A Matter of Unicorns

I watch nature's fury attack a stained glass window outside the Medical ICU of Grady Memorial Hospital. It is a stormy night in Atlanta, alive with hair raising thunder and close lightening strikes.

Angela Collins, R.N. opens the waiting room door. Angela is Laura's favorite nurse with her quick wit, warmth and empathy. She is a best girlfriend and efficient professional rolled into one.

"You can go in, Candy. I just gave her a booster of Morphine".

In the glass enclosed cubicle cluttered with high tech machinery, Laura reaches out a painfully thin arm to me.

"Tell me about the fun we used to have," she whispers softly.

The very act of talking causes a violent spasm of coughing. There is clotted blood in the tissue I throw away. I have gloves, a paper gown and mask on. At home I never bother but the units are different. There are so many bugs and patients have such compromised immune systems, they prefer not to take chances. My friend is gray tonight with a dusky blue tinge around her mouth. Her skin is pulled tightly over bones that threaten to push through.

I am glad there are no mirrors around because as superficial as it is, Laura has always wanted to look gorgeous. Now, she looks like a survivor of a concentration camp. It is frightening and I want to pull away, run fast and hide.
I am ashamed of myself for such thoughts.

Begging stories, she smiles at me like a child that wants a treat. I indulge her.

"Remember Johnny's Hideaway? You'd wear that sexy short black leather skirt... the first time you met Vick?"

She smiles.
“ He walked up to me and, I swear.... time stopped”.
Even now, she had to stop to catch her breath as the vixen look returned.

“We looked into each other's eyes. He opened his arms and I walked in “.

I could still see them, their bodies moved as one. They reminded me of warm honey sliding down the side of a jar. It was breathtaking to watch.

How Laura loved teasing men. She flirted and stroked their fragile egos. It was an art and she was a master. The men seemed to enjoy the game as much as she did. It was like watching a fisherman reel in a prize catch.

Vick was a dockworker, ten years younger than Laura. He was built like a finely tuned machine.

Laura should have been a lot more careful. She played with fire and it had finally flamed fast, furious, and fatal. Players like Vick were the reason I was losing my best friend to AIDS. Laura closed her eyes, a mischievous smile tugged at her lips. When she opened them, tears glistened, making them a smoky shade of brown.

"I looked good that night."

"Yes, you did, Honey."

We were old friends without secrets and that kind of friendship is hard to find.

Another spasm of coughing hit and this time she spit out much more clotted blood.

"Pneumocystic pneumonia, the people's choice, right?" she smiled.

'How could she joke?'

"It's a lousy way to die."

I kissed her moist forehead, "I'm going to let you get some sleep now."

She looked vulnerable and scared.

"Don't go too far, okay?"
I promised not to.

God, I needed a cigarette. I had quit a year ago. It is funny how the human mind works. Laura's lungs were failing and I was craving a cigarette.

I look around the waiting room outside the ICU. The walls are institutional gray, the color of a corpse. There is one dirty window with a plant needing life support. The furniture is green vinyl with cigarette burns. There is a coffee table littered with empty, stained Styrofoam coffee cups. I walk around the room straightening magazines and throwing out litter. I find it impossible to sit still.

It is two thirty in the morning. I need a shower but hate to go home to an empty apartment.

It has been a long year with Laura's latest illness. I have lived it all with her. We traveled from doctor to doctor trying experimental treatments and new medications with horrible side effects. They have been days of tears, fears, and unbearable physical pain. Then the physical part with bloody diarrhea, vomiting, and maintaining three different tubes. They were for meds, stomach feedings and a bladder catheter. Each new symptom meant something bad. There was seldom good news.

Now we are nearing the end of the road. Selfishly, I want to curl up somewhere and forget this whole mess.

Laura has family. Her son, Greg, is thirty. He physically lives just two hours away but is in total denial of the approaching death of his Mom. I called Greg two days ago and he said he couldn't deal with it. I didn't even want to hear anymore. The phone was now silent. It didn't matter. Laura and I have been each other's family for the last ten years.

Down in the bowels of the parking garage, I get in my red Mustang GT. I push a disc into the CD player and Springsteen's "Born to Run" blasts forth. It is like a drug rush for me.

The pure ecstasy of freedom from adult responsibility is so sweet. I'm running as fast as I can now. Somewhere life is easy and nothing is ugly. For the next twenty minutes I disappear into fantasy land. My car knows it's way home.

I open the door to our apartment. It's so empty without Laura. She is the one that lights fragrant candles, simmers pot-potpourri, cross-stitches, cooks and keeps house. She brings laughter into my life. How will I manage without her?
I allow myself a few selfish tears.

I run a bubble bath, light a mango melon candle, and sink down into warm water. I shut my eyes and feel the weariness drain away.

Suddenly, there is a loud ringing noise.
The water is ice cold. I must have fallen asleep. Damn, I should have taken a shower. I pull my robe on.

Angela is on the other end, my heart quivers.
"Candy, I'm sorry to call but Laura has taken a turn for the worse. Dr. Cochran wants to put her on a ventilator"

I am furious!
"Her living will is on the chart. She doesn't want a ventilator!!"

"Tell her I'm coming and I will make sure it goes her way, okay?"

Angela says calmly.
"He's opening an intubation tray at this moment. Honey, she is struggling to breathe and this will make her more comfortable. It is not going to change anything now. Drive carefully."

I slam the phone down.
I am so angry as I pull on my clothes, I accidently knock a few of Laura's precious glass figurines over.

Her favorite golden horned unicorn shatters.
How could I do that? Now it can't fly.
I am losing it. Too little sleep. Too much happening. Slow down!

No time to clean up. I must take her unicorn; she might need it. The pieces are carefully cradled in a red scarf Laura puts over a small lamp. I slip them in my purse.

Then I drove as fast as I could.

I burst through the staff doors to the ICU.

"Where is he? Where is the Cockroach?" I shout.

Dr. Cochran stops right in front of me. Both of my hands are now fists. One stupid remark and that man will have a black eye.
"Calm down now, Laura tolerated the procedure just fine. There's nothing to be upset about."

Now she is hooked up to a machine to breath for her. I am devastated. Laura and I had talked about this, how it would get harder for her to breathe at the end. Between narcotic pain medication, supplemental oxygen, and relaxation techniques: she could stay fairly alert, be able to talk and die her way.

"What happens now? Will she get better?"

I ask him this impossible question. I am being sarcastic and cruel.
Let him answer it.

"I am so sorry, I just want her to be comfortable".
Of course, she was on drugs now to keep her from fighting the machine. I had to let go, it was done.

Laura slept peacefully; looking like a child having pleasant dreams. As her brain and heart activity slowed down, we did all agree to take the machines away.

Her gentle presence lingered in the air even after her last breath. I believe she found joy and love as she flew on her perfect glass unicorn. She was strong and beautiful again; traveling to all the delightful places in her fantasy books. All the magical castles where only angels, fairies and princesses can go.



By Kathie Stehr
Revised Aug 2009