By: Parsa Salehi

Thank God…it’s done… it’s finally over now.
I can breathe on my own, I see the light.
I’m walking? Oh thank you Lord! I missed walking.
I’m breathing? Deep breaths. Air never tasted so good.
Here I come, open the gates! “Mom, your boy is coming home!”

Doo-mm, crack, beep, beep, crack. “Still no pulse.”
Wait what? Stop! NO! Ouch, ah, oww.
Please stop.
What’s happening? The light…it’s gone?
What did I do to deserve this?
Please stop…

Doo-mm, crack, beep, doo-doom. “Where the hell is the crash cart?”
Who said that? Why are they shouting?
Oh no…this can’t be…I’m still in the hospital
They are trying to save me…

But what is left to save, for a man with my condition?
The sinking of the Titanic, a most accurate rendition.
I wanted to die. My family disagreed. A disparate partition.
Out of love, I succumbed to their wishes.
Now I suffer as their request comes to fruition.

Doo-doom, crack, beep. “Someone find cardiology.”
My body is numb, my chest bones are shattered.
My organs fill with blood, what a disturbing disaster.
My soul ripped from heaven, the sadness inundates my consciousness.
Meanwhile, I hear doctors yelling about my “lack of responsiveness.”
They bark orders at each other, in a foreign terminology.

Doo-doom, crack, beep, dah-doom. “Nothing else we can do.”
For a moment, I can see again—chaos in the room.
It’s obvious from their expressions. It will be over soon.
These are my last moments. I race to find a familiar face.
Then, in the corner, I see a boy—wishing he was anywhere but this place.
His face wears his emotions, but nobody seems to notice.
In my final moments, why is he my focus?

D-Doom, crack, beep, dah-doom. “He’ll be dead soon.”
I remember my family and friends. Send my final prayers.
God forgive me for my shortcomings, my failures.
Please show me the light again. Open the gates!
“Mom, I’m still coming home—this time, I won’t be late.”

As my eyelids close, I fixate on the boy in the corner.
Blackness. A tear leaves my right eye. Call in the coroner.

…

My first day of third year, the start of rotations.
I couldn’t wait to get started, exciting situations.
I spent my life in pursuit of this moment. Time to save lives!
I craved all the experiences. Ready to take the dive.

“Code Blue. Cath lab,” the intercom blared.
I knew what this meant. But did I dare?
I stood in shock. Was this a drill?
My attending turned and said, “Go now!”—not a second to kill.

I took off in full sprint, not ready for the scene.
When I arrived to a sight I could never unsee.

Doo-mm, crack, beep, beep, crack. “Still no pulse.”
A sea of doctors running around.
In the center, a lifeless man on the gurney, lying down.

Doo-mm, crack, beep, doo-doom. “Where the hell is the crash cart?”
A doctor mounted the man and continually smashed his chest.
Manually beating one’s heart can’t be easy, but he was doing his best.
People shot the man on the gurney with needles like darts.

Why were they doing this to him? Was it all worth it?
Did he even want this himself? Who decided this?
I was shocked by reality. In the movies it was so glamorous.
All they do is tap on the chest and gently blow in the mouth.
Then the person wakes up, everyone smiles, no frowns.

Doo-doom, crack, beep. “Someone find cardiology.”
The sounds of bones breaking filled the room.
I could see his torso changing colors—red, black, and blue.
His chest filled with blood, a disturbing reality.

I fade into the corner, as doctors yell about his “lack of responsiveness.”
Someone reveals he has ALS—what a dreadful twist.

Doo-doom, crack, beep, dah-doom. “Nothing else we can do.”
I’m having an existential crisis. Do I really want to be a doctor?

Is he looking at me…? I must really be losing it.
I send a prayer for him and his family.

D-Doom, crack, beep, dah-doom. “He’ll be dead soon.”
Would my death be this tragic?
Do Not Resuscitate. There’s no such thing as magic.

As his eyelids close, I fixate on the man’s face from my corner.
Sorrow. A tear leaves my right eye. Call in the coroner.