Watching someone die

I watched someone die the other night. It was while I was working in the ER on a clinical rotation. Every time I tell someone I get the same reaction. A shocked face. That sounds terrible. Followed by a worried are you all right? And the thing is I am. It really didn’t bother me. Maybe it should have. But it just didn’t.

To be honest I’m a little surprised by that fact too. I thought watching someone die would somehow be more profound than it was. I don’t know what I expected. But it wasn’t what happened. To be honest I’m not even sure when the patient actually died. At what point he went from living to dead. Because in reality a freshly dead human lying on a hospital bed and a live human lying on a hospital bed don’t really look that different. I wasn’t sad. I wasn’t worried. I was mildly interested in an academic sense. But that was it.

In fact, at different points throughout the code I wondered why we didn’t let the man just die in peace. Why on earth we were putting this man’s body through so much trauma on the very slight chance that we might be able to force it to keep working. Because I’ll be very honest with you. CPR is totally brutal. To mimic the human heart takes an immense amount of force. Ribs break and the entire body shakes each time the chest is compressed. And the chest is compressed a lot. Think one hundred times a minute. At one point while I was doing compressions I actually felt something cracking under my hands. I assume it was a rib but who knows. And at this point it doesn’t really matter does it?

But at almost 90 years old why were we trying to force this man’s body to keep on going? Nurses, techs, and the doctor were all piled into the room. There was no room to move. Everyone was yelling for different things at once. I was at the head bagging the patient which essentially means I was putting air into his lungs through the tube down his throat. And he kept gasping for air. Not consciously of course. He was already way past the point of consciousness. His dying brain was just doing what it was programmed to. Trying to get oxygen in a last ditch effort to keep itself going.

It looked miserable. And every time compressions were stopped to check for a pulse. The readings on the monitor would drop and start to approach zero. And I really just couldn’t stop wondering. Why are we prolonging this? His body wants to die. Why are we trying so desperately to stop it? Death happens. To us all. We’re all going to die. And it was obviously this man’s time. Not in any kind of spiritual religious sense. But physically. You could just tell. His body was done. There was nobody home. Whether we were making his heart was beat or not.

Maybe that’s cold of me. But to me death was the natural outcome in that situation. It was the thing that needed to happen. And I wasn’t saddened by that fact. And I wasn’t disturbed by it either. I was more disturbed by the violence of what we were doing to this man’s body than anything else.

But it made me realize that death itself is easy. Not painless but easy. One moment he was alive. Then he wasn’t. Like I said. I don’t even know when that moment was. Was it when we started CPR? Was it when we stopped? Or was it when the monitors finally went to zero and the heart monitor showed a flat line? I couldn’t tell you. I don’t know.

But I can tell you that if he had come back he was going to be in a massive amount of pain. And for what? A few more years until he was put through the same thing all over again? I do know one thing though. Once I reach a certain age I will most likely be signing a DNR. I’m not so afraid of death that I want to cling to life no matter the cost. When my time comes. And hopefully it won’t come for a while. I want to be allowed to go by the people who are still here. I want my body to be allowed to do what it’s supposed to.

And yes, that includes dying.

The Green Eyed Monster… and yes I know I’m being a bitch.

So the other day one of my friends from college posted the obligatory life is wonderful and look at how awesome I’m doing spiel on Facebook. And as someone whose life has taken a decidedly sharp left turn. Off the edge of a cliff. I couldn’t help but feel the stinging thorns of jealousy start to prickle somewhere between my spleen and liver. She’s going to grad school on a scholarship, she’s in a steady relationship, she has her own apartment, and she’s just been hired to a prestigious job with the mayors office. Oh and she recently holidayed in the Caribbean. I hate her.

And the reason this irks me so much you ask? Because out of all of the friends I graduated with, I can honestly say she was the least naturally talented and the least gifted of the bunch. She couldn’t sing or write beautiful songs like my best friend. She wasn’t a straight A science whiz like another. She wasn’t fluent in a difficult foreign language like my roommate. She wasn’t literally the kindest and most patient person I have ever met like the one who is now teaching English for free in a small town in Russia. She didn’t persevere through clinical depression, a suicide attempt, and then end up still having to pay for grad school like another. And after editing some of her blog posts and a shockingly large proportion of her French papers I know for a fact that the girl couldn’t write a sentence or construct a coherent argument to save her life. Yes I know I sound like a complete bitch when I say these things but it’s not really meant in a bitchy way.

Okay it is. Sue me I’m bitter.

This is a girl who was, for all intents and purposes, completely average. Save for one very important thing. I have never met a more charming and charismatic person in my life. Everybody and I mean everybody loved this girl. It was crazy. If we were in a grocery store she could walk out having convinced every single cashier, customer, manager, moderately priced vegetable etc. that they were in fact the very best of friends. All the women wanted to hang out with her and all of the boys wanted to date her. I’m not sure what the vegetables wanted but I’m sure it was something. 

She also had this strange ability to always be convinced she was in the right. Don’t get me wrong, I saw her unhappy. But every time there was this unspoken underlying conviction that she was the injured party. Maybe it was the product of being a slightly spoiled only child. Because I was never quite sure where the money for the clothes, the weaves, the car, and the trips to the Caribbean was coming from. By all accounts she came from a poor family and she was at the school on a scholarship for underprivileged inner city kids. It just never quite added up to me but then again she’s never quite added up to me either so who knows.

But I too was swept up in her charm. Until at the end of sophomore year I realized that the amount of time she spent hanging out with me seemed to be proportionate to how much I was willing to help her with her French homework. And when I say help, really I mean essentially do. Then I wasn’t as ok with the situation. But I’ve been told I am a tenacious friend if nothing else and by senior year I’m pretty sure we had a genuine friendship. I think. She kind of ditched my friends and I by the time graduation rolled around. You know, once she had repaired her relationships with her other cooler friends. Huh.

Well we hung out at any rate, and we told each other our successes and failures. So I guess it was something. But I think the thing that really just pisses me off about the whole situation is that by any societal measurement she is the successful admirable one in the group. The girl who I basically watched schmooze her way through college by flirting with and charming all of her professors during office hours. The girl who I know for a fact essentially got her two thesis advisers to completely coach her through her entire senior paper. And there I go being a bitch again.

But god damn-it it’s not fair. And this is where everyone stands up and goes stupid girl life’s not fair. Which I know. But sometimes I still want to throw a temper tantrum. Because I and the rest of my friends worked just as hard as she did. And people who in my opinion are more talented and probably have more to offer the world can’t get a second glance. Why? Because we don’t have the right personality? What the hell?!?

And this again is where everyone goes for fucks sake you got into law school on a full scholarship which YOU then chose to walk away from. Stop your pathetic whining. And I go you’re right. But still. It just really drives home to me how much our culture is driven by something I will never have. And that is extroverted charm in spades.

Don’t get me wrong. I have my own quiet draw. I am well aware. And for the people who get to know me, I seem to be worth keeping around. But that snap first impression. The thing that gets you hired to flashy jobs you’re not actually qualified for and makes people who don’t know you want to be your friend. I just don’t have it. I frown too much and I’m overly serious and I spend too much time second guessing myself. Whether I’m actually qualified, whether it would be better to let someone else take the lead, if I have all of the facts etc. And usually I’m ok with that.

But when people post braggy, self-congratulatory, aren’t you happy for me things on their Facebook that make me second guess my own choices and decisions in life. Sometimes I really just would like to slap a bitch.

But maybe I’m being unfair. Maybe she is as wonderful as the literally hundreds of people who have posted happy birthday on her wall seem to think she is. Because she does genuinely make people feel like she cares about them. And maybe she does. I just can’t fathom it. Because while I don’t wish harm on the random dude I meet on the train, and I hope he has a happy life, and that his day is good. I just can’t generate that same level of enthusiasm and warmth. It’s not genuine. And for her I think it is. I know if I texted or called her right now she would act genuinely excited to hear from me. And she’d make me feel special and worthwhile despite my unconventional choices in life whether she agreed with them or not. But I also know that I am one of over a thousand friends on her Facebook page and that if I don’t choose to initiate contact, I most likely won’t hear from her. Not even a hey how are you doing despite how much time we spent together in college. It’s strange to me, a person who keeps their friends few and keeps them close.

But also congratulations to her because I know she worked hard to cultivate her network and public image. Constantly policing her online persona. Always making sure to drop important people a “hey how are you.” When she found out I’d been accepted to Law School she personally called to congratulate me despite the fact that we hadn’t spoken in over a year, and I was of course charmed all over again. She’s been working on her relationship with the mayor’s wife for years now. Cultivating it. Brushing up against the line between flattering and annoying but never quite stepping over it. So who’s to say she didn’t work just as hard as someone else for what she’s got. Lunches, social calls, thinking of you cards. While I was putting my time and effort into learning she was building a network of people worth knowing and honing her social skills. And sometimes I think despite not being the classically intelligent one, she sure played the game  way smarter than any of the rest of us.

So I Got Wasted the Other Night

This feels like a weird topic to start with. But I guess we all have to begin somewhere.

Now normally I don’t drink. And I swear I’m not just saying that to make it sound better. The last time I actually drank anything  more than just a socially polite sip was over two years ago. Yes, I am that person. I don’t care if other people drink I just don’t do it. Well you know, except for the other night.

It was Saturday night and my roommate, who also happens to be my best friend oappeared in my room. I happened to be sitting at my desk attempting to relearn all the math I’ve forgotten since high school so that I can take Calculus next semester (don’t ask).

Now normally she lets me be. In fact, the other day she said I was “one of the coolest and easiest people to get along with as long as she didn’t expect me to follow social norms.” And I like it that way. If you fulfill my sporadic need for low key human interaction, I will be a steady, fairly chill, and nonjudgmental presence. But this Saturday she was apparently not going to let me sit around in socially unacceptable solitude.

Just another normal night in Vegas…

The long and the short of it was that she had an invite to a bar with former coworkers, but what she really wanted was for me to run around Fremont Street with her so that we could people watch during pride.  Now for those of you who don’t know, Fremont street is basically the Strips older, dirtier, less glamorous, methamphetamine addicted cousin. Basically not somewhere you really want to be hammered off your ass. But feeling guilty I agreed to go, because she’s been after me to go out and “hang” with her now for forever.

So I dutifully pregamed at my house to “relax,” and then we headed off to the bar. Once there I  knocked back two more vodkas and sprites and attempted to be funny and engaging as is the social protocol at these places. About an hour in, her semi-sleazy acquaintance bailed to go hit up the clubs and “collect numbers” and my friend decided that it was now the time to hit up Fremont Street.

At this point I was drunk. I didn’t think I was drunk but with my perfect hindsight vision I can safely say I was already pretty obnoxiously drunk. Everything was funny, I thought I was super clever, my hands were flying around when I talked, and the world was my oyster. Apparently though I was not drunk enough. A beer and two cranberry vodka’s later my friend decided that I was almost there. But to have fun what I really needed was a shot of tequila. Which I knocked back like a champion and also partially spilled down my shirt.

“I’m sorry sir but we seem to have temporarily lost any and all contact with reality” – Sincerely, your brain 

Then we left to our end destination which was, for those of you who know it, the Gold Strike. I wish I had some witty description for it. But sadly I don’t really remember it. We got there, sat down, and she tried to explain to me why it was such an awesome end destination. Something about Human Jenga. Then she decided she wanted to get another drink. Keep in mind that at this point she was also drunk although definitely less than I was. I panicked because I realized she was going to leave me alone, and I knew that I was probably not okay. So I followed her, and at this point the tequila hit and my brain went offline. Nothing. Nada. Blank. I have no clue what happened.

It came back online and I found myself standing at a bar staring into the slightly bemused expression of the bartender. I have no idea what I said or did. All I know is that it was stupid and that she’s probably seen or heard the same iteration of this every night for however long she’s been a bartender. Realizing that I had no idea what was going on I turned around and walked away only to realize that I had lost my friend and had no clue where she was. Now I was really panicking.

Except, apparently even drunk I’m ridiculously responsible. I decided that stumbling around aimlessly was probably not going to help us find each other. So I sucked it up and found a chair to sit in using the logic that it would be easier for someone to find a  still object in a crowded room than one that was in motion. Mad props to me I guess. Long story short she found me. Then I freaked out at her. Because it was at this point I realized I was smashed beyond redemption and she was pretty wasted herself. I believe I even threatened to call my mother to come get us if she didn’t sober up.

And that was pretty much the night. We sat around, sobered up, and fended off other drunk people. Yay. Then we went home. I barely remember any of this. I know I almost ran into a telephone box and that at some point we went to a drive through, and I ordered fries.

Normal people when they’re drunk. Note the happy smile and somewhat glazed expression.

The next morning I woke up still drunk, disgusted with myself, and then ended up with a hangover that I had to sleep off. Lesson learned. Some people can get drunk. I am not one of them. The whole thing stressed me out. Even drunk I couldn’t really let loose and just go with it. I was still  trying to analyze everything and keep tabs on everyone, and I was still hyper aware of what I was doing and the people around me. The only difference was I had no more filter and I was way too sure of my own logical conclusions. Constant stream of consciousness bullshit was spewing from my mouth to anyone who would listen. And to be honest even I wanted to punch myself in the face a few times for how annoying I was being. Oh and my voice got super high. Like chipmunk levels of squeak were emanating from my mouth. God.

Me drunk. Note the bulging eyes due to information overload and the gritted teeth from trying to keep the dumb from spilling out.

But honestly I just don’t like my drunk self. They say in vino veritas. Well I sure hope that that’s not who I actually am. Because if so, I’m an obnoxious, know-it-all, who can’t relax. Haha wait. Now that I’ve actually written that sentence I think the description probably fits me far more than I’d really like to admit. I guess I’m just better at toning down the obnoxious part when sober. Because honestly, who would want to be friends with that person? I sure wouldn’t.

Anyway, I suppose I’ll have to wait another two years now before I get trashed again. Wouldn’t want to break the pattern after all. There’s a reason I don’t drink. And even if sometimes I do wish I could find the fun in it, if only for the increased level of opportunities to connect socially with the people around me, I just can’t do it and feel good about myself physically or mentally.

I’m pretty sure that that’s ok though.