It’s been a long night
tears of tiredness, tension maybe grief roll from my eyes and stop…
I’m too tired for that.
My Dad died last night.
And then he rose again,
not on the third day but on the second resuscitation
“So it’s no intubation right?”
Careful no eye contact, don’t want there to be any warmth here where happy stories are few and broken hearts are many,
but the coffee’s weak and free, hopeful. “Maam step outside.”
Earlier: “He thinks he has pneumonia”
“No maam, it’s just the fluid on his lungs”
“He’s not right, his skin feels clammy”
“That’s probably just because it’s warm in here”
unseeing bloodstained eyes fixed on the ceiling.
“Sir can you hear me?”
Code blue in room 111