A Letter (P2)

Several minutes passed and Anna, Marco and I were sitting alone. Cathy and Paul had gone back outside, I think to smoke. We finally heard footsteps heading our way, it was the doctor. He explained that you were stable and intubated. You were unconscious and they were doing what they could at this time. They led Anna and I through the doors. Marco stayed behind in the waiting room. He’s good about those things. Sometimes he just knows what’s best.

As I walked down the hall I recognized some doctors from work but I tried to stay focused, following the nurse to your room. When I see you, your chest is rising a falling rapidly due to the ventilator. You looked really uncomfortable with all the tubes and IV’s running everywhere. I followed Anna and watched her grab your hand. I put my hand on your leg and immediately felt an overwhelming sense of loss and sadness. You didn’t want this, all these machines and tubes down your throat. You needed to be in your own bed, comfy and cozy under one of your quilts. Anna looked up at me more concerned with my tears. She’s definitely the big sister. We stood there talking to you for a little while cheering you on, hoping for the best. Both of us kept saying, “You can do it dad… we’re here… it will be ok.”

At one point, Anna starting singing one of your songs and I tearfully joined in. I swear we are the only people I know, other than your students, who know random American folks songs written a zillion years ago. We sang a few of our favorite road trip songs from when we were little, “Val-deri, Val-dera” and “Roll on Columbia.” I can’t remember if we got to “Battle of New Orleans” but I hope we did. The nurse walked around us doing her thing, giving you more medicine, adjusting your tubes, changing your linens, as we went on. I hope you heard us, our voices singing familiar tunes you taught us so long ago.

Once the nurse had you all settled I gave her a brief overview of your medical history. Anna continued to talk to you as I rattled off the list of your issues and medications. I was proud of how much I could remember. Anna even pitched in a couple times knowing a little more about some things, which I was grateful for. I hope you were listening. I think we did a good job.

At about 0100 you were stable so Anna decided to head home. I let her talk to you for a moment. I could hear her whisper “I love you” in your ear. She came over and gave me a hug. I told her I would stay in touch. “I’ll try to connect with Emily,” Anna said before she left. We had been able to contact Mom and our brother earlier. I thanked her as she walked away. I was at the side of the bed holding your hand. I went back and forth between holding your hand and rubbing your feet. Your head was hot and your feet were freezing. I thought that if I rubbed your feet and warmed them up, your fever might go down. I tickled your feet, hoping that might wake you up. I was pulling at straws hoping for something. I was desperate and wanted to save you. As I held your hand I cheered you on, I told you I loved you and it would be alright. I was there with you and you weren’t alone.

There was one moment where you squeezed my hand. It was for a second, but I like to think you could hear me and knew I was there. You never wanted me to worry. You were always more concerned about me and my comfort over your own. You never wanted to show me you were scared. I don’t think you let anyone feel sorry for you, which I admired but didn’t fully understand. I think you’d still be here with me if you would have just let us in, if you would have just made the effort.

It was about 0300 and you seemed to be perking up. I even heard the doctor say you were looking better. Your vitals were looking good. I heard a little voice in my head telling me it was okay to go. Marco walked in and grabbed your other hand. We stood there with you for a little longer. I didn’t want to leave you alone, but I knew that all of us needed sleep. I kissed your forehead, said “I love you” one more time and stood there for a moment before leaving. I took one more look at you before walking away hoping you would be alright. Once home, I climbed into bed. I was almost asleep when the phone rang.

“Hi is this Morgan?” It was the doctor.

“Yes.” I said.

“Your dad is not doing well and he’s not responding to our interventions anymore. We could do CPR but I'm not sure it would help, I need to know what you want to do.” The doctor was rushed. I could hear the controlled panic in his voice.

I paused, stunned at the quick change of events my voice caught in my throat. Was I ready to make this decision? Did I know what to do? So many thoughts rushed through my head. I had prepared so many other people for this moment in their lives, but you're never really prepared. It was the most surreal second of my life.

“Why don’t you think CPR will help?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.

“Your father is septic. All of his body systems are failing. His kidneys are failing, his oxygen levels are dropping quickly, CPR won’t necessarily prevent these things from happening and the outcome is not good. I know this is a hard decision for you, but I need to know what your answer is.” The doctor was yelling things to his nurses intermittently while waiting for my decision

“So you don’t think CPR would save his life? It would be futile?” I was stalling.

“Yes, I think CPR would be futile.”

I was quiet for what seemed like forever, but it was probably seconds. I could hear the hurriedness in the doctor’s voice. I appreciated his forwardness, I appreciated him giving orders to those trying to help you. You could tell they were trying to save you, but they were failing. I knew you didn’t want to be here anymore. You had been waiting for us to leave. You didn’t want us to have to see any of it. I know you didn’t want that breathing tube in your body. You wouldn’t want a doctor pounding on your chest, breaking your frail body. You didn’t want to go that way. And what if you did survive it? Would you be able to walk? Would you be able to breathe on your own? Would you be happy to still be alive? I think you wanted to die and you had been preparing for this, but I’m your daughter and I didn’t want to be the one to say no. I didn’t want to be the one to make the decision that would end your life. But here I was, listening to the plea of the doctor to let you die in peace with dignity. My heart was unsure. The part of me that wanted to try everything, to keep you around, was persuading me to say yes. But then I remembered everything you said to me about this moment, so I repeated what you said you wanted.

“Just make him comfortable.” My voice cracked and I felt my stomach drop.

“I will make sure he’s comfortable, thank you Morgan.”

There was silence. The doctor hung up. Marco was in the room, his hand on my leg. I laid back down, feeling my heart crumble as I sobbed into my pillow.