The Ventilator Sep 17 '05    Write an essay on this topic. Tweet Popular Products in Building Supplies Wing Enterprises 15125-002 Select Step Ladder 5'-8' From $190 Solar Group Blk T3 Rural Mailbox St200b00 Mailbox Rural From $28 The Bottom Line The general non-fiction corner is a venue to present real life experiences in an effort to help other facing similar experiences. The more I advance, the more clearly I perceive that the greatest human knowledge amounts to a more pompous proof of our ignorance, by showing us how little we know about anything. John Newton I hear the metallic breaths pumping in and out as the ventilator pushes air- oxygen- into a pair of lungs who have lost functionality. The flashing monitor lights seems to cast an eerie glow- the top two measuring arterial and ventricular heart beats emit a Matrix-like green; the stark white calculates the flow of oxygen; the neon blue counts the measure of breath; the stop light yellow square determines when the blood pressure is not meeting the criteria. And uncanny alarm sounds an alert when the numbers aren’t computing. Yet, the human form lying in the bed simply looks like it is getting a good night’s rest. The shadows under the eyes diminish and fool the looker into perceiving that perhaps this is a healthful rest. However, that thought soon shows the truth cannot be ascertained by such a narrow picture. One has to take in all the IV racks, the bags and the tubes that invariably mean they are connected to that restful looking human form. Intrinsically the common sense knowledge is that they are plugged in, somewhere. Pull back the cover. The hands are revealed. Ponder for a moment that these are the hands that disciplined and yet loved. These hands spent many a day working through life fulfilling the needs of the family. The index finger often pointed to a being and said, “I told you so! Why don’t you listen to me?” Now they are all lax. Reflex response is in the eye of the beholder. One time, they feel chilled while another time human touch to human touch is hoping the supposed warmth means health will return and we will live to experience another day of interaction. The eye has ignored the fragility of the skin, too often poked and prodded to enable those tubes and bags to flow the magic into the interior of the body. There are also the shocking sizes of bruised areas that display a myriad of shades of old blood sitting right underneath the thin skin layer. It looks more serious, more threatening- more like this is life and this is death. I touch the feet. Almost, I say to myself not quite ice cold. I reach down to massage them, hoping to re-instill warmth. After all, isn’t warmth a sign of life, of returning health? Doesn’t warmth mean health will return? I even tickle the arch, remembering the times that that action brought the sleeper awake. I try it. I look back at the face. There is little reaction. Certainly, there is no reply like: ”Huh? What? What do you want?” Instead, the cadence of the machine hisses in and out. It’s not attuned to the heart beats being calculated in that greenish glow. There’s no sure hope to life and recovery; yet there’s no true sign that this is the end, the death of a hardworking man who did the best he could for his family. Is this what life really boils down to, I ask? Accrued life time knowledge has no ready, sure-fire answer. I continued to stand at the end of the bed, taking in the scene and ponder the yesterdays and the tomorrows that may never have a chance to come to fruition. I wonder what the human is thinking, dreaming, wondering. Then I consider, there may be no thinking, dreaming, or wondering going on inside. The mirrors to the soul are closed. I come to the intrinsic notion that for all I know, I still know nothing. BOB is on the ventilator. My father passed away the next day.

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