20160808 (fifteenth)

Fifteen years ago today a blood

Clot in Jean’s body lodged

In her brain and stopped her 

Pulse. She ceased breathing. 

Her ear fell away from my lips 

Where I had just whispered,

“I love you,” and she had

Responded “I love you too.”

I yelled for a nurse who took

Her from my arms and drove

Her gurney into the O-R as 

She shouted, “Call a code!”

Another nurse emerged and 

Told me to wait where I was--

Not to come inside. I went to 

The nearest phone and called

Andy to tell him the code was

For Jean, that she had collapsed

In the hallway outside of the 

Nuclear medicine OR. He 

Spoke with me only a second 

To find out where they had

Taken her. Minutes later he

Came out to join me, but his

Leaning against the wall did

Not hold him. His back slid

Down the glossy beige of the

Hallway, till he sat on the 

Terrazzo, elbows on his knees,

Hands bracing his forehead.

I did not know until much 

Later exactly what he saw

Entering the operating room.

The crash cart having proven

Ineffective stood abandoned

Off to the side. The surgeons

Had by then cut her chest open

And were feverishly massaging

Her heart to keep the blood 

Moving through whatever

Portion of her brain could 

Still allow the flow. After 

A half hour they had gotten 

Her heart to react to a stimulus

Somewhat like a pacemaker

Except stronger. They told us 

She would be moved to the 

ICU where we could see her

In about an hour. In my life 

I have seen two people who

Have undergone heart surgery:

My mom, in the spring of ’59

Had a calcified valve repaired,

And Jean, who was brought

Back to mechanical life, either

Because we had overlooked 

Her “Do Not Resuscitate 

Order,” or because she was 

In a major teaching hospital

Where medical students needed

To learn about code. In either 

Case they looked like hell: my

Mom, still dressed in bloodied

Garments, tubes everywhere;

Jean was by far neater but a 

Breathing apparatus entered

Her trachea, this time wires

Everywhere. Because she 

No longer produced tears 

A protective paste lay over

Her unseeing eyes. Family

Trucked through on the ninth

The day we met with the most

Qualified neurologist they had

To decide that disconnecting

The supports was not only

Wise, cost effective, but merciful

As the ventilator's air, artificially

Dry, was desiccating her lungs

And (if she could have felt it)

Painfully destroying the tissues.

Removal of all support was 

Scheduled for the tenth at

Five PM. Each of us was given

Some time to sit with her body.

Again, only much later, did 

I learn that Andy had come in

Earlier than the rest of us.

Dressed in his performance

Tuxedo (hospital slippers 

Stretched over the shiny black

Shoes), he had received permission

To give his bass concert at Jean’s

Bedside--an hour of somber,

Hauntingly eternal music--

Accompanied only by

The sobbing of the staff.

c. J.S.Manista, 2016