Post by account_disabled on Dec 20, 2023 1:03:30 GMT -5
He had said goodbye to his father in hospital the evening before, and the next day they had found him in the corridor covered with a sheet. They had lied to him on the phone, saying that he had gotten worse, but perhaps it was part of the hospital's bureaucratic process. He left the house with his head full of turbulent thoughts and questions. And now he entered the ward like a condemned man taking the last steps before presenting himself to the executioner. His mind was blank. He approached the stretcher slowly, as if he were afraid of disturbing that sleep without awakening. “I'm sorry,” the nurse said, but she didn't even hear her. He moved the sheet aside.
Her face was serene, no longer in pain. She caressed his cheek and, one by one, closed her half-open eyelids. He remembered when his father fretted, annoyed by the respirator stuck in his mouth. He was Special Data gesturing as if seeking help. «Shall I call you the nurse?», He had asked him. The father nodded and he went to call the woman. Maybe she was a doctor. She came quickly, stroked her father's head and spoke softly to him. She then took off his respirator, but not his oxygen mask. Next to the bed was a monitor that showed heart activity, digits and terms flashing that he didn't understand. All he saw was all those red alerts and sounds telling him that he wasn't doing well at all.
Now that monitor would monitor someone else's life, inside the intensive care room. His father no longer needed it. After a few minutes he covered his face with the sheet again and went out. She was waiting for the doctor on duty to ask for information on the death certificate. He leaned against the wall, in the same place where, a few minutes earlier, the dismounting doctor saw him and approached him. He didn't have a lab coat, she smiled at him and told him that soon he would be able to see his father, who was looking after him. In reality his father had already been dead for a quarter of an hour. A few minutes later, another doctor who had come on duty that morning told him. The news left him feeling like an idiot. "The other doctor said they were taking care of him," he said, as if to make the other doctor understand that he had been wrong.
Her face was serene, no longer in pain. She caressed his cheek and, one by one, closed her half-open eyelids. He remembered when his father fretted, annoyed by the respirator stuck in his mouth. He was Special Data gesturing as if seeking help. «Shall I call you the nurse?», He had asked him. The father nodded and he went to call the woman. Maybe she was a doctor. She came quickly, stroked her father's head and spoke softly to him. She then took off his respirator, but not his oxygen mask. Next to the bed was a monitor that showed heart activity, digits and terms flashing that he didn't understand. All he saw was all those red alerts and sounds telling him that he wasn't doing well at all.
Now that monitor would monitor someone else's life, inside the intensive care room. His father no longer needed it. After a few minutes he covered his face with the sheet again and went out. She was waiting for the doctor on duty to ask for information on the death certificate. He leaned against the wall, in the same place where, a few minutes earlier, the dismounting doctor saw him and approached him. He didn't have a lab coat, she smiled at him and told him that soon he would be able to see his father, who was looking after him. In reality his father had already been dead for a quarter of an hour. A few minutes later, another doctor who had come on duty that morning told him. The news left him feeling like an idiot. "The other doctor said they were taking care of him," he said, as if to make the other doctor understand that he had been wrong.