and lines

I watch, not exactly helpless…not exactly heartless, from my perch on the end of her bed as once again she struggles for breath in her sleep. I know it will come, like I know the nurses would if I call them.

The air is dry and cold, my lips are starting to chap, but it has to be this way…bacteria love moist and warm and this, of all places, is a breeding ground a sewage pit would be hard pressed to beat out. It’s quiet aside from her occasional nonsensical murmurings. I keep an ear toward the door; I am aware of every footstep that passes and tense every time someone pauses on the other side.

I wonder how many times she has sat at the end of my bed and watched me sleep over the course of my life. I wonder if someone will watch me sleep when I’m old and sick. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want her to leave me, either.

She struggles for breath again, and my eyes go automatically to the monitor. I’ve learned a lot, I can read all the blips, numbers, lines, and graphs. Her hand moves to her chest as I watch her pulse rate drop into the 50s. Her 02 absorption is in the high 90’s, the blood pressure cuff triggers and I wait for the numbers…they are too high. There is a beep as her pulse drops below 50 and she begins to twitch in her sleep as muscle spasms control her limbs.

I take her hand, breathing deeply, focusing on her…she breaths a long deep breath, her eyes open a moment and I smile for her, even though I know she can no longer see me. She smiles in return…she doesn’t have to be able to see me, she knows. Her body relaxes as her pulse moves back into the mid 60s. The blood pressure cuff goes off again and I watch in silence for the results as she fades back into sleep.

When she wakes up I’ll smile and get her water, as I’ve done my whole life. Only now I’ll hold the glass so a random tremor doesn’t spill it, and I’ll direct the straw into her mouth. We’ll talk for a while about the past and gossip about family and I’ll hold her hand or rub her foot so she knows I’m paying attention. At some point she’ll fade away mid-sentence and I’ll watch the monitor until she wakes again or the pain comes.

We’ve been down this road many times, she likes hospitals and medicine…she likes being the center of attention and good drugs, she always has. Somehow, though, this time is different. The decisions I’m making for her have more weight and tomorrow I’ll make the hardest one I’ve had to…I can only pray it’s the right one and I have no way of knowing until it’s done.

So, for now I’ll hold her hand while she sleeps and watch the monitors and listen just incase a doctor comes by…and pray.