Page 63 of In Sheets of Rain

The man wasn’t breathing.

John went to one side of our patient, and I knelt down at the other.

And the gathered people’s voices sounded out as if a single note of absolute heartache.

I attached the electrodes as John prepared the bag-mask.

And the song rose and fell in the sweetest sound of despair and love and desolation.

I switched the defib on, as John started compressing the bulb on the mask. The O2bottle hissed as it delivered its life-giving oxygen.

And the voices wrapped around us, filling the gaps inside my soul.

“Asystole,” John said, still compressing the bulb on the O2mask in a steady rhythm.

And the voices rose in harmony, the song changing in tone.

I started compressions, as John continued to breathe for our patient.

And angels sang a song of such sweet sorrow.

“Charge the unit,” John said when we paused to check the ECG.

The whine of the defib charging set a sharp counterpoint to the singing that filled the hall with such aching devotion.

“All clear?” I asked as John pulled the bag-mask back from the body.

The patient’s large form jolted, the defib made a sound.

And angels welcomed home one of their own.

We tried again. And again. When normally we wouldn’t. Neither John nor I said a word, other than to coordinate our movements.

And angels sang a song of grief and sorrow.

The lights blazed above us. The man didn’t respond to our efforts.

And angels sang a song of grief and sorrow.

My arms hurt. My back ached. John had started sweating.

And angels sang a song of grief and sorrow.

My face became wet with tears. John’s eyes shone too brightly.

And angels sanga song ofgrief and sorrow.

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