It is Saturday. Kamalashila is still alive. But I am not sure for how long. I am sitting on a chair next to his bed. And typing this text on my iPad. (I know he is happy with me doing that.) His eyes are closed. His breathing shallow. Just now the battery was running out on a device that is feeding a low dose of pain relief into his arm. I was meditating when the noise started. It didn’t wake KS up. I went to find the nurse who is looking after him this shift. She had to go to another ward to find batteries. I was anxious about the potential of the noise disturbing KS. It didn’t and hasn’t.
When I was meditating before this brief incident, I encountered noises of a helicopter, airco, the pump for his mattress, clatter and voices from the ward, somebody groaning. And the wafts of lunch being served on the ward, reminiscent of mashed potato and gravy. When I wasn’t smelling odours or hearing noises, I was feeling into the heaviness of my heart, sensing edges of dark thoughts. Allowing those edges to smoothen. I was breathing in heaviness and breathing out lightness. For myself. For both of us. For all of us.
One thing I am sure of. All of this, all of this experience is different from how I had imagined it. I am not even that aware of having imagined it. But however we had been envisaging KS’s dying process: this is different.
Another thing happens. KS is in pain. All over his body, he says, and he also uses an expletive. It is the first string of words in many days. I try to find his nurse. We are waiting for some more pain relief. Luckily another nurse comes and responds, and now it takes twenty minutes for this to work.
After Kamalashila arrived on this ward from ICU it took a few days to establish ourselves here. I needed a bit of time to recharge, to a degree, from the very intense time since this last hospital admission started. But now we seem to be in another phase again. He needs more support. I feel far less at ease taking time away from him. Even if he loves his solitude. Right now that doesn’t seem as relevant.
