- Email: [email protected]
Remember me
Change of Shift
Remember Me
Remember Me
Walter Kuhn, MD Department of Emergency Medicine Medical College of Georgia Augusta, GA Reprints not available from the author. Address for correspondence: Walter Kuhn, MD, Department of Emergency Medicine, Medical College of Georgia, 1120 15th Street, Augusta, GA 30912; 706-721-3365, fax 706-721-7718; E-mail [email protected]. Copyright © 2000 by the American College of Emergency Physicians. 0196-0644/2000/$12.00 + 0 47/1/110015 doi:10.1067/mem.2000.110015
3 9 6
[Kuhn W. Remember me. Ann Emerg Med. October 2000;36:396397.] Her leathery brown face tilted awkwardly back, her jaw hung loosely open. Eyes covered with a dry, white haze stared blindly at the ceiling. Open, but unseeing. Unkempt, thin white hair lay wildly against the pillow. Wasted arms and legs rested neatly on the stretcher. An inoperable brain tumor with gastrointestinal bleeding. A nasogastric tube taped to her nose drained black, granular material. “Will she make it to the floor?” I asked. “I’m not sure, but she is a do-not-resuscitate,” he said. “If she codes, just let her go.” An hour passed before I returned to resuscitation room 8. She lay in exactly the same position. The tube taped to her nose, head pitched back, glazed-over eyes fixed on the tiles of the ceiling, staring into eternity. There was a softly heard groan, like a long, slow, sigh coming from her lips. Shaking, faltering, but clearly discernible. I remembered hearing it before when I was in the room. Turning to her son and daughter at the foot of the stretcher, I asked, “Does she always make this noise?” “She is singing,” her daughter said, eyes filling with tears. I listened more intently, leaning my ear over the gaping mouth. The soft groan did indeed have a musical quality. “What is she singing”? “Her favorite hymn.” “Remember Me.” Another hour passed. The admitting team had been held up with another patient. She lay in the same position, unmoving, seemingly unaware of her surroundings, unseeing eyes staring into the future. Still the music continued. “I have never heard of this hymn.” “Then we will sing it together for you.” As the words of an old Negro spiritual, full of sorrow, passion, and hope came from their lips, a profound hush fell upon my spirit. “O Lord, I’m your child O Lord, I’m your child
ANNALS OF EMERGENCY MEDICINE
36:4 OCTOBER 2000
CHANGE OF SHIFT
O Lord, I’m your child O Lord, Remember me!” Another hour passed. Resuscitation room 8 had been cleaned and awaited the arrival of another patient. There was no trace of its former occupant. No trace of the impact on the clean, bright room from the eternal drama of an hour ago. “Miss Viola, did He remember you?”
OCTOBER 2000
36:4
ANNALS OF EMERGENCY MEDICINE
3 9 7
Remember Me
Remember Me
Walter Kuhn, MD Department of Emergency Medicine Medical College of Georgia Augusta, GA Reprints not available from the author. Address for correspondence: Walter Kuhn, MD, Department of Emergency Medicine, Medical College of Georgia, 1120 15th Street, Augusta, GA 30912; 706-721-3365, fax 706-721-7718; E-mail [email protected]. Copyright © 2000 by the American College of Emergency Physicians. 0196-0644/2000/$12.00 + 0 47/1/110015 doi:10.1067/mem.2000.110015
3 9 6
[Kuhn W. Remember me. Ann Emerg Med. October 2000;36:396397.] Her leathery brown face tilted awkwardly back, her jaw hung loosely open. Eyes covered with a dry, white haze stared blindly at the ceiling. Open, but unseeing. Unkempt, thin white hair lay wildly against the pillow. Wasted arms and legs rested neatly on the stretcher. An inoperable brain tumor with gastrointestinal bleeding. A nasogastric tube taped to her nose drained black, granular material. “Will she make it to the floor?” I asked. “I’m not sure, but she is a do-not-resuscitate,” he said. “If she codes, just let her go.” An hour passed before I returned to resuscitation room 8. She lay in exactly the same position. The tube taped to her nose, head pitched back, glazed-over eyes fixed on the tiles of the ceiling, staring into eternity. There was a softly heard groan, like a long, slow, sigh coming from her lips. Shaking, faltering, but clearly discernible. I remembered hearing it before when I was in the room. Turning to her son and daughter at the foot of the stretcher, I asked, “Does she always make this noise?” “She is singing,” her daughter said, eyes filling with tears. I listened more intently, leaning my ear over the gaping mouth. The soft groan did indeed have a musical quality. “What is she singing”? “Her favorite hymn.” “Remember Me.” Another hour passed. The admitting team had been held up with another patient. She lay in the same position, unmoving, seemingly unaware of her surroundings, unseeing eyes staring into the future. Still the music continued. “I have never heard of this hymn.” “Then we will sing it together for you.” As the words of an old Negro spiritual, full of sorrow, passion, and hope came from their lips, a profound hush fell upon my spirit. “O Lord, I’m your child O Lord, I’m your child
ANNALS OF EMERGENCY MEDICINE
36:4 OCTOBER 2000
CHANGE OF SHIFT
O Lord, I’m your child O Lord, Remember me!” Another hour passed. Resuscitation room 8 had been cleaned and awaited the arrival of another patient. There was no trace of its former occupant. No trace of the impact on the clean, bright room from the eternal drama of an hour ago. “Miss Viola, did He remember you?”
OCTOBER 2000
36:4
ANNALS OF EMERGENCY MEDICINE
3 9 7