Hiding is revealing, and vice versa.

Still, there's something I'd like to share with whoever cares to read it in a slightly more straightforward fashion.

This is an excerpt from a mail to me mate Stephen.

Even though I'm a doctor I have not witnessed many deaths. It's probably because of the specialities I've trained in so far.

I'm still trying to put my finger on what made this particular death such a mystical experience.

Is it perhaps that I was present with this person while he was fading away? I was watching over him on and off for a while as he had not been very well on that day. He was not to be resuscitated; there was not much I could do for him apart from administering oxygen and keeping an eye on his oxygen saturation. Every time I went to see him he looked more and more waxy in colour. His breathing was becoming shallower and less consistent. It must have been the first time that I felt so clearly that somebody was going to die soon- and there was nothing I could or should do about it apart from giving him time. And letting him go.

At a point his blood pressure dropped dramatically in the monitor. His oxygen saturation appeared very low, too. He was no longer breathing. I checked his vital signs. No sign of life. Then I closed his eyes and wished for God to forgive him. I couldn't find the words to say anything else. I was overcome with a profound sense of sadness. This man was dead. Fullstop.

Oh, the human condition.

Yesterday I discussed the whole thing with my Consultant, who seems to be a reasonable person. The way he described his encounters with death was as "a humbling experience." I couldn't agree more with that. My take on it had been "feeling larger than life but mortal." I prefer the simplicity of his description. I'll be quoting him on it.

I finished my duty in a rather philosophical mood, and came home. Only to find out by a friend's mail that Liz, the child psychotherapist I was sharing an office with in my previous job, had died from a stroke a few days earlier. I really liked this woman; she had a very dry sense of humour. She had had long term physical problems but was very dedicated to her work. I learned a lot from her. I shall miss her.

Parenthesis. When I was a wee lass my parents used to play a particular album for me to put me to sleep. It is called Θητεία (thetea), which stands more or less for "service for a specific period of time, especially in the army." The album starts with the cry of a baby and ends with the irregular breath of an old man. There's one song I always liked. The lyrics go like this:

The summer goes by;
another bird comes to the nest.

On the first day you discuss about expensiveness.
You gather wood for your fireplace on the second.
You converse with the fire on the third and the fourth.

Angel of Death has been warming my bed.(1)

I guess my parents have always been wise people. Even though it was their unconscious that made them choose such lullabies for me. Bless them.

Right. This might have put some previous posts in context.

In memory of C.H. and E.G.


(1)
Original Greek verses:

Περνά το καλοκαίρι
και στη φωλιά του θά΄ρθει άλλο πουλί.

Την πρώτη μέρα συζητάς για την ακρίβεια.
Μαζεύεις ξύλα για το τζάκι σου τη δέύτερη.
Μιλάς με τη φωτιά την τρίτη και την τέταρτη.

Άγγελος θανάτου μου ζέσταινε το στρώμα μου.

"Το καριοφίλι, μάνα μου" ("Give me the rifle, mother")
Θητεία (Thetea), 1974
Γιάννης Μαρκόπουλος (Yiannis Markopoulos)
Μάνος Ελευθερίου (Manos Eleutheriou)