emily coleman
spring 2016
Look for asterixis,
The attending says,
His arms outstretched,
Glaringly white above you.
I sit down next to you,
Is it okay if I listen? I ask.
You pull up your gown
Reflexively obeying me.
Your belly, stretched and bloated
Overinflated.
Yellow.
Jaundice.
I begin to listen
I hear nothing
Just a haunting silence.
Unsure, I look to the attending.
He nods, and his eyes tell me
He knows this silence too.
I take off the stethoscope
My fingers timidly reaching,
Gliding over your stomach.
You look at me
Through the fog
That was now encircling you,
Trapping you.
The fog confused you,
Yet still you sensed:
We would not cure you.
I press down on your taut skin
Nothing gives way
Hard, unforgiving.
I smile at you uneasily.
Is this tender?
You nod vaguely in response,
Your eyes are far away.
I wonder where you have gone.
What memories sustain you now?
Where are you in your mind, without your body?
I imagine you somewhere,
Brimming with life.
Can I percuss? I ask
You nod,
I tap and listen
The dull sound reverberates.
That noise lingers,
Hovers hauntingly
Yet once more, I tap
And once more,
It echoes.
A harbinger of your fate
Your destiny, manifested.
It is now gut wrenchingly clear to me:
We will not heal you.
What once gave others life
Is now reclaiming yours.
The object of your husband’s affection;
The herald of your demise.
That ugly growth
Now spreading insidiously
Thrashing its tentacles
Wreaking havoc in you.
Piercing and unforgiving,
The lump cruelly ramified
Deepening its grasp
Mutating, transforming.
I wonder if you know
How badly I wish
We could heal you.
I’m sorry,
I’m so, so sorry.
I hope you left this world in peace
I hope you forgave us
For what we could not do.