This is short and rough and raw. It is the heart of something I have wanted to write about, but can't see my way through to the form of it. Ideas, thoughts, anything is welcome....
Thirty
five pages and at least ten different people were involved in documenting the
last hour or so of my sister's life. I have her final moments from different
vantage points, which is a strange thing. From the journalistic police report
to the quick notes in the emergency room, I have a picture of what happened
that is multi-dimensional. I have the technical understanding that I sought,
and I can never escape it. Be careful what you wish for.
I read the
account from the police officers, the first responder and the officer who took
over when the shift changed, their summary is two pages. I read the handwritten
fire department report, this summary is also two pages. I read and deciphered
the different handwriting on the emergency room report; at least four
individuals contributed to it, one of them with lovely handwriting. It is
nineteen pages long. I have read the twelve pages that detail the findings of
the medical examiner and his three assistants. I know detail that is
unintuitive. I still have no understanding.
I know the weight of my sister's
brain: 1290 grams or 3.4 pounds.
I know her heart was pear-shaped.
I know the characteristics of every
other major organ in her body.
I know that she complained of
feeling a bit nauseous that evening.
I know she was spending the evening
with friends who were certified paramedics.
I know they were one-half mile from
the hospital.
I know they were planning on helicopter
test runs the next morning.
I know they had emergency medical
equipment on site.
I know she had no drugs in her
system other than what was administered trying to save her.
I also know that she had old
adhesions from a ruptured cyst on her left ovary.
I know these adhesions caused the
blood supply to her small bowel to be reduced.
I know that she was one of the less
than five percent who felt no pain when this happens.
I know that this reduction in blood
flow caused her small bowel to become ischemic.
I know that created a situation in
which she would begin to hemorrhage.
I know that her abdomen filled with
blood.
I know that at approximately 10:50
p.m., she said she felt like she was having a seizure.
I know that she went into cardiac
arrest and lost consciousness immediately after speaking.
I know that her lungs also bled.
I know that her friends began
treating her immediately with medication and cpr.
I know that she was intubated and defribullated
at least twice before the police arrived.
I know that the police arrived at
10:56.
I know that the fire department
arrived at 11:10.
I know she was under the care of
emergency room personnel by 11:20.
I know that she had a faint pulse
but was non-responsive from the moment she collapsed.
I know that the medical personnel
were told she had a three year old son.
I know that the attempt to revive
and stabilize her in the emergency room lasted nearly an hour.
I know she was pronounced dead at
00:18, April 29, 2001.
I know what her death looks like on
paper.
I have the electrocardiogram for the
last hour of her life.
I can trace the line with my finger.
I can touch the moment they declared
her dead.
The
physical components of her life are contained in three clear plastic storage
boxes. They are tucked away in the
closet in the guestroom of my mother's house, neatly stacked behind winter
coats. From the outside, each one looks
like any other box filled with clutter and hidden from immediate view, but
inside are photos, letters, various trinkets – all hers. This is all that remains and I go through
each of the boxes every time I return home.
I look at the girlish handwriting in journals, see pictures of her
laughing with friends, read cards sent for her birthdays, pour over different
letters she held on to…each time I try to bring her memory close, I feel myself
sliding into a space where I can almost touch what it felt like, what I felt
like, when my sister was alive.
Angela,
ReplyDeleteYou have done an amazing job writing about such a difficult topic--what a tragic loss. What is powerful about this is the juxtaposition of these stark details--I wrote lifeless in the email that I sent you but it wasn't quite what I meant--rather, technical, maybe, cold details--with what was obviously a very dramatic and very painful, confusing event. For me, the moments where this is most powerfully communicated are in the list, which has the effect of taking each detail and equalizing it, so that all of them become somewhat ironically neutral. As a reader, I experience that irony rather than having it pointed out to me--so I wondered if there might be other ways to achieve that with the piece. In other words, rather than pointing out how strange it is to have this perspective on your sister's death, and how that perspective still gives you no understanding, might there be a way for you to make your reader feel the emptiness of that perspective and the confusion that you describe? I keep wondering, for example, what this would look like as a long list of details--significant details about the death, random, seemingly unimportant details about what the papers looked like (like the handwriting), details about the box they're kept in, and even important, vivid details about your sister when she was alive--all strung together so that your reader isn't quite sure what is important and what isn't. Since you mentioned this was new and raw, I thought it might be a direction in which to take it...
I am so impressed that you're able to write about something so close and so painful--I find that almost impossible to do with any success. Thank you for sharing.
Dear Angela, this piece is really moving--I appreciate the tone, as others have mentioned, and the list--the way these neutralized details turn beautiful--the weight of a brain, the shape of a heart. It's really lovely. If you are thinking of expansion, i could see some found sections adding to what you have here-- perhaps some further research into the condition, presented just so, perhaps some memory/narrative work about your relationship with your sister. Whatever you do, I hope you continue. Thank you for sharing this.
ReplyDeleteDear Angela,
ReplyDeleteThis is such a moving story. I am so sorry for your loss. I love the way you set us up with “Knowledge” and detail here. How information is revealed through what you found out, and how it's inherently empty of meaning or solace. The details in your list are amazing and sad. I think at some point though I want to learn what caused this. Do you know? Or is the piece about not knowing/understanding/ never finding out. How old was she when she died? How much older or younger than you? These are things that I’d love to see in a later draft. I’d love to have a scene or two of her when she was alive – when you were kids, and when you were adults. Getting to know her in this way will make the story all the more poignant. One thing: I would like to see maybe less of a list – perhaps put that beautiful (terrible) litany into its own paragraph? Or atleast some of it? To me it puts too much weight on the lines. But I am happy to entertain other’s opinions on this formal choice. I like also the idea of making the whole thing a long list and adding more strange details to this form of the list. In the end of course it’s up to you. I would also love to “see” the trinkets and read a few lines of the letters. This will tell me more about your sister and also the time-frame/history of when this happened (ie 70s 80s?)
Anyway , I see this as a great start. Please keep going with it, if you can. Thanks for sharing this very moving piece. best, Sarah
I am going to write these as I read. First impression, I think you can lose the first paragraph. I suspect that the rest of the essay will say everything that this does.
ReplyDeleteTell us more about the lovely handwriting - why was it lovely? Were there loops and twirls? Was it neat and orderly? (this is the poet in me asking) What do you imagine this person was like and HOW MIGHT THEY HAVE INTERACTED DIFFERENTLY with your sister?
The three year old son. That hit me like a punch in the gut. Everything else was so clinical until then. Maybe introduced that earlier? And then the ovarian adhesions might carry more weight (ironic, I know -- I'm sorry). Also, I'd like to see one or two more gut punches snuck in on us.
"I can trace the line with my finger.
I can touch the moment they declared her dead"
So powerful!
Wow. I'm wondering if you can play with mirroring the contents of the boxes with the facts that you spout in the middle of the piece, and then wrap it up somehow.
There are so many incredible moments here, and I thank you for sharing with us. Grief can sometimes make you feel so naked, can't it? Especially when you feel no one can REALLY relate to what you're feeling about the person you're grieving.
I am honored that you felt safe enough to share this with us. I know how hard it is and how much courage it takes to bring that grief out and let it see sunlight again. Sometimes I'm so frightened that it will swallow me whole. But I know that enough time has passed that the irrevocable feeling of the world having changed will also pass.
Keep working at this, you've got a powerful piece working here.