Throw back Thursday

IMG_3896.JPG

If I knew then, what I know now…

I would hug them more. For longer. Squeeze harder.

I would listen more and react less.

I would be sillier and goofier with them and pay less attention to the thoughts of others.

I would cave in more often when they would ask for “one more” bedtime story or book to read or batting practice pitch thrown.

I would write and share with them just how beautiful they are.

Faces and Futility

The patient, previously a John Doe, is now known. Family now present, when before there was none. A spouse, siblings, and young kids all around. Despite seventy-two hours in the ICU, his lungs have failed, his heart has failed, his liver has failed, his kidneys have failed. Too unstable for dialysis, his potassium level climbs higher and higher, despite attempts to slow down and mitigate its lethal effectCardiac arrest is no longer an “if” but a “when”, having reached medical futility.

Kids at the bedside, so young. Unaware. Watching. The face of their dad distorted by tubes in his mouth, IV tubing tugging on his neck, eyes yellow from jaundice, skin all swollen and puffy from edema. Family tension between his siblings and his wife percolates, as his heartbeat becomes more erratic and slow.

In the hallway outside his room, I have a hurried discussion with his wife. She is overwhelmed. Burdened by feelings of guilt competing with anger. Her sadness and despair are palpable. Their last words, their last fight, was days ago, before he was found in a locked motel room, with alcohol around him. Inside him. Poisoning him.

His heart stops while we are talking. We go into his room.

Kids at the bedside, so young. Unaware. Watching. The face of their dad distorted by tubes in his mouth, IV tubing tugging on his neck, eyes yellow from jaundice, skin all swollen and puffy from edema. His heartbeat no longer erratic and slow, because it is no longer beating. This outcome was already determined hours ago.

Compressions will not lower his potassium. IV’s have been pouring adrenaline non-stop into his heart and veins. All to no avail.

I tell the wife to hold his hand and say goodbye. We are not doing compressions. She does not argue.

Is it assent or consent? Medical futility? All of the above?

She holds his hand. She yells. She cries.

Kids at the bedside, so young. Unaware. Watching.

Years pass. I no longer see his face, distorted by tubes in his mouth, IV tubing tugging on his neck, eyes yellow from jaundice, skin all swollen and puffy from edema.

I still see their faces. The kids. They have not left me. I doubt they ever will.