As if I were looking down upon him from above, as if for some reason there was a heaven and I'd made it there, I saw it all.
She spiked the anti-biotics, hung them on the pole, the infusion began and he was fine.
15 minutes later, a rash around his throat. He was unsettled, but nobody was there to notice, no machines to let them know, it wasn't unusual for him to dispise being alone.
It spread across his chest and he began to wheeze a little, he laid his face down in his pillow and screamed, heaving for more air in his lungs, he needed help. He needed someone to notice he was in trouble, but nobody was there.
Where was I? Why could I not know where I was? I was helpless. I wasn't there.
His throat was tightening, his reaction becoming more and more severe, he needed help urgently. But nobody came, soon his wheeze became simply a squeak, and died to nothing, he laid, eyes open and blood-shot a few inches below his pillow in the iron-cradle that had now become the place in which he drew his last breath.
And I wasn't there. Nobody was.
The nurse found him on an obs round, the poor woman. He was just becoming cold, she let out a scream, hit the nurse call button, and another 4 young women also encountered their first dead 17-month-old.
He had cancer, but he died from an allergic reaction to medicine to treat a fever.
How fucked.
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