Final Words

We get the view from the head of the bed. So, that means we are the ones who intubate. Well, where I work we do not intubate. But we are the ones who assist with all intubations. So, when a COVID patient needs to be intubated, we are there at the head of the bed. 

COVID patients are generally with it all the way to intubation. So, we RTs get to see firsthand what a person does just prior to being intubated. In most cases, COVID patients are in the hospital for a while before being intubated. In other words, we try everything else. And then it gets to the point they need to be intubated. 

Perhaps the hardest part is the fact we get to know these patients. This was a year ago. And back then, COVID patients weren't allowed, visitors. So, when I entered his room, I would often sit in a chair and visit with him. And we talked. And we chummed. 

We spend quality time with them. We hear their stories about their kids or their spouses. We learn what their lives were like. We learn what they do for a living. We learn their dreams and aspirations. 

We became friends.

And then we are there as the disease that is ravaging through their lungs doesn't seem to be getting better. And so they need to be intubated. 

One guy was a very successful talker. He had a job that allowed him to talk. And he was a funny guy. And he was crying at the end. He was talking on the phone with his kids. It was a joint call. And he said, "I really want to live. I want to see my grandkids grow up. And if I die, I am going to come back and haunt all those who were responsible for my demise." And he looked at me, all teary-eyed, and said, "Except for John." And he smiled. 

Those were his last words. He passed away less than a week later. 

Another guy I met was a very big guy. But he was very nice. And he was humble. And he was tough. One nurse described him as a teddy bear. He had a very friendly disposition. And he went out with grace and dignity. By now patients were allowed to have visitors. So, his son was in the room. And he was chumming with his kids. He was telling stories of old, "Remember when we..." And it was neat to hear how peaceful this conversation went. You could tell that they were a close family. 

All the way to the end, he kept his head held high. Through the sound of his voice, and the actions of his demeanor, you couldn't tell he was sick and was going to be intubated. And that he was probably going to die. You could not tell these were the last words of a man. Except for the fact, he had a high flow nasal cannula in his nose and his respiratory rate was in the 40s. Other than that, he was just a normal guy enjoying time with his son. 

And then we were ready to intubate. The son said and dad said to each other, "I love you." And then it was just me and the intubation team and this nice man. And he looked up to me. He said, "It was real." 

And that was the last thing he said before being intubated. I hope they were not his last. He will remain in my prayers. I hope he makes it. He was a cool guy. 

So, it's humbling.