By Madelyn G. Kamen
pdf for those who prefer a printout: Download the_most_beautiful_sound2.pdf
IT is midnight. The only sound Elizabeth hears is the in and out of Joe’s breathing. It is the most beautiful sound in the world.
The lights are out in the room, except for the tiny, high-intensity bulb that sits atop and illuminates the page of the book she is reading. Elizabeth doesn’t know how many medical books she has read or self-help magazines she has leafed-through, or just how many “chicken soup” stories from well-meaning friends that she has tried to concentrate on in the past four months. More than she would like to remember. She stares at the page.
Now and then, she hears the squeak, squeak of rubber soles walking the dimly lit corridor. A heavy-set figure wearing grape-colored scrubs passes by the door, a tray of tiny white cups in her hand.
Tonight, the aide sticks her head in the door.
“Everything all right, Mrs. Frank?” she asks.
“Well, I have one question.”
Elizabeth is happy she has the opportunity to ask something about the tube that is going through Joe’s esophagus into his stomach. She gets an answer, albeit not one that satisfies her. The doctor will be there in the morning. Maybe. And then, she will ask it again.
It’s never certain if and when the medical staff will show up. Sometimes, they promise and don’t materialize. Other times, they promise the morning and get there at six in the afternoon. For Elizabeth, it is a process of waiting and watching. And waiting some more.
It doesn’t much matter though, does it? The day merges into night, the night into day. The days into weeks, the weeks into months. It’s been four months now. Four long, anxious months. Elizabeth’s friends tell her she needs to get some rest, to get away for a while. They simply don’t understand. She doesn’t want to leave Joe. What if something would happen? What if she were gone and he was alone to . . . to deal with the crisis?
No. That can’t happen. She would rather stay here in this room with one hospital bed, and one cot, together with Joe. After all, this room is so much better than any of the others they have camped in while they are waiting for his improvement. There have been five before.
At least, this room has a window. The intensive care unit at the hospital had only what they called a “consultation room”, four bare walls where Elizabeth was allowed to stay. The room had no cot. Just an uncomfortable, two-seater with not even enough room for her legs to be in a straight line with the rest of her body. She had to pull up a chair and sleep at an angle those nights. Please God, no more of those.
The health care system has no conscience, Elizabeth decided then. What a name for it: health care. It doesn’t have much to do with health and they sure don’t care about you. The system merely moves people back and forth with money the only object.
Where is the humanity, she wondered. Joe is a person. So is she. How can they let the two of them be moved and moved, like a pair of vagabonds, just to satisfy some requirement that legislators and the insurance companies decided is financially beneficial?
Doesn’t anybody care?
But, despite all that, Elizabeth is thankful. They’ve made it through another day, the two of them. Joe is still here, and he is breathing peacefully for now. In and out, in and out. The most beautiful sound in the world.
Author Bio: Madelyn D. Kamen is a free-lance writer and founder of a document development and management-consulting firm. Prior to establishing this company, she was an associate dean and professor at the University of Texas Health Science Center at Houston.
While at the University, she published a variety of papers in scientific journals and has been the editor of a campus newsletter and a local political newsletter. She also has developed volunteer manuals and assessment instruments for United Way of the Gulf Coast and for its many participating agencies.
Madelyn holds masters and doctorate degrees in public health. She has served on numerous boards in the community, particularly in the areas of women and children’s health and welfare. She was a graduate of the Leadership Texas Class of 1992 and was listed in Marquis’ Who’s Who in the Southwest and Who’s Who in America.
Madelyn’s poems, short stories, and essays have been published in local and national magazines and on the internet. She received second prize and honorable mention in the internet-based contest, Sixty-Second Novelist. She has recently completed a satirical suspense novel and is currently completing an collection of short stories and essays about everyday life. MDK email
Thula Mama was written and performed by South African singer songwriter Vusi Mahlasela. If you can spare ten minutes, you will appreciate this moving tribute to his grandmother which was sung at TED Global Arusha 2007.
