Intensive Care

Photo: Gary S. Chapman

She was a get-to-the-point kind of conversationalist, who shied away from talk of the weather. Choosing to stay silent, she focused on the task at hand. The body that lay in the bed.  She preferred mastering her craft at night without the constant expectant eyes of a family member dripping with worry, fretting over inconsequential alarms. Fools, really. Unaware of the inevitable finale that lay ahead. The insurmountable climb out of a pit that they would suffer alone. 

She screamed inside, keeping her patient alive, waiting for a family member to say goodbye. She wanted to let them go, because she knew they were ready. A feeling only years of witnessing the inevitable struggle between life and death brought about. But their loved ones never listened, never wanted to give more pain meds, never wanted to let them go, never saw the situation from the perspective of the body in the bed.

Everyone said she had a lovely bedside manner. Everyone said she was so empathetic, born to be a nurse, had the right heart for the job – the greatest of imposters.