his urine output and thereby reduce the excess fluid load on his heart and lungs.
“I’m sorry it’s taking so long,” he whispered.
What, to die? He’s sorry it’s taking so long?
“I’m ready,” he said, gasping for air. “It’s my time.”
I knew he had decided on no more treatment, but I had to make him more comfortable. I gave him a small injection of morphine and stood beside him waiting. Would the sparrows still come to him in the morning if he were too weak to sing for them, I wondered? That very morning, they had heard his calls and had flown right into his room in the barrack. His wife held his hand and I smoothed his brow and watched his breathing start to ease.
Blessed morphine
, I thought.
“Am I in heaven?” Samuel asked.
Why not let him think so, if that would comfort him? I guess I had learned a thing or two from Hannah by then. I nodded yes. Was it lying? If so, I didn’t care. I bent down and kissed his dear forehead. I had never done something that intimate to a patient before.
I stood there and began to weep, for him, for Shaul, and for all of the patients that we’d lost and were going to lose.
“Nurse Teelda?” Tikva stood at the door. “Come now, please! Mom needs you.”
I hurried out of Samuel’s room and rushed past Yuri’s room where the TV was still on. It was 3:30 a.m. and despite himself, he’d fallen asleep, the remote control still in his hand. Abdullah’s mother watched me. I felt she wanted to help me but didn’t know what to do, so she stayed by her son’s side as if to indicate that she would tend to him if he needed anything and thus lighten my load by at least one patient. For the rest of that night, as I rushed from patient to patient, I felt the weight of each decision I made, of eachaction I took or did not take. Each one held a practical implication, but also a huge moral freight, too. If I ran to hang another unit of blood for Geula, I might not get to Samuel in time to suction him and he would suffer and be afraid. If I stopped to readjust Samuel’s oxygen mask and comfort his wife, Geula’s naso-gastric tube might clot off. Talia was sleeping peacefully, but she was due for medications and they would have to be given late. I kept running as fast as I could in all directions, doing as much as I could.
Tikva was getting frantic. “When will Dr. Ben Cassis be here?” she asked.
“In the morning,” I said. It was almost 5:00. I imagined him in bed lying beside his wife.
“How could God do this to us?” the daughters cried, standing around their mother’s bed. The husband sat in a chair, sobbing. Geula’s breathing was raspy and heavy. They understood that her kidneys had stopped working. They saw the pools of blood all around her. “Do something!” Tikva shouted at me. “Do something!”
It was 6:00 a.m. In an hour everyone would be there. “The doctor is on his way,” I said to them. I looked out the window, scanning the horizon for the sun. The night sky was giving way to a violet sky with streaks of orange that promised that day would come. I looked at the mess I’d made. Empty vials and used syringes were strewn all over the counter. I had thrown a drained bag of blood at a garbage can and missed and I watched the last few drops drip onto the floor.
“You should have called us,” they all said when they arrived, but I could tell I had won their respect for having toughed out the night on my own. Aviva got straight to work tidying up, shaking her head at the disorder. Ben Cassis sat down and started grilling me about each patient. “What did you do then?” he asked. “Next? … What then?” He seemed satisfied with each answer I gave, but kept on going. Hannah went into the tiny on-call room, off of the nurses’ station and left the door open so that she could see and hear everything. She wanted to intervene and tell him to lighten up, but didn’t dare interrupt. Jamilla arrived with her friend Fredja and they
“I’m sorry it’s taking so long,” he whispered.
What, to die? He’s sorry it’s taking so long?
“I’m ready,” he said, gasping for air. “It’s my time.”
I knew he had decided on no more treatment, but I had to make him more comfortable. I gave him a small injection of morphine and stood beside him waiting. Would the sparrows still come to him in the morning if he were too weak to sing for them, I wondered? That very morning, they had heard his calls and had flown right into his room in the barrack. His wife held his hand and I smoothed his brow and watched his breathing start to ease.
Blessed morphine
, I thought.
“Am I in heaven?” Samuel asked.
Why not let him think so, if that would comfort him? I guess I had learned a thing or two from Hannah by then. I nodded yes. Was it lying? If so, I didn’t care. I bent down and kissed his dear forehead. I had never done something that intimate to a patient before.
I stood there and began to weep, for him, for Shaul, and for all of the patients that we’d lost and were going to lose.
“Nurse Teelda?” Tikva stood at the door. “Come now, please! Mom needs you.”
I hurried out of Samuel’s room and rushed past Yuri’s room where the TV was still on. It was 3:30 a.m. and despite himself, he’d fallen asleep, the remote control still in his hand. Abdullah’s mother watched me. I felt she wanted to help me but didn’t know what to do, so she stayed by her son’s side as if to indicate that she would tend to him if he needed anything and thus lighten my load by at least one patient. For the rest of that night, as I rushed from patient to patient, I felt the weight of each decision I made, of eachaction I took or did not take. Each one held a practical implication, but also a huge moral freight, too. If I ran to hang another unit of blood for Geula, I might not get to Samuel in time to suction him and he would suffer and be afraid. If I stopped to readjust Samuel’s oxygen mask and comfort his wife, Geula’s naso-gastric tube might clot off. Talia was sleeping peacefully, but she was due for medications and they would have to be given late. I kept running as fast as I could in all directions, doing as much as I could.
Tikva was getting frantic. “When will Dr. Ben Cassis be here?” she asked.
“In the morning,” I said. It was almost 5:00. I imagined him in bed lying beside his wife.
“How could God do this to us?” the daughters cried, standing around their mother’s bed. The husband sat in a chair, sobbing. Geula’s breathing was raspy and heavy. They understood that her kidneys had stopped working. They saw the pools of blood all around her. “Do something!” Tikva shouted at me. “Do something!”
It was 6:00 a.m. In an hour everyone would be there. “The doctor is on his way,” I said to them. I looked out the window, scanning the horizon for the sun. The night sky was giving way to a violet sky with streaks of orange that promised that day would come. I looked at the mess I’d made. Empty vials and used syringes were strewn all over the counter. I had thrown a drained bag of blood at a garbage can and missed and I watched the last few drops drip onto the floor.
“You should have called us,” they all said when they arrived, but I could tell I had won their respect for having toughed out the night on my own. Aviva got straight to work tidying up, shaking her head at the disorder. Ben Cassis sat down and started grilling me about each patient. “What did you do then?” he asked. “Next? … What then?” He seemed satisfied with each answer I gave, but kept on going. Hannah went into the tiny on-call room, off of the nurses’ station and left the door open so that she could see and hear everything. She wanted to intervene and tell him to lighten up, but didn’t dare interrupt. Jamilla arrived with her friend Fredja and they
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