The only person in the room
“How will I know?” I asked my boyfriend. Qualified two year before me, he was the font of all knowledge for my anxious questions before I stepped out on the hospital wards as fully fledged doctor myself.
“Ok, we’ve been through this — check for a pulse, check for…” No, this wasn’t what I meant — I had been taught the practicalities of how to verify a death, but as a students there were countless mythical tales about people waking up in the morgue after being pronounced dead (FYI these are very, very rare events!).
Certainly in the UK, someone is only officially dead once they are verified as such. Which is strange in some ways, as that could be minutes or even hours after they’ve taken their final breath. With a shiny new stethoscope round my neck, there would be many times to come where I have done this almost sacred yet simple task.
I saw my first dead body when working as a nursing assistant in my late teens; finding it a bizarre privilege to be shown how to clean and prepare her. In the years that have followed I have witnessed death and dying in many guises. Some more traumatic than others, some before life has barely begun, many at what most would consider ‘a good innings’.
Healthcare professionals spend their days facing the big questions raised from the philosophy of mortality. I sadly suspect that it’s a big reason for alcohol being a ‘coping’ strategy for many. Some manage to step into the void more comfortably that others — palliative care teams, oncologists, intensivists, others spend years skirting around it.
Get LizzieBM’s stories in your inbox
Join Medium for free to get updates from this writer.
Over the last few years I have had no choice but to have crossed the bridge between doctor and patient. A severe chronic illness has put me in the position where I have been acutely short of breath, with a real possibility I was soon to gasp my last. I have been semi-conscious with sepsis, deliriously wondering if which part of the road between death and life I was on. Yet I am not unique; I am all too aware how Covid-19 has meant this journey has been made for many others over the last few years. Some have walked further along it, for others hands have been held and a return journey made.
People have asked me what this is like, and whether I’ve been scared. Honestly — no. There has been an element of fear, but certainly not to the degree you may expect.
In those situations I have ultimately just felt… tired. You know when you’re in that stage just before you fall asleep, and you crave the darkened envelope that you’re being pulled towards? Now clearly, I am very much alive as I type this, and am infinitely grateful for that. There’s no way of me knowing if this is what death is indeed like, but many people have confessed to me that that what they’re actually scared of is the dying process, not death. It makes sense, of course. Some of this fear is easier to relieve; most of the physical symptoms and discomfort of death can be extremely well managed- modern palliative care is one of the unsung, unsexy heroes of medical science. So where does the fear really lie? The spiritual element? Perhaps; that question is thesis-worthy. “Unfinished business”? Yes, maybe.
I would argue it lies in that space that I have been unfortunate enough to inhabit; that point in the abyss. Hanging by a thread, the tightrope. Enough awareness and cognitive ability to still recognise that you are within this world but could be pulled away from it.
Ultimately; sheer vulnerability and lack of control — two things that are completely against human instincts. Whilst I’ve had ‘survival instinct’ thoughts, they’ve been overridden by a mixture of sheer indescribable fatigue and acceptance of being in a situation that I can do little about. My colleagues who have treated me will perhaps never understand the significance of it being their particular presence and decision making at those times. By sharing my perspective is it perhaps a comfort. Maybe not. But what I do know is that talking, sharing, breaking the taboos makes anything less scary. One day I’ll find out if my past experiences are what lead to whatever land there is to travel to next.
Oh, and my now husband’s answer about how to know whether someone is dead? — “You’re the only one in the room”…. Its truth has stuck with me. And for now? The mystery of the in-between and what’s next is perhaps more of a curious wonder, much like the pull of the deep dreams under a starry sky. Close your eyes and hope, always.
