OVERNIGHT

This is the shortest, and the longest, night of my life. She is surrounded by IVs. More than I’ve ever seen. Multiple lines going in multiple places.

Bag after bag of blood.

“Where is she bleeding?” we want to know.

They can’t say. They don’t know. There are many possibilities. A pre-existing condition, an ulcer or polyp, that has started bleeding. Perhaps they punctured an organ during CPR, and that is bleeding. She is too weak for any more tests.

We sit as close to her as possible. We have to move, often, for the nurses to get in closer.

I talk to her. I tell her that everyone is calling, that we love her.

I talk to her mother, who is in her 80s, and tell her I am sitting next to her. She cries. We have to hang up.

Mom has become swollen, bloated with all of the fluid she’s been given. She hasn’t produced urine since she arrived. Her kidneys are failing. More bad news.

Her nose starts to bleed.

“She’s bleeding,” I tell Tiva. I ask for a wet towel, and wipe the blood from the side of her face. It’s futile, there is just more there in a few minutes.

Continuously throughout the night, her body continues to fail her. Her pressure drops, she bleeds more.

We ask what her brain function might be. They can’t tell us. They don’t know.

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