H78
01-21-2009, 03:54 PM
I'm bored at work and felt like writing something, so I wrote this little ditty today. Hope some of ya'll like it! :tiphat:
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The Patient
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“About 15 minutes, maybe less. She can still hear you,” nurse Ricconi said to my husband as she moved into the corridor.
Looking back, those were the words that changed my life. When you can track your life down to minutes, your memories suddenly feel timeless and your past congeals into one great story; a story turned onto its last page. Yet, despite all of the many twists and turns that the lengthy story of your life has, it’s often the last page that contains the biggest surprise.
“Honey, can you hear me? Can you nod for me if you can hear this? Sweetheart?” Jacob asked.
Though I would have loved to oblige, just to create one last feeling of connection between the two of us, I could only bring myself to smile.
“That’s fantastic, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Listen, I love you. There isn’t a day I would give back that we’ve had together. You’re my world. You always will be.”
Jacob always loved my light-brown eyes - “hazelnut,” as he would call them. He often said if my beauty could be equated to any taste, it would be that of our café’s prized, dark roast espresso on a warm, sun-bleached summer morning. I knew, regardless the struggle, if there was one thing worth trying to open my eyes for, it was Jacob.
“That’s lovely, sweetheart. My hazelnut,” he said, smiling with one half of his mouth.
As I glanced up into his dark eyes, Nurse Ricconi reentered the room, a syringe in one hand and the transparent vial in the other. How bizarre it’s been, I thought, to have an Italian nurse working for an Oregonian health system. Perhaps she’d always had a desire, beginning at an early age, to work at such a facility. Regardless of my mind’s nuances, her two objects in hand meant my pain will have soon run its course, though at the expense of my life.
“Mrs. Pelletier, we offer a final option for our patients to opt out of this procedure. Upon injection, your breathing will slow and eventually stop. You will feel no pain, other than that caused by your illness. Once you’ve reached an inactive state, your virus will no longer be of pain to you. Would you like to proceed?” Nurse Ricconi asked.
Still unable to nod, I gave Nurse Ricconi the same sign of approval that I gave my husband - my eyes and my smile. I had little fear in approving of my death. I knew the only thing awaiting me beyond the white sheets and wooden box was my Savior. He’d make death merely a waiting period before my inevitable reunion with Jacob.
“She looked at me and smiled, which is her way of saying ‘Yes’,” Jacob told the nurse.
Nurse Ricconi looked away from my husband and down at me with regret in her eyes - an understandable precursor to ending another person’s life. My husband bent down, kissed me on the forehead, and smiled.
“I love you, dear,” he said.
Nurse Ricconi fell out of my field of vision for a few moments, only to quickly stand back up seconds later.
“It’s done.”
My eyes began to feel heavy and my lungs began to tingle. I could feel my breaths, then my heart begin to slow down. My body was at ease, but my mind was not.
“Is she gone?” Jacob asked.
“She will be soon,” Nurse Ricconi replied. “It’s done, there’s nothing else to be worried about.”
“Her eyes are closed, but I want to make sure she’s gone. I can’t move on without knowing,” Jacob said.
“She's physically without pain, Jake, and any other pain she feels will soon be gone as well,” Nurse Ricconi said.
I waited for light, but only darkness remained.
“She's not breathing anymore,” Jacob said. "To a new life, Abrielle."
============
The Patient
============
“About 15 minutes, maybe less. She can still hear you,” nurse Ricconi said to my husband as she moved into the corridor.
Looking back, those were the words that changed my life. When you can track your life down to minutes, your memories suddenly feel timeless and your past congeals into one great story; a story turned onto its last page. Yet, despite all of the many twists and turns that the lengthy story of your life has, it’s often the last page that contains the biggest surprise.
“Honey, can you hear me? Can you nod for me if you can hear this? Sweetheart?” Jacob asked.
Though I would have loved to oblige, just to create one last feeling of connection between the two of us, I could only bring myself to smile.
“That’s fantastic, sweetheart,” he whispered. “Listen, I love you. There isn’t a day I would give back that we’ve had together. You’re my world. You always will be.”
Jacob always loved my light-brown eyes - “hazelnut,” as he would call them. He often said if my beauty could be equated to any taste, it would be that of our café’s prized, dark roast espresso on a warm, sun-bleached summer morning. I knew, regardless the struggle, if there was one thing worth trying to open my eyes for, it was Jacob.
“That’s lovely, sweetheart. My hazelnut,” he said, smiling with one half of his mouth.
As I glanced up into his dark eyes, Nurse Ricconi reentered the room, a syringe in one hand and the transparent vial in the other. How bizarre it’s been, I thought, to have an Italian nurse working for an Oregonian health system. Perhaps she’d always had a desire, beginning at an early age, to work at such a facility. Regardless of my mind’s nuances, her two objects in hand meant my pain will have soon run its course, though at the expense of my life.
“Mrs. Pelletier, we offer a final option for our patients to opt out of this procedure. Upon injection, your breathing will slow and eventually stop. You will feel no pain, other than that caused by your illness. Once you’ve reached an inactive state, your virus will no longer be of pain to you. Would you like to proceed?” Nurse Ricconi asked.
Still unable to nod, I gave Nurse Ricconi the same sign of approval that I gave my husband - my eyes and my smile. I had little fear in approving of my death. I knew the only thing awaiting me beyond the white sheets and wooden box was my Savior. He’d make death merely a waiting period before my inevitable reunion with Jacob.
“She looked at me and smiled, which is her way of saying ‘Yes’,” Jacob told the nurse.
Nurse Ricconi looked away from my husband and down at me with regret in her eyes - an understandable precursor to ending another person’s life. My husband bent down, kissed me on the forehead, and smiled.
“I love you, dear,” he said.
Nurse Ricconi fell out of my field of vision for a few moments, only to quickly stand back up seconds later.
“It’s done.”
My eyes began to feel heavy and my lungs began to tingle. I could feel my breaths, then my heart begin to slow down. My body was at ease, but my mind was not.
“Is she gone?” Jacob asked.
“She will be soon,” Nurse Ricconi replied. “It’s done, there’s nothing else to be worried about.”
“Her eyes are closed, but I want to make sure she’s gone. I can’t move on without knowing,” Jacob said.
“She's physically without pain, Jake, and any other pain she feels will soon be gone as well,” Nurse Ricconi said.
I waited for light, but only darkness remained.
“She's not breathing anymore,” Jacob said. "To a new life, Abrielle."