The moment is captured by the camera forever.
A little girl leans in to blow out the candles on a birthday cake.
Around her, everyone leans forward expectantly, ready to cheer. Ready to shower her with love.
In the background, her grandmother smiles warmly.
This moment... 1/
A little girl leans in to blow out the candles on a birthday cake.
Around her, everyone leans forward expectantly, ready to cheer. Ready to shower her with love.
In the background, her grandmother smiles warmly.
This moment... 1/
This moment means the world to the grandmother.
It is the culmination of a long and difficult path.
Building bridges with an estranged daughter. Learning to let go, to forgive.
To anyone else, it’s just a girl’s birthday party.
To grandma, it’s a second chance.
It’s love. 2/
It is the culmination of a long and difficult path.
Building bridges with an estranged daughter. Learning to let go, to forgive.
To anyone else, it’s just a girl’s birthday party.
To grandma, it’s a second chance.
It’s love. 2/
When I first see the photo, I don’t know the story behind it. I have not yet been told.
My gaze is drawn to it, on the table, and then moves on to the patient.
A Code Blue is being run.
The elderly woman is having a LUCAS device attached to her.
Minimizing our exposure. 3/
My gaze is drawn to it, on the table, and then moves on to the patient.
A Code Blue is being run.
The elderly woman is having a LUCAS device attached to her.
Minimizing our exposure. 3/
In the era of COVID-19, the LUCAS device is being used more frequently. A machine which performs chest compressions, so humans don’t have to.
I understand the need for it.
But part of me still thinks that the hands on the sternum, the human compressions, mean something. 4/
I understand the need for it.
But part of me still thinks that the hands on the sternum, the human compressions, mean something. 4/
We are born into this world, into the touch of our fellow human beings.
It only feels right that we should know the touch of a human being as we leave it.
Our beginnings and endings, life and death, spiraling into eternity.
Our infinite orbit. 5/
It only feels right that we should know the touch of a human being as we leave it.
Our beginnings and endings, life and death, spiraling into eternity.
Our infinite orbit. 5/
COVID takes even this last comfort from us.
Instead of our final orbit bringing us full circle into the touch of those we love, it’s a journey we take with a stranger’s touch at best, and at worst ... alone.
Alone but for a machine named LUCAS, and its perpetual motion. 6/
Instead of our final orbit bringing us full circle into the touch of those we love, it’s a journey we take with a stranger’s touch at best, and at worst ... alone.
Alone but for a machine named LUCAS, and its perpetual motion. 6/
The violence of a Code Blue still catches me off guard, even though I’ve been part of hundreds of them.
The cracking of ribs, the tube in the throat, the ragdoll jerks of the arms as massive force is applied to squeeze the heart through the chest wall.
I wince.
Every time. 7/
The cracking of ribs, the tube in the throat, the ragdoll jerks of the arms as massive force is applied to squeeze the heart through the chest wall.
I wince.
Every time. 7/
In that moment, more than ever, a person seems to be just a body.
Just a machine we are trying to desperately jump-start.
But they’re still every bit a human being.
I always find myself focusing on some small detail that reminds me.
Nail polish. A wedding ring. A photo. 8/
Just a machine we are trying to desperately jump-start.
But they’re still every bit a human being.
I always find myself focusing on some small detail that reminds me.
Nail polish. A wedding ring. A photo. 8/
The Code Blue is successful.
We finally achieve “ROSC” (return of spontaneous circulation).
Brought back to life, the everyday miracle of the heart beating on its own is restored.
Sinus rhythm. Beautiful.
I feel sick. Momentarily nauseous, as the adrenaline wears off. 9/
We finally achieve “ROSC” (return of spontaneous circulation).
Brought back to life, the everyday miracle of the heart beating on its own is restored.
Sinus rhythm. Beautiful.
I feel sick. Momentarily nauseous, as the adrenaline wears off. 9/
Days later, she has improved enough to come off the ventilator and out of the ICU.
She mercifully can’t remember most of her critical illness. Now she seems fully a person again, as clarity returns to her gaze and she slowly finds her voice.
I spend precious time with her. 10/
She mercifully can’t remember most of her critical illness. Now she seems fully a person again, as clarity returns to her gaze and she slowly finds her voice.
I spend precious time with her. 10/
She tells me about her life. About her family.
About the stories behind the photos.
About the birthday party.
She has a wonderful sense of humor, and winces with each painful giggle, ribs aching.
When it’s time for me to go, she stops me. She has some advice to give. 11/
About the stories behind the photos.
About the birthday party.
She has a wonderful sense of humor, and winces with each painful giggle, ribs aching.
When it’s time for me to go, she stops me. She has some advice to give. 11/
She wants to tell me two things.
The first, is that time is short.
Forgive. Know that each goodbye could be final, and every perceived insult fades in the face of forever.
And the second?
Take photos, and frame them.
Nobody seems to do that anymore. 12/
The first, is that time is short.
Forgive. Know that each goodbye could be final, and every perceived insult fades in the face of forever.
And the second?
Take photos, and frame them.
Nobody seems to do that anymore. 12/
The moment is captured by the camera forever.
A daughter sits beside her mother, holding her hand.
Her mother is thin, with the muscle-wasting that comes from a lengthy ICU stay.
Smiling up from her hospital bed.
Embracing this love.
This moment...
A daughter sits beside her mother, holding her hand.
Her mother is thin, with the muscle-wasting that comes from a lengthy ICU stay.
Smiling up from her hospital bed.
Embracing this love.
This moment...
