the most interesting day yet
On Monday I headed off the to the home as per usual, but today was anything but usual.
It started wonkily by the bus taking double time due to the aggressive rain. There were a bunch of newbies on Monday morning who kept asking if it always took so long and why it was taking so long. Rain. That's all.
Since we got to the home later than usual, we had to hustle to get laundry and beds done and, for some reason, there seemed to be a lot more beds to be made. After this I, and a Chinese friend, began our exercises with one of our 4 patients, Kanon. We were working on massaging and stretching her legs when I noticed something "off" on a bed close by. I left the exercises to get closer.
A Sister was praying over a lady. Another was doing chest compressions. Constant muttering of words. Death struck. Then. There. On a simple, green-sheeted cot.
The Lord's Prayer was recited by those around.
It wasn't "a usual suspect". It wasn't bed sore lady.
Death wasn't a surprise.
Timing was.
She bathed that morning. Ate breakfast. Complained about her usual pain.
I haven't written about this lady but she has been here the entire time we have. She did not have her head shaved like all the rest. I noticed after first arriving and asked why: she was riddled with cancerous tumours. Nothing doctors could do. Came to Kalighat to die with some comforts (food, clothes, cleanliness and a bed).
Death wasn't a surprise.
She had taken her pain meds that morning. The usual pain, it seemed. Regular sleeping pill last night.
Was alert when I got there. Dead an hour later.
Timing was.
Massi's and sisters discussed it and the consensus was that all was normal this am. One of the head sisters took to talking to me. Tumours likely suffocated a new organ. Cancer was everywhere. She was told that morning that she was going to be brought to the hospital so they could better manage her pain. "Oh the cancer" she would regularly cry. Sister supposes she didn't want to go to the hospital?
Because she was going to be moved to the hospital they called her son that morning so he could go with her. He is young. He was there just after she died.
I've never been around raw, unprotected human death. I've been around superficial-dealt-with-wake-style death.
He was maybe 16. The only family there. I do not know his or her story so I don't know if he has anyone else. Raw grieving. Moaning and wailing. Uncontrollable shaking. Shock. Was pulled away from the body only to find his way back again. Caressing her hair that never got shaved off.
Kanon and my Chinese friend are still doing their exercises close by. There is cheering and applauding at Kanon's achievements. I quietly move over and tell them to be excited quietly as there was a death. Shock and then guilt were followed by continued progression and quiet celebration. Life continues in that corner of the room, as it should.
After the boy and all the others left, that same sister took to talking to me again. I wasn't close by, didn't ask questions and did not put myself in that space. Sister came to me. "Can you do me a favour?" Certainly. "Feel her (the body). I think it's still warm but much time has passed." I felt her. Yes. It was warm, her face especially. But even her hands and feet were still warm. Sister says, "but she's not breathing?!?". I double checked. You're right. She is definitely not breathing. There is no chest movement, no movement anywhere, and no breath being expired. In my expert teacher opinion, she is dead. "Okay. Thank you".
We pulled the sheet up over her face and walked away.
On the bed right next to her, the diabetic lady with the destroyed, rotting foot sat through it all. Earlier, as I sat on a bed nearby as this was all happening, her rotting foot flesh was the only aroma for this virgin death experience. Rotting flesh on a live foot accompanying soon to be dying flesh. Mere inches away from each other. She continued to sit there, in her bed, right beside the body, for nearly two hours before the body was moved.
The rest of us went about our regular morning as the body lay there.
When I came down from tea break there were 10 ladies from the home sitting on beds around the body. There was quiet from some and crying from others. The sister who had befriended me commented, "they do love each other hers. They care for each other". It reminded me of my Dominican orphanage experience. They, in their unassumingly special way did look out for each other. It was heartwarming. Pain and suffering brought warmth to hearts.
It's now time to deal with the body.
My sister friend told me that they usually take care of bodies on their own. The nearby crematorium doesn't charge the home, however, for the sake of the boy, her family, there needs to be a death certificate. He needs a doctor. The doctor/hospital is too busy to take care of that now so the body will have to wait.
The massi's and sisters take care of the body. They change her clothes and undergarments. Brush her hair. Clean her. I especially noticed that they scrubbed the bottom of her feet.
They cleaned the metal stretcher and placed a white sheet on it. They laid the body on it. They put red paint on the middle of her head, from her forehead down her part. (Cultural?) They put a great deal of holy water on her. One massi cried.
Her body was wrapped in the white sheet, her face left exposed. They tied around her body in four spots to ensure the sheet would stay put. By her feet the sheet was knotted.
Her son looked at her face. More holy water. The sheet then covered the face.
A massi called me over to help carry the stretcher. "You strong". This oh so familiar phrase here was often a compliment. This time it almost felt like a curse.
A little massi went to lift the front, by the face. A sister shooed her away. "You can't do it. You have no strength". Shooed her away to be replaced by me.
I hoisted the front, face, head, hair. Two massi's carried the back.
It was borderline eerie.
The hospital couldn't take her yet but the other ladies needed to eat lunch.
She was carried to a cold cellar-like room, just off the men's section, close to the laundry sinks. After some precise manoeuvring in the tiny space, she and the stretcher were settled. Her boy tried to follow but was pulled out of the room.
The door to this room was closed and locked.
I have no idea what has happened since.
I washed my hands and set off to help with lunch which was, understandably, delayed.
I was feeding my single-toothed friend. A massi came with a plastic bottle with Mother Teresa's face on it. I was told I needed to put on holy water. I paused, confused. She said it again. I made a face. A third time. Still confused. Handed me the bottle. She motioned. I put some on my shoulders. Good enough. Don't believe in that.
As I was leaving the son showed his cell phone message: "My mother expired this morning".
It started wonkily by the bus taking double time due to the aggressive rain. There were a bunch of newbies on Monday morning who kept asking if it always took so long and why it was taking so long. Rain. That's all.
Since we got to the home later than usual, we had to hustle to get laundry and beds done and, for some reason, there seemed to be a lot more beds to be made. After this I, and a Chinese friend, began our exercises with one of our 4 patients, Kanon. We were working on massaging and stretching her legs when I noticed something "off" on a bed close by. I left the exercises to get closer.
A Sister was praying over a lady. Another was doing chest compressions. Constant muttering of words. Death struck. Then. There. On a simple, green-sheeted cot.
The Lord's Prayer was recited by those around.
It wasn't "a usual suspect". It wasn't bed sore lady.
Death wasn't a surprise.
Timing was.
She bathed that morning. Ate breakfast. Complained about her usual pain.
I haven't written about this lady but she has been here the entire time we have. She did not have her head shaved like all the rest. I noticed after first arriving and asked why: she was riddled with cancerous tumours. Nothing doctors could do. Came to Kalighat to die with some comforts (food, clothes, cleanliness and a bed).
Death wasn't a surprise.
She had taken her pain meds that morning. The usual pain, it seemed. Regular sleeping pill last night.
Was alert when I got there. Dead an hour later.
Timing was.
Massi's and sisters discussed it and the consensus was that all was normal this am. One of the head sisters took to talking to me. Tumours likely suffocated a new organ. Cancer was everywhere. She was told that morning that she was going to be brought to the hospital so they could better manage her pain. "Oh the cancer" she would regularly cry. Sister supposes she didn't want to go to the hospital?
Because she was going to be moved to the hospital they called her son that morning so he could go with her. He is young. He was there just after she died.
I've never been around raw, unprotected human death. I've been around superficial-dealt-with-wake-style death.
He was maybe 16. The only family there. I do not know his or her story so I don't know if he has anyone else. Raw grieving. Moaning and wailing. Uncontrollable shaking. Shock. Was pulled away from the body only to find his way back again. Caressing her hair that never got shaved off.
Kanon and my Chinese friend are still doing their exercises close by. There is cheering and applauding at Kanon's achievements. I quietly move over and tell them to be excited quietly as there was a death. Shock and then guilt were followed by continued progression and quiet celebration. Life continues in that corner of the room, as it should.
After the boy and all the others left, that same sister took to talking to me again. I wasn't close by, didn't ask questions and did not put myself in that space. Sister came to me. "Can you do me a favour?" Certainly. "Feel her (the body). I think it's still warm but much time has passed." I felt her. Yes. It was warm, her face especially. But even her hands and feet were still warm. Sister says, "but she's not breathing?!?". I double checked. You're right. She is definitely not breathing. There is no chest movement, no movement anywhere, and no breath being expired. In my expert teacher opinion, she is dead. "Okay. Thank you".
We pulled the sheet up over her face and walked away.
On the bed right next to her, the diabetic lady with the destroyed, rotting foot sat through it all. Earlier, as I sat on a bed nearby as this was all happening, her rotting foot flesh was the only aroma for this virgin death experience. Rotting flesh on a live foot accompanying soon to be dying flesh. Mere inches away from each other. She continued to sit there, in her bed, right beside the body, for nearly two hours before the body was moved.
The rest of us went about our regular morning as the body lay there.
When I came down from tea break there were 10 ladies from the home sitting on beds around the body. There was quiet from some and crying from others. The sister who had befriended me commented, "they do love each other hers. They care for each other". It reminded me of my Dominican orphanage experience. They, in their unassumingly special way did look out for each other. It was heartwarming. Pain and suffering brought warmth to hearts.
It's now time to deal with the body.
My sister friend told me that they usually take care of bodies on their own. The nearby crematorium doesn't charge the home, however, for the sake of the boy, her family, there needs to be a death certificate. He needs a doctor. The doctor/hospital is too busy to take care of that now so the body will have to wait.
The massi's and sisters take care of the body. They change her clothes and undergarments. Brush her hair. Clean her. I especially noticed that they scrubbed the bottom of her feet.
They cleaned the metal stretcher and placed a white sheet on it. They laid the body on it. They put red paint on the middle of her head, from her forehead down her part. (Cultural?) They put a great deal of holy water on her. One massi cried.
Her body was wrapped in the white sheet, her face left exposed. They tied around her body in four spots to ensure the sheet would stay put. By her feet the sheet was knotted.
Her son looked at her face. More holy water. The sheet then covered the face.
A massi called me over to help carry the stretcher. "You strong". This oh so familiar phrase here was often a compliment. This time it almost felt like a curse.
A little massi went to lift the front, by the face. A sister shooed her away. "You can't do it. You have no strength". Shooed her away to be replaced by me.
I hoisted the front, face, head, hair. Two massi's carried the back.
It was borderline eerie.
The hospital couldn't take her yet but the other ladies needed to eat lunch.
She was carried to a cold cellar-like room, just off the men's section, close to the laundry sinks. After some precise manoeuvring in the tiny space, she and the stretcher were settled. Her boy tried to follow but was pulled out of the room.
The door to this room was closed and locked.
I have no idea what has happened since.
I washed my hands and set off to help with lunch which was, understandably, delayed.
I was feeding my single-toothed friend. A massi came with a plastic bottle with Mother Teresa's face on it. I was told I needed to put on holy water. I paused, confused. She said it again. I made a face. A third time. Still confused. Handed me the bottle. She motioned. I put some on my shoulders. Good enough. Don't believe in that.
As I was leaving the son showed his cell phone message: "My mother expired this morning".
wow Rach... I don't really know what to say. But, will be thinking of you and praying for you as you deal with these emotions and as you ponder and experience what God has planned and in store for you through this trip. also, on a lighter note, read your earlier post and Dan and I happened to be going through a hymnal singing tonight! also felt very nostalgic!
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