The End of the Circle of Life

My heart goes out to a family we've never met - but then again, we have met, in a way.

Monday, my spouse called 911 because something was going on with his heart. (To reassure my readers: there is a problem, but it is treatable, and hopefully he will be getting out of the hospital today).

This hospital's ER is cramped and the people there work hard (and give good care) but everyone is on top of each other, almost literally.  The day we were there, so many people were coming in that there were people waiting in the hallways, on cots.

We were one of the lucky ones - we had an actual room, which was shared with another bed.

When my spouse arrived in the ambulance, he was wheeled into a room and the other bed in the room (separated from us only by a curtain) already had a patient.  Several minutes later, the other person was told "we have to move you somewhere else - a critical is coming in."  They moved him and shortly, the "critical" was moved into the other bed.

 I got a glimpse of the man's face as he was wheeled into our common entrance before the curtain cut off my sight. 

"Critical" was an understatement.  ER people rushed in. I heard talk of "crash cart" and "epipen" as they began work.   A man  called out names of what they should do.   It was obvious that the patient was dying.

They didn't save him.

I heard some more information as the team got ready to leave the area.  Then, several minutes later I heard crying as the family arrived. Not even three feet from us, this grieving family was grieving in as much privacy as the ER setting could allow.  We were unwilling spectators to their pain.  A hospital chaplain arrived and prayed with them.  The family shared some personal details and the chaplain offered comfort.

One of the family members said, more than once, "It's the circle of life."

There was no where to go to give them space because the small hallway was jammed with equipment and people waiting their turn in the hallway.  We were separated only by that curtain.  And, there was my spouse, leads on his chest, an IV in his arm.  He couldn't leave even if he wanted to.

I saw this man's obituary in the paper this morning. He lived in a small town in our county and I know three people who live there.  It's a small world sometimes.

Through my various ER visits due to my late mother in law, I'd become somewhat accustomed to them, and I admire the people who work in them, day after day (or night after night).

But sometimes...one could wish the system was different.



Wordless Wednesday should return next week.