exercising my literacy

Claustrophobia.

On Saturday I had to pronounce a guy dead.

Pale as the sheet that already covered his head when I walk in, his family looking more relieved than sad, on the phone, calling relatives, discussing funeral arrangements. And all the time I think, she'll be like this, there'll be some intern pulling out her stethoscope, maybe even a girl I went to primary school with, looking at her pale face, with the nose that I inherited, and she'll feel just as cold, no breath sounds, no heart sounds, pupils fixed and dilated. Check, check, check, time of death this many hours, cause of death this type of cancer, sign here, date there, and off we go.

Where is his soul now? Is it in heaven or hell? I think this as I listen to the sound of nothing on his chest.

In my dinner break I consider where she is now. In a hospital, like me. Alone, like me. Thinking about her death, like me. What else would you be thinking of? I curse myself for the pathetic preoccupations that ever pained me. I curse myself for the things I still do in enjoyment. The guilt. I am well and she is sick. I live my life and she isn't going to soon.

I feel queasy and I can't breathe. I don't want to go there. But I know I have to.

posted by me. @ 9:21 PM