Page 137 of Lost Lyrebird
Time for a last goodbye is a gift, make the most of it.
JULY 1997
I run through the automatic front doors as soon as they open, and the fact that Anita isn’t there waiting causes panic to flare inside my chest.There’s another nurse.She waves me forward in a hurried manner.Together, we run down the illuminated hallway.The closer we get, the more I hear—Anita’s voice, calling out orders.
When I enter, I see Rhonda, the head RN, working over my father.She’s doing CPR while Anita squeezes a plastic bubble to push air into his lungs.
I freeze in the doorway.Anita’s eyes fly up to mine.She doesn’t stop squeezing and never loses count, but she shakes her head.
Though my feet weigh me down with what feels like a hundred pounds per step, I move forward.“How long?”Because I refuse to let him go without at least getting a chance to say goodbye.
Anita flicks a glance at her watch.“A little over four minutes.”
The blaring sound of the monitor has been turned off at some point, but I see the flat, blue line sliding across the screen.
Rhonda’s black hair has come out of her clip, and a few strands stick to her lips.It’s obvious she’s tried her best, but I fucking refuse to give up on him.
She’s not strong enough, and though I know I’m about to get security called on my ass, I bodily move her out of the way so I can take over.
She screeches, “What are you doing?”And she attempts to pry my hands away.But I push her back and start again.
“Your arms aren’t strong enough to force enough air in.”
“You can’t—”
“It’s okay.”Anita holds up a hand.“He’s a medic in the Army.He knows what he’s doing.”
Rhonda snaps, “Anita, think rationally here—”
“I am.”The two women stare each other down.“You’re tired, and your compressions were only getting weaker.What we’ve been doing hasn’t worked.It’s his father.Let him try.”
Anita glares at me, fear in her eyes.“Don’t crack his chest.”
I nod once in understanding, get on the bed, knees on each side of him, and lean over his chest.Counting in my head as I go.I want to detach to do this right, but I can’t.I keep telling myself I know how to do this.I’ve done it so many times.But also the words ...This can’t be how things endpops into my mind.
“Adrenaline?”I ask.
“Already injected,” Anita replies.
“How much?”
“One cc.”
“Let’s do one more.Shock pads?”
“They’re on.”
“How many times has he been hit?”
“Two.”
“Level?”
“150”
“Turn it up and hit him again.200.”
Thankfully, Anita and a nurse move around the room rapidly to help me.Rhonda throws up her hands.After watching for a few seconds, she grabs the defibrillator and takes over.“Check the pads, Nancy.Make sure he’s thoroughly connected.”
