A Quiet End
Debbie lay in the burn ICU bed, crowded by family and friends in gowns and gloves. She did not suffer from burns but from sores and wounds only the experts in this ward could hope to deal with. Even they lose a fight now and then. This was one of those times.
Everything about our bodies is analogue except for one thing: life itself. You either have it or you don't. On or off.
The nurse added a strong dose of morphine to Debbie's IV, then reduced the breathing rate on the respirator, explaining to Debbie everything she was doing. Debbie had been sedated constantly for at least a month yet the nurses always spoke to her, always told her what they were doing.
As the morphine took effect, the doctor came in and gradually brought down the respiration until the machine was doing nothing. Debbie, flanked by her mother and a cousin who is a nurse, squeezed their hands with a tremendous grip.
Debbie passed on just moments after support was withdrawn, evidence of the weakness of her condition. The cousin, who has worked with cancer patients, said she had never seen anyone go so quickly. I suspect Debbie was more ready than the rest of us.
