death was certain, and she implied she was ready.

she signed the DNR form herself, because with stage IV lung cancer, she knew there was no way out. taking it even further, she requested to be left alone with a nasal cannula, even when her breathing gets really worse. she said she refused the face mask and nobody can force her to use it because it was her right to decide what she wanted.

she verbally denied any pain despite obvious clinical signs that she was in severe or at least moderate pain. she reasoned she didn’t want any morphine because it was morphine overdose that accidentally hastened the death of an aunt and an uncle.

i thought it would be cruel to just watch and not do something. to see a dying patient desperately gasp for air and just stand there was almost unthinkable. i mean, the least i can do is make them feel comfortable, but if she didn’t want to be comfortable and she was mentally stable enough to express that desire, what right did i have to impose what i wanted?

i prepared for a long night. i tried to reason and wrestle with my personal demons. i tried to convince myself that death, at this time, must be welcomed.

“can…you…stay?”

it was 0100 in the morning and her saturation was on the high 70s. each breath was a struggle and her lack of oxygen was beginning to cause panic. i reached for her hand and sat on her bed. whatever i did to prepare myself for this, did not really sink in. i wanted her to stay, and i was scared for her, but i tried to hide it.

“i’m sorry…i’m scared….”

i told her she didn’t have to talk. not only because talking made her gasp for more air, but also because i realized i was not emotionally ready to wrap up a dead body. besides, if i was dying and was all alone, i would be extremely scared too. i didn’t even know if any of her loved ones knew. all of a sudden, Japan seemed so far away.

i don’t know. maybe i was just trying to rationalize my selfish thoughts. 
isn’t it amazing how selfishness can rear its ugly head even at times of dying?

it was cold, i was unsettled.
she might have been ready, but i wasn’t.
the irony was chilling.

i sighed when the number started going up. she started to relax and then dozed off. i stayed for a while longer. when i was sure she was asleep, i slowly pulled my hand, but it woke her up.

“thank you.”

i didn’t say a thing but in my head i said thanks to her. i wasn’t ready, and somehow, for some bizarre reasons, she respected that. or death respected that.

in the morning, i told her i was going, and i just dropped by to say goodbye. “for the last time”, i told myself.

“you’ll be back tonight, right?”

i told her i won’t be.

“you’re quitting?”

i told her i would be off for four days and joked that i was not allowed to quit. then, i was quiet.

she looked away. i assumed she heard clearly, even when the words were left unspoken…
i will not see her when i come back, and my goodbye was final.

she reached for my hand, and i reached for hers. i didn’t say a thing, but when i gently pressed her hand and she weakly pressed mine back, we both knew we were done with our goodbyes.

i marveled.
at the power of touch,
and the power of silence.

i left the room relieved.
the irony was still chilling,
but the certainty of death was almost calming.