Death...

I mentioned in an earlier post that I had seen a man die for the first time in my life here. And honestly, as terrible as it was, I dealt with it fairly well. I didn't know his name. He was elderly. The first time I saw him, he had already collapsed and was being carried to the bed where he immediately died. 

Today was different. 

This was a beautiful young woman of about 18. She had had an operation here on Wednesday. I knew her name. I had talked to her and held her hand during dressing changes. I had checked on her when I did the dressing changes in the evening.

And today, just like that, she stopped breathing. I was a few beds away doing dressing changes when I heard the wail and saw the family start to cry. Her younger sister being carried away by the brother of another patient. The mother covering her feet, then her arms, then her face. Someone brought a guerney, and the men transfered the wrapped up body. 

It didn't take more than 5 minutes between the first wail, and the body being wheeled away, leaving behind just an empty bed.

Through it all, I watched as if in a trance. I couldn't move. I felt completely powerless. I wanted to do something, but what? I wanted to scream that we couldn't just let her die like that. No! We had to fight! Do something! 

I can't shake the feeling that in a different hospital, in a different country, with better equipment and facilities, she wouldn't have died. That was a senseless, unnecessary death, and I watched it happen and did nothing. 

There was nothing I could do. No defibrilator, no respirator, barely any drugs. 

I felt outraged and numb at the same time... I pushed it all down. I still had dressing changes to do... there were other patients who required my attention... I would have to deal with my feelings later.