Morning mist

It's the early hours of morning, my partner and I are driving back to station after a long and grueling night shift. A thick morning mist has spread across the land and as we drive down the highway I can see the vast fields around us covered with it, like a curtain trying to hide the events of the night. Maybe it was me hiding from the world, maybe I'm just overtired.

He lay in the back of the ambulance, motionless. His frail frame covered in sores and bruises from spending so long in bed. His old age was shown in every feature - from his thin wispy white hair to his lithe and withered frame. I didn't even take a blood pressure, his arms so thin I feared even the inflation of the cuff might snap the brittle bones. Baseline observations had been taken as we left the hospital, I write these down on our records.

His skin had thinned so much I can almost see the cancers that have invaded almost every major organ in his body save his lungs. Asthma and a chronic chest infection was now claiming those.

He stared vacantly out of the window, knowing his end was near. Knowing I knew his end was near. He mumbled something, it takes me a moment to realise he's asking for another blanket, and even though he came from one of the good hospitals with clean linen, I discard his spare used blanket and get him a fresh one from our linen. His eyes tell me of how much he has lost - time with loved ones, freedom to move around as he pleases, freedom from pain. Worse is knowing the final blow - his right to die at his home as he wishes. His wife rides up the front, visibly restraining herself from crying as we near the Palliative Care ward of his new and last home.

A dark cloud stayed over the ambulance the entire journey, and although I heard small talk coming from the front between my partner and our patient's wife, I know nothing that is said is really being listened to. The back remains quiet as our patient returns to sleep, possibly the only comfort he has left.

We're driving back to station and I look out into the mist. I watch it slowly cover the land and hiding everything underneath. I prepare myself mentally for the next job, a routine I've become accustomed to regardless of the patient previous. A last memory flicks into my mind before the mist covers it too - the last words I said to my patient after moving him into his ward bed;

"Well mate, get some rest, it's still very early - and Happy Birthday."
He sqeezes my hand and smiles, if only for a moment.