The Day the Music Died
I got to the hospital at two in the afternoon on a Saturday. My dad had been taken to the hospital the previous night by the rescue squad. I gave persmissom for them to intubate, even though that was against his wishes — I really regret that. Plus he was on hospice, so it didn’t make sense to them. I should have followed the squad car to the hospital that night. I figured this would be another one of his short intubations followed quickly by consciousness and breathing. It would be round no. 5.
No, this was different.
Once again I found him laid in a bed with his mouth agape because of a tube down his trachea. The only thing was he wasn’t sedated. The staff told me this. I thought he was just so exhausted from obvious sleep deprivation, because of the nights he stayed up (I think he was scared to sleep), that he was just catching up. It’s almost impossible to be intubated without sedation. Something was wrong.
The doctor asked, since he was on hospice, would I agree to end of life care? I just wanted that tube out of his throat, as I figure he could breathe on his own, if given a chance.
I did agree, because I figured it couldn’t hurt. My brother gave consent over the phone. I told him “it’s just like the hospice he was getting at home,” so sure he would wake up. To me it just meant they would remove the tube. Which they did. And immediately they shot him up with drugs.
I asked the lady nurse what they were giving him. Morphine and Versed she told me. For pain and anxiety.
He did not rouse. I figured it was the drugs.
I was getting hungry as I hadn’t eaten yet, so I figured I’d go to the cafeteria for a burger, and bring one back for dad. I asked the nurses if I could bring him a meal, you know, for when he wakes up. They looked at each other funny. They didn’t know how to answer my question.
Later I asked the doctor why he was breathing so heavy and raspy. “That’s the death rattle,” he told me. That was not what I wanted to hear.
It shook me.
*****
This was the long sleep before death. I didn’t know anything about that.
His body was giving up.
I still thought there was a chance he would wake up. I patiently waited. I held his hand with tears in my eyes. I don’t want to lose him, I thought. Waiting by the bedside for someone to pass is a hard thing. It’s full of emotion.
It seems like they shot him up with more drugs every hour. By now he was so sedated there was no chance of him waking up. I saw he was sweating so I patted his forehead. I fanned him with a pamphlet. I told the nurses he was hot. They turned down the thermostat. I pulled the blanket away from him. I adjusted the tube around his nose, which was giving him regular air, not oxygen. It was for comfort. The doctor told me that oxygen is a drug that interferes with the dying process.
It’s so sad how often these nurses and doctors see death every day, and how cold and matter of fact they are about dying. I guess they have to be. That leaves all the emotion on the family. They’re not shocked that people die, but we are. They don’t go through denial — they know the signs. But we do.
They assured me that hearing was the last sense to disappear, so he could definitely still hear me. I didn’t know what to say. I told him I loved him. I kept holding and rubbing his hand. His breathing remained constantly gargled.
I had nicotine pouches but I was going out for a smoke about every hour. I had to. They assured me that if something changed they would call me. I wrote my number on the white board.
I did get that burger, even in these circumstances I needed to eat something.
I went to dad’s house to take a shower, as I was smelling bad from the anxiety (I wish they could have gave me some of those drugs :/). I bawled all the way to the house.
Grief was already settling in.
I called my brother. To prepare him for the worst. I think he still didn’t understand. Hours were going by and dad was still in a prolonged sleep. I kind of thought maybe he wouldn’t pass, maybe he’d wake up and we’d go home. I did bring his clothes and phone after all. Doesn’t hurt to hope.
I asked my brother if there was anything he’d like to say to dad, so I held the phone to dad’s ear. I could kind of hear him. “Hey dad its me. I love you. I really hope you pull through this. We all love you. Aw man, shit…”
I’m glad I gave him that opportunity. Dad just needed to be surrounded by love. Looking back I did the right thing: I made sure he got to the hospital so he could get comfort care. The nurses said sometimes people didn’t get to die in peace, they suffered. I don’t know whether dad would have preferred to pass at home. I wish I could have brought Sugar (his dog) to the hospital.
I got the nurse to find the music stations on tv. I scrolled through the classic genres, like 60s 70s 80s and 90s. I couldn’t find the right station. I wanted him to hear songs he liked. I didn’t know what decade of music would evoke the most comfort. I put on American Pie by Don McLean.
I went out for yet another cigarette. When I got back dad was trying to get out of bed.
*****
“Get me out of this bed. Celeste, get me out of this bed!”
Dad was trying to climb over the railing. He was naked as I had taken his gown off earlier (he was a bit responsive because I had asked him if he was hot and he nodded his head yes). He wanted out of the bed.
I tried to pull up a chair. I was scared he was going to fall and I wouldn’t be able to pick him up. I didn’t know how to move the rails.
I went into the hallway to ask for help. “My dad wants to get out of bed,” I said.
A flood of nurses came in. He demanded them to get him out of that bed.
“Your oxygen is very low, you can’t get out of bed,” they told him. He was still asking to get up, so I repeated what they said “dad your oxygen is low!” (Looking back I wish I hadn’t said that). They got him to cooperate. It took a lot of people to adjust him back into bed. They sat him up more comfortably and propped pillows under his arms.
“Ron, Can we get you anything?”
“Water…water, please,” he pleaded softly.
Again funny looks between the employees. Not one brought him any water. This infuriated me.
I told myself that when he woke back up I would give him the melted Mountain Dew and ice in my cafeteria cup. But they administered more drugs (I know he got fentanyl and dilaudid as well). He drifted into another sleep. I was so upset I had to go out for another smoke, even though I just had one. Now the music was all messed up on the tv, it was static. I got a nurse to just put on the news. She gave me body wipes so I could clean his feet, which were so dirty from not showering. A couple days ago I helped him order a special shower chair online.
Who refuses to give water to a dying person?
Hospitals.
I really wish I could have got him out of that bed.
*****
I took the elevator all the way down and walked through the emergency room entrance, as the main entrance was closed at night. It was almost eleven o clock. I was smoking on hospital property. I know it looked bad.
I was almost done with my cigarette, about to throw it in the trash, when my phone rang. It was the nurse. “His heart rate is going up, you better get in here!”
I threw the butt and crushed it with my shoe. I sprinted back to the entrance. I still had to ask the clerks for permission to go upstairs. I must’ve said something urgent really quick. I thought about taking the stairs, but that would’ve been stupid. The elevator seemed to go so slow.
When I got in the room, the nurse was pulling a sheet up close to his neck. “Is that to make him comfortable?” I asked her, innocently. She nodded yes. She went to the other side of the bed by the monitor, which was turned off (they turned it off earlier because they told me watching his numbers drop would be unsettling). I can’t remember if I grabbed his hand. “He looks blue,” I said, and he did. I put my hand up to his mouth to feel if air was coming out. He was very still.
And all of a sudden she stuck a stethoscope to his chest to check for a heartbeat. I heard her tell the other attendant, “he died.”
I took a deep breath. I know this time I reached for his hand under the sheet.
“Oh dad,” I moaned. I love you dad.
*****
“Talk to him, he can hear you,” the nurse told me.
I didn’t know what to say.
I tried to say something in Spanish. “Vola con Los angeles, mi papa precioso” (fly with the angels, my precious father). I think I said it right.
The nurse stayed with me until the chaplain came. She was very nice. She was short, I couldn’t tell if she was Hispanic or aisian, she had a dark brown ponytail. I was telling her things about dad, like how he liked to fish and play guitar, that I know she didn’t need to hear.
She even gave me a hug. “He has to look up to you now,” she said sternly. She meant I did a brave thing by staying with him to the end.
“But I wasn’t here! I went to smoke a cigarette. Im so sorry…” I cried.
“No, you were here! He waited for you,” she assured me. I hoped she was right.
I just wanted him to have nice music and to hold his hand when he passed. I felt like I messed up.
I grabbed his hand, even though it was getting lukewarm. He was still here, even though he wasn’t. I knew he went someplace better.
I told the chaplain that. “You’re a woman of faith, aren’t you?” He had an accent. His name was Saul.
“Kind of.” He assumed my father was a man of faith. I told him he was not. It didn’t matter to me. I still knew he was in a better place. I cried while he prayed for me and dad. God bless that man and the work he does.
The nurses got me another cup of coffee, the third one, but brought me a water and graham crackers too as they said I needed to eat and stay hydrated. “You can’t live off coffee.” That was nice. I still have the advent health water bottle in dad’s car.
I wish I had stayed longer with his body in that dark room, just stayed and cried till they took him away. I couldn’t. My sad body just wanted another puff. The last thing I said to him was “I know you’re not in there anymore.”
And I can swear I heard in my head: “I’m right here, Celeste.”
Por siempre en mi corazon: In my heart forever.
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