Death!
What exactly is this enigma called death that reduces grown men to babies. There is one phrase that is repeated often in my country-Who wants to die? And the answer is no one.
My earliest recollections of the concept, was when I was abour five years old, I remember being in a car going over a bridge and feeling a strange sensation and thinking I had died and for a long time after that I thought I had started life afresh.
When did I actually know what death was, I can't tell but I remember the death of someone I met when I was about 8 or 9 shook me up badly. I had only met her once, she was in her final year in university and had offered us drinks when we went on a visit to her family. She struck me as a very nice person. When the news of her death came I was inconsolable, I cried until my head hurt and had to be comforted over and over again.
Death came calling in family circles when I was in my second year of medical school, my experience with cadavers in no way prepared me for the mortality of my kin. I remember receiving the news at the NITEL phone booth at the University gates and had to be taken to my room as I could not stand by myself, I remember the girls in my hostel making fun of me for crying like a baby because my grandmother died, they asked in jest what I would have done if it was my mum. I felt hurt because I did not think there was a category for the expression of grief for different relations, my grandma was a very real presence to me and her death was a big loss. She was like the adhesive tape in the family, calling or writing to remind or inform us of birthdays, births, momentous events and all that. Much more than that I guess we had taken it for granted that she would always be around for us! Death did not spare us the luxury of such childish thoughts.
As a doctor, I remember the first person I was called to certify dead. I had not started being on call as early as my colleagues and so had been spared the task for a few days, when the call finally came, it was with more than a little trepidation that I stepped forward to examine the man. To all intents and purposes he could have been sleeping, I looked into his eyes they were fixed and dilated, there was no carotid pulse, no cardiac activity, no respiratory movements, I moved back tot he nurses desk to write down my findings, He was dead, was that all there was to it?
I remember having to certify dead another man whose wife slept on clueless to the fact that her life partner was gone. She put her hand on his bed and slept on. More often than not I was more terrified of facing the living than the dead. For I had no answer to the queries of grief stricken relatives who urged me to do something, anything so that their loved one could live and stay on with them. Why had the young man died and not the old ones?
I was more affected by the death of the younger ones, than the older ones, I would be shaken for days if a young patient died especially when I rationalised his/her death proved nothing. If the death was sudden and unexpected ie a road traffic accident it hurt even more. For a long time I was scared of looking death in the face. I saw myself in the patients I attended to, what if it was me lying there as cold as a board?
I have left the hospital arena for a few months now and have not been fortunate to witness any more deaths. I do not say this in jest. It's a privilege to witness the mortality of man and it makes you realise the insignificance of things you would hitherto have taken for granted. I remember being in the morgue in school watching the scalpel making sharp, quick incisions through the skin, and muscles and it hit me hard that this person was alive just a few hours ago..................
To be continued...............
My earliest recollections of the concept, was when I was abour five years old, I remember being in a car going over a bridge and feeling a strange sensation and thinking I had died and for a long time after that I thought I had started life afresh.
When did I actually know what death was, I can't tell but I remember the death of someone I met when I was about 8 or 9 shook me up badly. I had only met her once, she was in her final year in university and had offered us drinks when we went on a visit to her family. She struck me as a very nice person. When the news of her death came I was inconsolable, I cried until my head hurt and had to be comforted over and over again.
Death came calling in family circles when I was in my second year of medical school, my experience with cadavers in no way prepared me for the mortality of my kin. I remember receiving the news at the NITEL phone booth at the University gates and had to be taken to my room as I could not stand by myself, I remember the girls in my hostel making fun of me for crying like a baby because my grandmother died, they asked in jest what I would have done if it was my mum. I felt hurt because I did not think there was a category for the expression of grief for different relations, my grandma was a very real presence to me and her death was a big loss. She was like the adhesive tape in the family, calling or writing to remind or inform us of birthdays, births, momentous events and all that. Much more than that I guess we had taken it for granted that she would always be around for us! Death did not spare us the luxury of such childish thoughts.
As a doctor, I remember the first person I was called to certify dead. I had not started being on call as early as my colleagues and so had been spared the task for a few days, when the call finally came, it was with more than a little trepidation that I stepped forward to examine the man. To all intents and purposes he could have been sleeping, I looked into his eyes they were fixed and dilated, there was no carotid pulse, no cardiac activity, no respiratory movements, I moved back tot he nurses desk to write down my findings, He was dead, was that all there was to it?
I remember having to certify dead another man whose wife slept on clueless to the fact that her life partner was gone. She put her hand on his bed and slept on. More often than not I was more terrified of facing the living than the dead. For I had no answer to the queries of grief stricken relatives who urged me to do something, anything so that their loved one could live and stay on with them. Why had the young man died and not the old ones?
I was more affected by the death of the younger ones, than the older ones, I would be shaken for days if a young patient died especially when I rationalised his/her death proved nothing. If the death was sudden and unexpected ie a road traffic accident it hurt even more. For a long time I was scared of looking death in the face. I saw myself in the patients I attended to, what if it was me lying there as cold as a board?
I have left the hospital arena for a few months now and have not been fortunate to witness any more deaths. I do not say this in jest. It's a privilege to witness the mortality of man and it makes you realise the insignificance of things you would hitherto have taken for granted. I remember being in the morgue in school watching the scalpel making sharp, quick incisions through the skin, and muscles and it hit me hard that this person was alive just a few hours ago..................
To be continued...............
Whatever made you write this piece about death(?)because now everyone is thinking about death!(Well,we will see the concluding part).
ReplyDeleteFor me,one moment stands out in my childhood as regards death.It involved a childhood friend who I had had one of those childhood fights with but before we made up, he died in collapsed building!However,the most remarkable death for me was that of my maternal grandmother.This occurred while I was a University undergraduate.It was so unexpected and painful.Besides being such a part of my family life(forgive me,my mum is my first love and she was mum's only friend), she greatly inspired me and was a pillar in my support system.7 years after,the grief is now past. I still miss her in loads but I have learnt to just move on in life inspite of my losses.Thanks for making me think along these lines again.