Choice
My Grandfather’s Regrets and Affirmations
He sat in the hospital room chair in the cardiac care unit, alone, covered in the blankets a silent grey haired nurse’s aid had casually placed over his shoulders and legs. The smell of antiseptic pervaded his room, and was intensified given the closeness of the washed coverings around his shoulders, but he’d gotten used to the odor even if he associated it with illness and frailty. How long had he been here? Three, four days? Longer? Time was meaningless to him. He passively participated in the various tests and transports to various departments within the hospital to which his doctors subjected him…for what choice did he have, but to endure the indignities of orderlies and technicians and nurses 30 or more years younger with patronizing voices and attitudes, so they themselves could get through the days caring for the suffering? His heart was so weak that he could not even rise from a chair without becoming short of breath, and with that an excruciating pain in the left part of his chest. He could barely think unless he was at absolute rest, and despite the well-intentioned efforts of his doctors and the medical staff, it was far easier now to count the limited number of functioning organ systems he had left than the ones he had lost or required some sort of support by drugs or by some physical means. The accumulation of infirmities was a stark reality…
