Pronounced - Feb 17 2023

 

Pronounced

Feb 17 2023

The time of death pronounced.

The alarm muted

leads removed

O2 disconnected.

Although for now

the breathing tube remained.

The crash cart was wheeled away

and the responders filtered out,

chatting amiably

as they returned to their regular duties

from another Code Blue.

A cleaner came.

Two nurses stayed,

to prepare the body

complete the paperwork.

What I found so touching

was the care they took.

How gently they turned her.

How respectful they were;

washing the body,

fixing her hair,

straightening her hands

    —  which were clenched, and already stiffening.

The effort they made

to restore her privacy,

replacing the gown

remaking the bed

snugging the sheets

up under her chin.

So when her husband came

after they called him with the news

his last view of her

would remind him how she lived.

So he would be protected

from the violence of her death.

The messy hospital room,

dried blood

staining the bed,

broken ribs and swollen neck.

From the indignity

of resuscitation

    —   the rare successes,

the failed attempts.

All the nurses knew him.

He visited every day;

brought flowers

sat for hours

never complained.

He is sitting there now,

at her bedside

and speaking to his wife;

conversing

as if she answered him,

stroking her hair

with a tentative hand.

And even though needy patients

were waiting for rooms,

no one could bear

to interrupt his grieving

and coax him from her side.

Even when

after awhile

one of the nurses returned,

clearing her throat

so as not to surprise him.

She bent close

placed a hand on his shoulder

and whispered some words in his ear.

Then straightened and left,

gently closing the door behind her.

I'm a little self-conscious about finding myself on the subject of death once again. But so it goes. A morbid personality!

I think this was inspired by an excellent movie I recently saw (Netflix has it) called The Good Nurse. More that than from real life!