Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Saturday, August 08, 2009
The Baseball Game
I’m not sure I’ve seen blood that red before. Of all that should’ve shocked me about his appearance, my eyes were fixated on the crimson tube. It connected the sloppy bag of blood hanging near his bed to some deep vein in his arm. I couldn’t look at where the end of tube and were it was inserted, I just stared at the excess plastic filled with that deep red, scary blood.
It brought the whole situation to color - an ugly, overbearing red.
They warned me that his state of existence was not good, still, I insisted on seeing him. Just a month earlier, he had been admitted for a failing liver. He was moved to a larger hospital then a larger one. They moved him back to the second hospital a week before my visit and hope to move him back to his home hospital soon. When he left the largest hospital, he was embarking on a journey to the end. He was dying.
When I arrived at the hospital, he was taking a bath so we waited outside. Our casual conversation seemed grossly inappropriate to the fight for life going on in the next room. The nurse finished and allowed us to come in. She left the door open and the first site of him stopped me. He looked familiar, but was it really him? I couldn’t move my feet, I just wanted to stare from afar. I regretted coming without even walking in the door. I wanted to walk past his door, find the exit and go back to my nice comfortable life. I didn’t want to realize what I needed to realize. I wanted to forget I saw him like this and just remember him as jolly with plenty of high-fives to spare.
I was introduced as I was still outside the room and before I could run.
“And you remember Heather?”
“Nooooooooooo” he said jokingly.
Humor is comforting like that. I could do this if he still had his humor, I thought as I took those steps into his room. I believe he used it at that moment to reassure me of my presence.
Most of what he said was incoherent. We asked him about the lunch menu and he talk about a dinner for 20 people. The doctor asked him where he was and he said the loading docks of the university. Much, none of us could understand. We just nodded our heads, saying “yeah” and hoping he wouldn’t see through our fake comprehension.
It’s not easy thing to do, watch you someone you love die. It’s hard to find the right words to say or to say anything at all. I mostly listened as the others spoke to him, searching for one ounce of the real him. I wanted to find him beyond the hospital bed and the scary bag of blood. So we resorted to the one topic that is perfectly acceptable to discuss on one’s deathbed: baseball.
We told him that his team – the Yankees – was in first place. That made him smile. We then asked him if he was going to a baseball game.
“I am going to go to a baseball game and I don’t care what I look like.”
Even if the whole experience shook me, I needed to hear him say that. It reminded me of who he was and it destroyed the image of what he’s become. His story is not a happy one. It shattered my optimism that life ends well and wonder if evil won this one. But at the end of his life, if his love for something so simple is still pure, then I can accept the situation. And honestly believe that good will, and will always, prevail.
That was the last time I saw him. For now, he’s at the grandest of baseball games.
It brought the whole situation to color - an ugly, overbearing red.
They warned me that his state of existence was not good, still, I insisted on seeing him. Just a month earlier, he had been admitted for a failing liver. He was moved to a larger hospital then a larger one. They moved him back to the second hospital a week before my visit and hope to move him back to his home hospital soon. When he left the largest hospital, he was embarking on a journey to the end. He was dying.
When I arrived at the hospital, he was taking a bath so we waited outside. Our casual conversation seemed grossly inappropriate to the fight for life going on in the next room. The nurse finished and allowed us to come in. She left the door open and the first site of him stopped me. He looked familiar, but was it really him? I couldn’t move my feet, I just wanted to stare from afar. I regretted coming without even walking in the door. I wanted to walk past his door, find the exit and go back to my nice comfortable life. I didn’t want to realize what I needed to realize. I wanted to forget I saw him like this and just remember him as jolly with plenty of high-fives to spare.
I was introduced as I was still outside the room and before I could run.
“And you remember Heather?”
“Nooooooooooo” he said jokingly.
Humor is comforting like that. I could do this if he still had his humor, I thought as I took those steps into his room. I believe he used it at that moment to reassure me of my presence.
Most of what he said was incoherent. We asked him about the lunch menu and he talk about a dinner for 20 people. The doctor asked him where he was and he said the loading docks of the university. Much, none of us could understand. We just nodded our heads, saying “yeah” and hoping he wouldn’t see through our fake comprehension.
It’s not easy thing to do, watch you someone you love die. It’s hard to find the right words to say or to say anything at all. I mostly listened as the others spoke to him, searching for one ounce of the real him. I wanted to find him beyond the hospital bed and the scary bag of blood. So we resorted to the one topic that is perfectly acceptable to discuss on one’s deathbed: baseball.
We told him that his team – the Yankees – was in first place. That made him smile. We then asked him if he was going to a baseball game.
“I am going to go to a baseball game and I don’t care what I look like.”
Even if the whole experience shook me, I needed to hear him say that. It reminded me of who he was and it destroyed the image of what he’s become. His story is not a happy one. It shattered my optimism that life ends well and wonder if evil won this one. But at the end of his life, if his love for something so simple is still pure, then I can accept the situation. And honestly believe that good will, and will always, prevail.
That was the last time I saw him. For now, he’s at the grandest of baseball games.
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