‘Breathe. Pulse strong He’s back. Pheww That was a close one.’ More often than not this ‘close one’ is somebody’s life Usually ‘him being back’ means borrowed time And ‘I’m sorry’ means we tried our best. We offer a seat to the living With a few minutes of silence to accept And a bed to the dead For the departed soul needs rest A pat on the shoulder to the doctor Who did everything he possibly could We applaud the effort Because the result is never ours to fix Here we smile for those going home And sometimes for those whose misery finally ends. While we brave through those days When the death toll goes up to six You see it seems like we play A game of Russian roulette When in reality we stand in the line of fire Or make sure their hand isn’t on the trigger These walls have heard sincere prayers The likes of which the mosque has never heard Time and again we are faced with decisions The can be both right and wrong Turn of the ventilator or to let it stay on Our own hearts race when the flat line appears ‘Gloves on, start compressions ‘ All set 24/7 in our gear ALL CLEAR? ready for shock? No, he’s been down too long Time to declare.
Reads like someone who has been there watching the machines. They save lives, but sometimes can prolong the inevitable. My dad's case, four months.
From my view, being in ICU after surgery to "scrape off chunky junk from my right lung in 2012, I didn't feel much of anything while recovering very fast for about four days. When I started feeling things, I was moved to a regular hospital bed, ready to go home, but detained for another seven or eight days so that the hospital could collect the insurance for keeping me there.
If the surgery had not saved me, and I died, I doubt if I would have felt anything up until they pulled the plug. The drugs are that good… Mostly morphine.
The reality is that some will live, and some will die. Death is a destiny for everyone. If I should die tomorrow, I won't regret it, for I have lived long enough and I will make room for the newcomers to this world.
Corporal Travis dreamed of partnering with a police dog, but Fate handed him a faery and something unexpected instead.. As his normal world spirals into chaos, he is thrust into a centuries-old conflict with stakes higher than he ever imagined.
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From my view, being in ICU after surgery to "scrape off chunky junk from my right lung in 2012, I didn't feel much of anything while recovering very fast for about four days. When I started feeling things, I was moved to a regular hospital bed, ready to go home, but detained for another seven or eight days so that the hospital could collect the insurance for keeping me there.
If the surgery had not saved me, and I died, I doubt if I would have felt anything up until they pulled the plug. The drugs are that good… Mostly morphine.
Ron
Sandie