This is the last chapter in Katrina’s case. If you haven’t read the previous ones, it’s definitely advised you do so- each one builds upon the previous. Thanks for all of the support! New client case arriving next Monday.
Katrina was in the ICU. It had been a week since I heard about her fainting, and according to the nurses and doctors, she showed no signs of improvement. My services, at this point, were not needed, for obvious reasons. Still, I was stopping by every day to check on her. Each time I’d walk in hoping she’d made a miraculous recovery. Each time reality hit me: she was brain dead. I noticed I hadn’t seen anyone else visit her. I only knew of her sister, but I assumed she had other family or friends that would want to stop by.
The second week, her room remained bare; no balloons or flowers. I was going by because I felt she deserved someone to check on her. So, each day I stopped in, and spoke with a nurse.
“We haven’t seen any sign of improvement” she said, “her family seems to be wanting us to keep treating her and trying as much as we can.”
“So, there have been visitors?”
“I haven’t seen any so far, no.”
These were our conversations, it seemed.
I was growing frustrated. How could her sister not come see her? She put a roof over her head!
Still, I continued my visits. Each day, I’d make it a point to stop on my way home. I’d walk in. I’d awkwardly sit down in her room, not knowing what to say or do. Nurses would come in and out. No changes ever took place.
One Saturday, almost a month into her admission, I was meeting some friends in the area for dinner. I asked them to stop by the hospital, I just wanted to check on her and get a quick update. The Thursday and Friday before I couldn’t visit, and felt a tinge of guilt and obligation to her. I asked them to wait in the parking lot. I assumed there hadn’t been any changes. When I got up to the ICU, I headed directly to her room. It was empty. I must admit, I had only two thoughts when I saw this: either she was moved, or she made that miraculous recovery, and changed floors. I saw a nurse I recognized and asked to speak to her.
I was told Katrina died early Friday morning. The family decided to take her off life support. I found out her sister was the only one fighting for her to stay on the machines. I wasn’t sure if her sister fought for her because she truly wanted to, or she feared losing her home again.
I have a difficult time faulting her sister for either choice. She was 17 and was about to be homeless again.
I walked back to the car in the rain. I couldn’t stop thinking about the idea that she passed alone.
Who had cried for her?
She was 25.