Never Forget 09/26/07

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want.” Psalm 23, my grandmother’s prayer that she said before every meal and at every family event. The prayer that was read at her funeral, whispered at her gravesite. This prayer I read as he lay dying. I stood by his bed watching him fight for a life that was already gone and all I could think was “please let go, stop fighting.” He was so thin, I had never seen another human being so thin. His ribs jutted through his hospital gown. His hands, skeletal, every bone outlined like some student study chart. He was wasting from AIDS. Wasting Syndrome – The involuntary loss of more than 10 percent of body weight with more than 30 days of diarrhea, weakness, or fever. It is a terrible thing to watch, but he endured it with more dignity and strength then I thought possible. His courage separated him. His warmth and kindness made him a favorite to all of us in the early days, the days when he could still talk and joke around. When I would stop by his room just to hear his pleasant voice, and no matter how small the task I did for him, his gratitude always showed in his eyes. Even when he was so weak that he could no longer make it to his bedside commode, he was always so damn grateful for any little thing we did. Through his embarrassment at dirty diapers and bed baths, that gratitude and courage clung to him.

I got attached, I didn’t meant to, but I knew I would from the first time I met him. I brought cake and ice-cream leftover from a patient’s birthday into his room. It had been a busy morning and I hadn’t had a chance to stop in and say hello. It was towards the end of my shift and I wanted to meet the new guy. It’s always hard going into a room that used to belong to someone else and starting new. I don’t think we said much to each other. I introduced myself and he thanked me for the cake and ice cream, but I remember his kind eyes. I remember wishing that I had stopped by his room earlier in my shift. From then on I made a point to always say hello to him first chance I got.

Now I watch him clinging so hard, fighting for each breath as his death rattle echoes in the hall. I stand by his bed and watch him until my skin screams. I ALMOST run, but his terror filled eyes meet mine. His eyes can barely focus, but I know he sees me and I see how scared he is of dying. For some reason that steadies me, I’m no longer in flight mode. I know I can be there for him, I know I can help him not be so scared.

I get a cool wash cloth and gently wipe his face, allowing his tongue to draw some of the dampness into his mouth before setting it on his hot forehead. I sit by his bed and hold his hand as firmly as I can without causing him pain. I want him to know that someone is beside him.

"You don’t have to fight so hard anymore, don’t be scared. Let go baby, just let go.” I whisper in his ear before leaving. Hoping that I get a chance to see him alive again and praying that I don’t.