Buck

I sat by Buck’s bedside holding his hand. We’d been through the Shanti Volunteer Counselor Training together and been assigned to our first AIDS clients the same day. The man Buck had been matched with died within three weeks of their initial meeting, and Shanti quickly paired Buck with another client, and then he died too. Now Buck had AIDS and had applied for a Shanti volunteer of his own.

It was slow on the ward so I sat with Buck for a while. He had CMV retinitis and already lost sight in one eye and was afraid of going blind. Someone had given him a pamphlet distributed by The Hemlock Society about the ethical considerations of self-deliverance and he was going to contact them for more information. He told me going completely blind was too much to imagine and he’d check out before that happened. We’d both been taught in the volunteer training to understand that suicide was a permanent solution to a temporary problem, but now he thought that was complete bullshit.

I’d been holding his hand for almost half an hour and I could feel sweat accumulating on our palms. Several times I’d relaxed my fingers in an attempt to let go, but he held on tightly. We’d once gone on a volunteer retreat to Wildwood, high above the hills of the Russian River, and had stayed up late one night, making out in the hot tub. I thought he was so handsome, and was surprised he was attracted to me, but afterwards heard he’d made out with a dozen others that same weekend.

He asked if I thought I was going to die of AIDS and I said I didn’t know and then he told me about several boyfriends who were already dead and how they’d suffered and how he was hoping The Hemlock Society would be able to help him. I told him I understood why he felt that way and then gently tried to pull my hand away, but he continued to hold me in his grip. He talked about his parents, who thought his illness was a punishment from God, and cried remembering his last day at work and how kind everyone had been.

I told him I had to go and see other patients and he said the following day was his birthday and looked at me so sadly I told him I could stay a few minutes longer. We reminisced about the Shanti Training and some of the other volunteers who’d already died. I let my hand go limp in his, saying I really had to go, and he told me how much he missed his cat and hoped a neighbor lady was taking good care of it, and I reached over and forcibly took my hand out of his. He asked me when I’d be back and I said I’d check in on him again before the day was over.

I stood outside his room in the hallway, washing my hands for a long time, and then pulled two paper towels from the metal dispenser on the wall and slowly dried them. I looked down into the empty sink until one of the passing nurses asked me if I was okay, and I said yes, threw the crumpled towels into the trash, and headed down the corridor to see the next patient.