keeping his face close to his father, Marty whispered, "I love you, Dad."
Greg's eyes remained shut. "I love you too, son."
Marty stood holding his father's hand for a minute or so, then gently laid it out on the bed. Marty sat down in a chair beside the bed. He would stay. He would keep a vigil until, well, he wasn't exactly sure until when. When exactly does the inevitable happen? Marty looked for something to read and found a couple of magazines on a table in the room.
Over the next several hours, Marty read while his father slept or seemed to sleep fitfully. Once in a while, Greg would mutter something. Marty couldn't quite make out what his Dad was saying but twice, he was certain he said, "I've lived too long." Exactly what that meant, exactly what his father was thinking at those moments, Marty didn't know. It was a curious thing to say.
The nurses came in periodically throughout the afternoon. It was just the normal check of the patient and there wasn't anything to do or anything new to report. Greg was always sleeping if that was in fact what he was doing. Marty wondered about the heart pumping at only 50% efficiency and what that did for the oxygen supply in the body. Did a lack of oxygen affect a person's ability to remain awake? Marty knew a lack of oxygen would cause you to lose consciousness but what would happen if you were on the cusp? What if you weren't really out of oxygen but more lacking oxygen?
At a quarter to five, Marty heard something different in the heart monitor. It had quietly beeped all afternoon around 65 times per minute as Greg's heart attempted to carry on doing its life-long job. Marty was reading a magazine but became aware that the beeps were coming farther apart. He looked up at the monitor and noticed the digital readout said 60. Then it said 59. Then 58, 57, and slowly, the number kept going down.
Marty jumped up and ran to door. Sticking his head out the door, he spoke forcefully at the nurse who only 20 feet away at a monitoring station, "Excuse me. Nurse? I believe we have a problem. Would you please come here?"
The nurse immediately came to the room. As Marty turned back from the door, he saw that the heart monitor was now showing 49 beats per minute. Oh crap, this was it! His father is dying. 48. As the doctor said, the heart may at some point just decide to stop beating. 47. Was there anything to do? 46.
"What do you think? Is this it?" said Marty. 45.
The nurse stood on the other side of the bed looking at the overhead monitor. 44. "I'm not sure." 43. "But it would seem so." 42.
Oh shit. 41. This is it. 40. This is the last time he would see his father alive. 39. His last chance to say anything. 38. But now his father probably couldn't hear him. 37. His father probably wasn't even conscious now. 36. A wave of panic came over Marty. 35. His father was dying right in front of him and there was nothing he could do. 34. This was it; this was the moment he had run over in his head a thousand times. 33. Fuck! First Mom and now Dad. 32. God damn it. 31. God fucking damn it. 30. Wait! 29. Don't rush me. 28. This is my last chance. 27.
Marty and the nurse stood there in silence as the monitor dropped: 20, 15, 10, 5 and finally zero. Marty looked from the digital display to the graphic display and saw that the line still showed the jagged parts of the last beats of Dad's heart but they slowly slide off the display on the left hand side leaving just a flat line for the entire width of the graph.
It was over. Marty's father was dead. Did the nurse say something? Marty stood looking at the monitor. He looked down at this father. Was he dead? Is that what a dead person looks like? Now what? Was there anything to do medically? Was there paperwork to fill out and sign? The nurse turned off the heart monitor.
Marty looked up on the wall over the head of the bed. There was a big clock and it now showed 4:50pm. He had called the nurse just five minutes ago when his father was alive and now he's dead. It occurred to Marty that he was moving away from father, not physically but in time. Marty was moving into the future while his father remained in the past.
In looking back at this time, Marty memory was vague about exactly what transpired. The doctor on duty came in to do a perfunctory examination of the body. Did anybody doubt the heart monitor? At some point Marty phoned the funeral home his Dad wanted to deal with and arranged for the body to be picked up. Do they have somebody on duty 24 hours a day to answer the phone? Marty stepped out to eat a sandwich and drink a cup of coffee. He came back to gather up his Dad's things. The nurse reminded Marty of his Dad's Masonic ring and Marty discovered it wouldn't just slide off so he had to soap up his father's finger to get the ring to come off.
At some point the nurse told Marty that the body would be moved from the ICU to the hospital morgue until which time the funeral home came around to pick it up. Marty would think later on how the nurse and others started referring to his father as "the body" and "it". Alive, he was Greg, his father. Dead, he was a body; he was it. Death turns us all into inanimate objects.
Marty was ready to go home. He sat in the chair beside the bed looking at his father. It was the evening and ICU ward had dimmed the lights so Marty was in something of semi-darkness. Marty had a multitude of thoughts spinning around in his head but then again, he sat there blankly staring at "the body", not really thinking about anything. Hmmm, Marty noticed his Dad's eyes were half open. He hadn't noticed that before. Weren't they shut at the moment when the heart monitor showed the beats drop to zero? Had the lids partially opened up later on due to the muscles contracting after death?
Marty had remembered a number of times where a movie showed somebody running their hand over the face of a dead person to shut their eyes. Can you really do this? Marty half stood up and reached over to put his hand on his father's face. It was weird. He would touch his father in life and not think twice about it but now that he was dead, it was different somehow. Was touching death contagious? Do we all find it strange touching a dead body?
Marty remembered an incident when he was teenager. He was out on a date when he drove by a dead rabbit in the middle of the road. His girlfriend demanded that he stop and move the body to the side of the road. Normally he wouldn't think twice about petting a rabbit but then, because the rabbit was dead, he felt it necessary to find a stick of wood to push the body to the side of the road. He just didn't want to touch it. Eck.
Dad's eyes wouldn't close. Marty put his hand on his father's eyelids a second time and tried to shut them. They wouldn't move. He tried again but this time putting more pressure on the lids. They moved a bit but seemed to spring back into their half-open position. What? Why the heck does it look so simple in the movies? Hmph, another case of where the movies are, well, the movies and not reality.
Marty sat down and thought about what he was going to have to do: arrange his father's estate, clean out the house, sell the furniture and the house itself. This was going to be quite the job. He lived a couple of hours away in another city so this was going to necessitate driving back and forth who knows how many times. Probably it would be a better thing to just take some time off. He'd have to deal with Dad's lawyer, visit the banks and see people and businesses during normal working hours Monday through Friday. Nope, he couldn't get all this done just by coming down on the weekends.
Somebody laughed. Marty sat there in the semi-darkness beside his Dad, well, the body of his father and heard somebody laugh out in the hall. It sounded like it was a distance away, not just outside the door of his father's room, possibly at the nurses' station. He could hear the muffled sound of a conversation but couldn't make out any words. The person laughed again. Strange, thought Marty. Life goes on. Yep, a man died here not a couple of hours ago but life goes on. For the nighttime nursing staff, there would be some report saying that the patient in room number five had died and would be transported to the morgue pending arrival of the funeral parlour. The room would be cleaned, disinfected and made ready for the next patient. Life goes on. The staff does their work, goes home, has dinner, watches some TV then heads off to bed with the idea of doing the whole thing all over again tomorrow.
Marty looked at his father. It all seemed so quick. You're born; you live your life then you die. That's it. Was it worth it? Did you do it all? Did you fit it all in? Did you accomplish something worthwhile? Did you accomplish what you wanted or hoped to do? It all seemed so... ephemeral. Yes, that's the word, ephemeral.
Marty was going to miss his father. He realised that now, he was truly alone. He couldn't go home anymore. He couldn't tell Dad or Mom about his successes or his failures. He would have to deal with his own skinned knees. It was odd. He may not have seen his parents all that much, but it was comforting to know that they were out there. All Marty had to do was pick up the phone. Now? It was over. There was no longer any picking up the phone. He couldn't phone home.
Glancing at the clock and seeing nearly 8pm, Marty decided to head out. He'd be spending the next few days at his parents' house, his childhood home. He'd have to give some serious thought as to just what needed to done and how he was going to do it. Somebody at work had warned Marty that it would probably take at least six months to get everything sorted out. At least Marty had an idea of just what he was getting into based on the experiences of somebody who had already done it.
Marty stood up and looked around one last time. Geesh, he had joked with his father when he had said that they would get him out of the hospital shortly. That turned out to be true! He picked up a bag of miscellaneous items and looked at his Dad for a moment. He leaned over and kissed his father on the forehead. Marty stood up, turned and left his father in the past as he went out the door into the future.
2011-10-07
 Site Map - William Quincy Belle |  | Follow me on Twitter  |
Facebook
email blog updates to yourself
Posts
0 comments:
Post a Comment