Please Don't Go!

One of the patients was very near the end and his boyfriend’s hysterical cries of “Please don’t go!” travelled down the corridor and seeped into other rooms. We kept the door closed, but the sorrowful pleas could still be heard.

I went in and tried to engage him but there was no comfort to be had.

He was terrified of being left alone.

The patient’s breaths became increasingly shallow and far apart, and I put my hand on his boyfriend’s arm. I felt bad for him, but knew others could hear him and were getting upset themselves.

I went into one room where a patient had turned his television’s volume up to drown out the crying.

In another room a mother sat next to her son who was trying to sleep.

“Oh God,” she whispered. “Is it like this here all the time?”

One patient stood outside the dying man’s room and said he wanted someone to cry like that when his time came.

I went into the Elizabeth Taylor Lounge where two older patients were watching Oprah. One of them turned to me and said somebody should do something for the guy who was freaking out. The other one agreed. I went back into the corridor.

The boyfriend’s sobs continued. Someone suggested contacting psychiatry.

I didn’t know what to do.

Nobody knew what to do.

“Don’t go!” he cried, over and over.

“Oh, please don’t go!”