Persy's appetite

Persy's appeitite
by WordVoyeur, 14 minutes, 33s ago
Literature / Characters & Settings / Contemporary / Profiles
I could overhear the doctor as I stood in the hallway. Right outside the room. He said what I had heard time and time again.

"I'm sorry Mrs. Whitaker, your husband is very sick. The cancer has spread. He only has a few days left. There is nothing more we can do, but keep him comfortable."

Then the sobbing began, and the unseen wife falls into a family members arms, or a chair, or the floor.

Always the same routine. I'm sorry, nothing can be done, crying, collapse.

I didn't even know Mr. Whitaker had come in. He only came to the unit occasionally for chemo.

Another meal to be had.

It was coming on 2 am, and the floor was quiet. I continued on my way down the hallway charts in hand. Past room 509. Mrs. Whitaker, with eyes red from tears is escorted into the elevator by family .I wish her a good evening, offering a small smile of empathy, although she barely registers me I have spoken to here.

The other nurse on the floor is working hard charting on the earlier code and will be until a call light goes off. I am eager for my next meal, so I head into Mr. Whitaker's room. It's easier when you work the nights shift.

Quietly I close the door and look at the man. He is on a ventilator, his skin is pale and sunken. The I.V. machine rhythmically drips Propafol to keep him sedated. The vent wheezes in and out and other than that the room is quiet. Flower and balloons clutter the room shouting "get better" and "hang in there" , and I smirk at the absurdity of the messages. The smell of death is thick, and calls me like an old friend to Mr. Whitakers bedside.

I turn off the lights, so only a glow by the door from the lights in the hallway light the room. Lights indicating the machines are working blink in a constant expectant manner.

"What kind of a man are you Jim? ............................" Only the machines respond with beeps and whirrls.

I bump up the Propafol dose for an immediate bolus. One should be the most comfortable they can be when I take them.

"Kind? Caring? A family man perhaps? Or an alcoholic? A swindler?" I pace slowly around the bed to the window, closing the blinds. I sit next to him in the bed. My hip brushing his side. I sense his fear, under all that medication and I lean in over him. I brush hair away from his face, and look at the dying man, taking in the moment. He stirs for only a second as I disconnect the ventilator from his breathing tube.

"Another chance at life perhaps?" I whisper into his ear.
I toss the tubing to the side, and it falls to the ground, beeping furiously at me.

The call light on the wall above the bed lights up and a voice comes through the intercom.

" Persy, the alarms are ringing, do you need me to help?"

"No Sal, he has a mucous plug, we are ok" I respond, turning the intercom off.

I perch on the bed, and place on leg on each side of Mr. Whitaker, and kneel, straddling the patient.

He doesn't stir, the Propafol is working.

I lean into Jim Whitaker and place my face directly in front of his, only inches away. I feel his body try to breath.

Slowly I close my eyes and open my mouth and inhale the whole of his disease into me through his parted lips, cracked and pale. His cancer is strong. It sits in his liver, and some in his bones. His lungs are overwhelmed by it's tenacity. I taste blood and decay, black cells, filled with wrongness. Finally after what seems to be I taste life again, bitter at first, then fresh like a spring day.

I let go and cough hard and constant into my sleeve, trying to muffle the noise. I see blood on the previously pristine sleeve, and shake my head at the stain. Oh well.

I remove myself from the top of the elderly man, and re-connect him to the ventilator. His blankets smoothed and in place. Although the flowers have died, the room is pristine. In 4 weeks this man will be cancer free.

Mr. Whitaker shifts again.

Oh, no Mr. Whitaker................Thank you. It's been a pleasure. I smile and leave the room, satiated and ready for shift change.