Thursday, March 24, 2005
How Is She Doing?
Deceit. 
The woman is 40. I could see her chest excursion, up and down. I could see misting of the tube that sits in her throat. I could see flickering on the monitor as her heart beats. Teet teet. Her lemony colour urine collected into a column and slid down the transparent rubber catheter. By definition, she is alive.
But she has not done anything since she was admitted. Her eyes didn’t respond, she was not swallowing not gagging. You can stab her, jump on her, pull her toenail out, burn her clothes, she will not respond. She was dead even before we plugged her to the machine.
She was found dead by her sister in the garage, blue, hung down by the neck, her face swollen from the strangulation. Outside hospital resuscitation was carried out by the heroic paramedics. Her heart jump started but her pupils were full blown dilated. You know how you can see deep into somebody’s eyes? Well hers are mega, you should see everything, but I saw nothing.
She wrote a note to say how much she loves everybody but she confessed that she has not lived, she was merely surviving. She’s been seeking help, giving hints, making statements, dropping clues, but nobody paid much attention.
I saw her two children, both had her auburn hair. Both know not that their mother will not come off the machine alive. I saw the ex-husband too. He had no expression. I wonder why she took her life.
I wonder what made her come to a decision that being dead is better than being alive. I wonder who made her upset. I wonder why she chose to hang herself. I wonder if one can tell the scale of one’s depression just by watching.
Possibly this is the reason why I get depressed myself when I know I have caused somebody else to be depressed.
She must have premeditated it. She must have felt so stuck like there is no way out. She must have meant it when she wrote the note.
p/s: Think and think again before breaking that thing called heart.
The woman is 40. I could see her chest excursion, up and down. I could see misting of the tube that sits in her throat. I could see flickering on the monitor as her heart beats. Teet teet. Her lemony colour urine collected into a column and slid down the transparent rubber catheter. By definition, she is alive.
But she has not done anything since she was admitted. Her eyes didn’t respond, she was not swallowing not gagging. You can stab her, jump on her, pull her toenail out, burn her clothes, she will not respond. She was dead even before we plugged her to the machine.
She was found dead by her sister in the garage, blue, hung down by the neck, her face swollen from the strangulation. Outside hospital resuscitation was carried out by the heroic paramedics. Her heart jump started but her pupils were full blown dilated. You know how you can see deep into somebody’s eyes? Well hers are mega, you should see everything, but I saw nothing.
She wrote a note to say how much she loves everybody but she confessed that she has not lived, she was merely surviving. She’s been seeking help, giving hints, making statements, dropping clues, but nobody paid much attention.
I saw her two children, both had her auburn hair. Both know not that their mother will not come off the machine alive. I saw the ex-husband too. He had no expression. I wonder why she took her life.
I wonder what made her come to a decision that being dead is better than being alive. I wonder who made her upset. I wonder why she chose to hang herself. I wonder if one can tell the scale of one’s depression just by watching.
Possibly this is the reason why I get depressed myself when I know I have caused somebody else to be depressed.
She must have premeditated it. She must have felt so stuck like there is no way out. She must have meant it when she wrote the note.
p/s: Think and think again before breaking that thing called heart.
