Your eyes opened and the piercing light-blue stared back at me. I cried and didn’t know what to feel. I just knew how much I loved you and how much I wanted you to recover. When I saw your eyes, I couldn’t feel anything except love, how much I wanted to tell you I love you and wanted you to know. I wish I had told you that before. How is it that in the 8 years and all the time that we’ve hung out, I never told you I love you? I hope you knew. It wasn’t until I saw you in the ICU that those words and feelings came out so strongly and naturally. Most of the time while I was there, the words I love you were the only things running through my mind. When you looked at me, I knew you recognized me — you also wriggled your eyebrows, and I just cried more. I hope you weren’t feeling scared or in pain. I think when you moved your eyebrows in that familiar quizzical-skeptical-often “don’t be ridiculous” look, towards me, while your eyes would open and close with effort, I could read what you wanted to communicate — it was to tell me that you knew I was there and you were telling me not to cry. I could tell that you were calm. Despite the environment, and seeing your bald head and pale, pale skin, with the breathing tube and some drool, each time your eyes opened and closed, I sensed you there trying to reach out while the body refused to cooperate. I’m so sorry, Catherine. I love you so much.
Nelson was there as well, and he also teared up and had to leave the room. Your mom was talking to you, to us, to herself. Praying and commenting that you were fine. That the miracle of that little boy, Newman(?), who woke up from a coma and just got up and left the hospital. You would do the same.
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It was Thursday night, when you texted me to say they were moving you to HUP. I didn’t think much of it because I felt like they should have done that already, the first day when you got pneumonia, so it was natural that they’re finally moving you. I should have worried more and taken it more seriously. You told me that the back and chest were very painful. I told you to tell the doctors accordingly and get more medicine. You said it was very uncomfortable, but that they didn’t know what was causing it that much, but that it seemed par for the course. I think the last thing I texted about was just “hope the doctors give you more medicine and that it’s a good thing they are moving you back to HUP.” I also asked that you keep me posted on the condition when you could. And that was it, I didn’t think too much about it. I should have. I can’t believe that was the last time we messaged. You didn’t text me on Friday, though I asked, but again, I didn’t think much of it. I figured that with the hospital, you were occupied and didn’t have a chance to check your phone. They were probably running tests, and you would be resting. It was the weekend. As Saturday passed, I noticed you hadn’t texted, but again, I didn’t think too much of it. I never imagined that it was that bad. Nelson and I were watching a movie on Saturday night. I think we just finished the movie and I was getting ready to sleep — we were at his apartment near Times Square. Hannah messaged me. She asked when was the last time I spoke with Catherine. I remember saying Thurs night, when you said you were being moved to HUP. I remember feeling the panic rise as she started typing on the messenger. The typing bubbles kept going, and I kept staring and waiting to see the message. I wanted her to type faster and hurry up. I didn’t know what to expect, but I think a part of me was starting to feel the urgency. When her message finally showed up, a paragraph about how you deteriorated over Friday night, but seemed to have stabilized on Saturday, I lost it. I think I called her and asked what was going on. She was in tears and breathing heavily, but somehow worked out that you’re not dead, and that you had stabilized, but it was a scary last 24 hours. She said you had those strokes in the spine, causing a lot of pain. Doctors were worried and didn’t know what was happening. I asked her if I should go to Philly. She said she didn’t know, but to be prepared. I had no idea. I remember when she hung up, I threw the phone on the bed and scream cried. I had never felt that way before. It was only then, that I finally felt so scared for you. I didn’t know what to think. I was sitting on the bed and leaned into Nelson as I cried hysterically. I think I asked him what if you died? I asked Nelson whether I should go to Philly immediately. He said I could. Hannah said you stabilized and seemed like the worst was past; doctors would do more tests overnight. I don’t remember what else happened, but we went to sleep. Early the next morning, I might have texted Hannah, or maybe she called, but I only remember shouting into the phone telling her that I was on my way. Nelson said he would go with me. It was Sunday. I checked the train times. We threw some clothes into an overnight bag. Ran outside and grabbed a taxi. The train was in like 30mins, it was around 8:30am maybe? I paid cash for the taxi, practically threw $8 at the driver as we ran out of the car into the Penn Station. I was sprinting through the station. Nelson was out of breath and in bad shape, but I ran ahead to the ticket booth, dropped $200+ to get us the next tickets on Amtrak to Philly.
The entire train ride, I was crying insanely. I couldn’t stop. Nelson and I looked up what spinal strokes were and read about leukemia and the causes and the symptoms and how you would recover. I kept asking him what if you died. Or what if you became paralyzed. That train ride was the worst. My emotions were insane and everything was going hysterical. I messaged my parents briefly about the urgency and your situation. I couldn’t stop crying because I was so scared, for you and for myself. I don’t know what I’d do without you, and clearly, I still don’t know. It’s been so hard.
We took another taxi to HUP. It was a different room this time because it was in the ICU. You were in the room at the end of the hallway, the glass room right there. Your family had taken over the small waiting room near the elevators. Your parents weren’t there when we arrived. I got there and saw Hannah and immediately broke down and cried out “What is going on?!” I remember this because I was so confused about how this could have happened. How could you have deteriorated over a few nights, to this condition of dying? It didn’t make sense and I wanted answers. I wanted someone to tell me that it was going to be ok, and that you made it through the scary part. Hannah and Jennifer were crying as well and everyone was in tears or between crying episodes. No one really had info. Aunt Patty might have been there, there were a few relatives around and someone told me to put down my stuff and I could go in to see you. I was confused about how all the hospital stuff worked, but I walked down the hallway to your room, which had the sliding door opened. You had a breathing tube and your head was leaned to the side. Your chest went up and down quite a bit, with the machine pushing breaths for you. You looked really small on the hospital bed. Your head was bald and uncovered. You had some drool crusted on your mouth. It didn’t look like you at all. But overall, you looked ok. You didn’t have any obvious parts of a broken body — somehow the battle was just happening inside your body and we couldn’t see the struggle. Only 3 people were allowed in the room at a time because they weren’t sure if you had an infection or something, where they were concerned about germs. So until that test came back, only 3 people and everyone had to wear scrubs. Basically, the doctors were continually running tests and didn’t know why you weren’t getting better. They were useless.
Nelson and I put on yellow scrubs and face masks and went into the room. I had no idea what to say. I’m sorry, I just wanted to say I love you. I wanted you to get better. Honestly, the person on that hospital bed didn’t look like you. Your hands were blotted, so they didn’t feel like your slender, deadpan hands. Nothing about that person was like you. I wanted to touch you, but didn’t know what to do. I just put my hand gently on yours and whispered everything in my head. I stared at you, hoping that you would wake up. Out loud, I called your name and told you that Nelson and I were here. I think I said very generic things like “hey Catherine, please wake up.” “Hey Catherine, look, Nelson came here too.” “Catherine, please stop sleeping, what are you doing?” It was very strange to see you like this and I didn’t know what to do. We didn’t stay long in the room. It just felt wrong.
I don’t remember too much else of that night. Different relatives came in and out of the waiting room. Hannah and Jennifer were there. At some point, your parents came back. They had gone home to change and get some rest. No one knew about your condition. Doctors just said they gave you something that stabilized, but they didn’t know whether it would help for the long term. Nelson went down to the cafeteria to do some work. I really don’t remember much else. Somehow the hours passed. Lots of relatives came in to see you. Some would sing to you. Everyone hugged each other. People came in and out. Kelly stopped by. I think most people realized that it might be nearing the end. I don’t think it really hit me then either. I kept thinking that you would get better. I kept hoping that the doctors would suddenly have a resolution. I just knew we were waiting, but I didn’t know for what yet. You were there, you looked calm; there wasn’t anything wrong with you that we could see. Many of us would alternate between crying and talking to you. In general, tears would just stream down my face without stopping. Rose was there with baby Jimmy. He was tiny, just 3 weeks old, and he was a cute source of distraction. I went downstairs to eat something in the cafeteria and sat with Nelson for a bit. Hannah and Jennifer came down as well and we chatted for a few minutes, about our friendships. It was around evening when Nelson went back to NY. I stayed. I emailed Joe, telling him that I wouldn’t be coming in on Monday. Somehow, I still felt that you would get better. At night time, we were still in the waiting room, and they had already concluded that you didn’t’ have an infection, so the scrubs and people limit were no longer necessary. Your mom sat with you in the room and talked to you a lot. She would massage your limbs and pray. Hannah, Jennifer, Aunt Patty, and I made a few paper cranes for your room. It was late at night, and we wrote little messages and prayers on them. There wasn’t much change in your situation. I only saw your eyes open earlier in the afternoon, and when you spoke with me through those eyebrow wriggles. That was the last time you communicated with me in real life. You didn’t look like you, with the hospital bed and the bald head, and the breathing tube. But in your eyes and your eyebrow wriggles, you looked exactly like my best friend. I could feel you. I never want to forget that moment and connectivity. You were being you, and you recognized me. You had a quizzical look with the eyebrows, kind of like, what is going on? In a way that made me smile when I think about it. It was so you. You telling me that you didn’t know why there was a breathing tube either. Just like me, you didn’t know what was happening or why. But at the same time, you were telling me, try not to worry, it will be ok.
That Sunday night, I went to your house with Hannah and Jennifer. I slept on the couch in their living room. I can’t remember if we ate or not. Somehow must have at some point. It wasn’t even that late I think, but I’m not sure, maybe after 9:30. Your parents were staying at the hospital. The rest of us were coming back in the morning. There was no update on your condition. They were just going to do more tests and see if you improved with the medication. When I was at your house, I walked up to your room and stood in the doorway. It smelled like you and the room looked exactly as it always did. I wanted to stay longer, but didn’t want to seem weird to your roommates. Before I slept, I wrote an email to Cat Wang and Laurel. I think at that time, I still didn’t really think that you would die. It was scary, but I somehow still felt that you would be ok by the morning, that your condition would improve. No one knew much, but we all hoped that the medicine would work with more hours and then you would be better. Aside from that, there was no update.
In the morning, we still hadn’t heard anything from your parents, nothing good, nothing bad, so I didn’t know what to feel as we went back to the hospital. You looked exactly the same. Not better, not worse. Just existing there on the hospital bed with the big breaths as the machine pushed air in and made your chest go up in very rhythmic beats. I wanted to move your head because it had been leaning to the left for quite some time. I thought you didn’t look too comfortable, maybe getting a crick in your neck. Your parents looked terrible. They clearly didn’t sleep and they said that the doctors wheeled you in and out all night, doing more tests. There was still no news. Around maybe 9, the doctors had their powwow. They were “doing the rounds” with the patients in the ICU. There are maybe 10 patients on the floor. At least 12 doctors and nurses gathered in front of your room in the hallway, with their standing desks on wheels, with laptops. They began the session like an academic study. It was so methodical and textbook. No one even said your name, maybe they did, I don’t remember. They stood around and spoke in numbers, saying your levels were so and so and that you were or were not responding to the different treatments. There was an oncologist and also the lead doctor assigned to your case. There were neurologists and various specialty doctors. They evaluated your condition and the treatments. The few of us were standing in the hallway, listening, but I didn’t really know what they meant. I only knew that they were treating you like another case and patient, not as Catherine, a beautiful girl who had a life and was special to us. They spoke of you as doctors, one patient, of the many that they had. There were some decisions made. In fact, one of your nurses was Laura. She was a nursing student at Penn while we were at Newman. She was so indifferent. I never particularly liked doctors or nurses, and after this experience, I am very biased against them. They have no feelings. This is just a job to them. You were no one to them, whether they could help you or not. It was just another day in the work life. When they finished the powwow, they essentially closed the laptops, shut the text books, and wheeled their desks away as they went on to the next patient case.
We didn’t glean much from that doctor session. Your lead doctor was a young man, he looked very young and was probably objectively attractive. So at least you would have liked that. After that powwow, I went into the room. Your mom stayed there and was talk crying. Rose was there as well, sometimes breast-feeding baby Jimmy. Probably for that hour or so, there was just a lot of puttering around you on your bed. You didn’t move or twitch or do anything. We just looked at you and talked about varying random things. Hoping and knowing that you could hear us and would suddenly wake up. Your mom repeated this story of the little Newman(?) boy story where he was sick and a priest said a prayer and put a prayer card(?) on his bed and the next day, the little boy woke up and walked out of the hospital without any sickness. You mom talked a lot as she walked around your bed and massaged your arms and legs. I just awkwardly stood in various places around the room and looked at you, mentally talking to you and trying to convince you to wake up. The neurologist came in at one point and checked for any signs of feeling. She squeezed your toes and talked loudly at you, asking you to respond or give any sign that you felt the touch or pain. You didn’t do anything. I felt like the neurologist seemed again, dispassionate, like all the other doctors. She didn’t stay long.
Not too long after, you were wheeled down to do more tests around mid-morning. The doctor said there would be an update for your parents later in the morning after that test. Only a few relatives were at the hospital that morning. Rose, Charlie, Aunt Patty, Hannah, Jennifer, Jim, your parents. Together, we did a rosary prayer for you, while you were wheeled downstairs for the test. We had colorful rosaries and your mom and dad led the prayer. All morning, I was crying. Tears just streamed down my face. I stopped noticing. The tissues were useless. Your dad spoke to me, asking if I was ok; he said that often. I was not ok, but I didn’t know what to say. Could only cry and nod and believe that you would recover. After all, you didn’t look worse. You looked the same. We couldn’t see much wrong with you on the outside. It was just hard to believe that your body was fighting and hurting so much on the inside.
The 11:30 update was not good. I hated the doctor. I hated him. Your parents were generous and let him tell all of us at the same time in that waiting room. I sat in the back corner, near the book shelf and the tissue box and the coffee machine. Rose stood near the window. Mr. and Mrs. Imms sat on the 2-person couch to my right side. I can’t remember where Maggie/Hannah/Jennifer and the others were. The young doctor sat on a stool near the center of the room, in front of your parents. An Indian doctor guy came in as well; I think he said something about the next presiding medic, on rotation or something. He sat by the door; they closed the door. The young doctor was so clear faced and eyed, as he told us the latest update. He spoke so flatly and objectively, it was the worst. He was wearing a fleece vest over his shirt/scrubs. Your mom was crying and sniffling. Your dad was holding her and blinking his tears away. There was already enough crying going around. The young doctor said that your tests came back with no change. The drugs they were giving you hadn’t done anything to help with whatever was going wrong in your body. He said that you had more strokes along the spine overnight. He mentioned that they didn’t know if there was any brain activity, that it was hard to tell given all the other stuff going on in your body, with the strokes, and some kind of difficulty with the imaging. He said that it wasn’t likely that you had any brain activity, with all the pressure build up in your skull. Or something medical like that. Your mom asked if they would do the ET(?) brain scan thing where they put nobs on your head with electricity to try detecting brain activity. Your parents wanted to know if you were still inside. They didn’t care so much about the body — I remember your dad mentioned earlier that morning or last night, that doesn’t matter what happens with your body (implying the paralysis that has already happened) but that if your brain was ok and that you could still be you, Catherine in personality and spirit, then they could work with everything else. So your mom asked about the other possibilities of finding out if there was still brain activity and that you were in there, but just the body wasn’t cooperating as the medium to communicate. The doctor said that the brain scan probably wouldn’t help — he said it wasn’t likely and there wasn’t going to be any results from that. He did mention that if we wanted, the last resort could be to drill some holes in your skull as attempts to alleviate the brain pressure and see if that would help. However, he said that wasn’t likely to change anything. Your mom immediately said she didn’t want you to suffer anymore and that the drilling into the brain wasn’t something she wanted to do. Eventually, the doctor basically said without saying, that there wasn’t anything else they could do. They decided that you were brain dead and that the inside of your body was only continuing to deteriorate and that none of the drugs were helping. I remember seeing Rose in front of me with more tears (if that was possible) to stream down her face as she stared out the window. You mom cried loudly, as did I. Someone passed the tissue box to her. The doctor didn’t say much of anything else. He probably said sorry and told us to take our time. Then he and the other doctor left. I think the doctor probably also mentioned that the machine was breathing for you, that you no longer had any capability to breath on your own.
After the doctor left, I can’t really remember what happened or the timing. I think we all knew that you were already gone and that hurt a lot. You just left already and that it was just the shell that didn’t even look like you still laying there on the bed. Somehow and somewhere, it was decided that the machine would be turned off at the end of the day. I went outside. I walked fast out of the hospital hallways, crying hysterically. It was such a blur. I can’t remember who I called first, maybe Nelson? I’m not sure. I do remember that I called Matthew. I told him that they were going to turn off the machine and that you weren’t going to recover. I remember standing just outside of the hospital entrance, where all these cars and taxis pulled up a lot. And I just cried while he was on the phone. It was cold. My hands were cold. There was nothing he could say, but I paced and felt my heart hurting so much. It really hurt a lot. That sort of pain. Catherine, it hurt so much. A think less than 15mins passed and then I went inside. I tried to call Mom, but she wasn’t at home. I called Dad. He told me Mom was driving to Houston for lunch with Isabella. I told him I didn’t want her to know until she was safely home again. I remember sitting in the hospital lobby crying like an insane person. I might have had a few crumbled tissues with me. I remember thinking the security guard was going to tell me to go elsewhere because I was disruptive with the phone call and the crying. But then I would remember that I was in the hospital and that people died here. I didn’t talk to Dad long either. Time passed and I just cried. Maybe 30+mins or so (less than an hour), Hannah messaged me asking if I was ok because I had disappeared. I told her I was outside, but that I’d be coming back to the waiting room. So I did. I saw your dad, he asked if I was ok. I wasn’t. There was nothing to say. I needed to be alone. People went into your room a lot and talked to you and puttered around crying. Your cousins showed up and your dad joked that Maya and Julie were the professional mourners. He still made jokes. It was really hard. Those next few hours of just waiting around, crying, being helpless, waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for your siblings to arrive. I had no idea what to do and it was just so numbing. I wasn’t thinking much. I remember getting a sheet of paper from Julie’s notebook, it was dark brown and she ripped it out. I think I asked around in general for pen and paper. I remember your dad went to another room to find me some. I got it from your cousin and walked out to the end of the hallway, where there was a broken table and I started writing. I wrote to you. I haven’t read it since — it’s somewhere along with the other sheets of paper that I wrote those next few days. It felt a little better to write to you. Your dad saw me hunched over the broken table, scribbling on a small sheet of paper. He asked if I was ok and told me that it’s ok not to be ok.
The rest of the time, there was just so much crying and sadness. We wandered in and out of your room and the waiting room, as relatives and friends were notified. It was all so strange. The priests came. The loud overly enthusiastic one who I think was at Rose’s wedding, and also Father George. There was some kind of death rite, which I guess made sense, but anyways, I wasn’t processing much. I remember trying to stand further back in the corner because everyone there was family and I felt like I didn’t belong. Even though I really wanted to see you and touch you. The room was very crowded and the sun was streaming in, nearly evening. At some point, someone lowered the blinds. Your mom sat and lay with you on the bed a lot and she cried so much. She hugged you and loved you so much as her daughter. It hurt a lot for me, but it hurt more to see her like that. You hurt all of us so much. The funeral rite happened and that priest (who I didn’t like that much) did all the Catholic things to help you on your way.
When it was time for the machine to be turned off, there was a gross fat nurse who came in; he seemed like the designated “pulling the plug” guy. None of the other doctors were there. The nurse, Laura (from Penn Newman nursing) stayed there to assist. But basically, this guy came in, looked gross and unkempt. Seriously, his scrubs weren’t fitting right and just looked unprofessional. He was the one who turned off the machine. He took the breathing tube out of your mouth; it had saliva and drool on it, so was actually quite gross (sorry). The heart beat machine stayed going for a few minutes. Your heart rate gradually dropped, and probably took all of 2–3 minutes. Your mom stayed hugging you on one side and the rest of us took turns to give you a kiss and say good bye. It was very strange. Meanwhile the heart rate machine kept slowing down. And then it eventually got very quiet. The sun was setting. People commented that it was a beautiful sunset right as you officially went. It was actually quite beautiful with the pink and gold streaks, after a few days of rain. And then at that moment, your spirit colored the skies as you went into Heaven. It was evening. Gradually people started to leave. Most of us sat around in the waiting room, not too sure what was happening or why. I remembered that after your room emptied, I tried to go back in and take a look at you. They had turned off the lights. Your body was cold already. It was so strange. It didn’t look like you and I told myself that it was just the body.
Hannah and Jennifer were going home, and I was going to stay with them another night before going back to NY. But then near the last minute, I suddenly remembered that it was Nelson’s birthday, and I needed to go back to the city to give him his present (the knitted scarf) and celebrate his birthday with him that night. So I immediately went to the train station and got on a train back to NY. Hannah and Jennifer walked with me back to 30th Street. It was just weird. Everything else was on auto-pilot. I somehow was on the train back. I remember calling Sam and telling him. I cried the entire way. I messaged Rodolphe, asking for a time to call. I got back to Penn Station, I bought a little cupcake from Magnolia for Nelson’s birthday. I went to his apt in Times Square. I took a shower. I shed all the hospital clothing I was wearing for those 2 days. I kept crying. I wrote you more little pieces of paper. I remember that my heart hurt so much and that the crying was so wrecking that it really did hurt my heart, not to mention my face and breathing. Crying itself was tiring. It was so much intangible pain trying to process that you were gone; it became physical pain that just ached my heart. Your death just didn’t seem possible or make any sense. How could you have just left all of us behind?
When Nelson got home, my face was still blotchy and tearful. It was also his birthday, and of course I wanted to celebrate that too. It seemed like a cruel joke to have two most important non-family people in my life, share this February 12 as a birthday and a deathday. Nelson inherently doesn’t talk much, so he just went with my attempt at being happy for his birthday. We lit the candle, sang the birthday song, and ate the cupcake. He opened his present, that I had wrapped and ready a few weeks before — it was the scarf, the first and only thing I’ve ever knitted before. [You would have laughed at how the final product looked. I started it during our upstate NY hiking trip, and I had brought it and worked on it during several of the hospital visits. You would have loved the fact that the beginning section was so uneven and awful, but then about 2/3s of the way through, I figured out the rhythm and the stiches finally looked even. I probably sent you a photo of it the time when I finished it.]
An understatement, but it wasn’t the best birthday. I was exhausted by then, the last of my strength trying to hold this bizarre hospital death separate from his birthday. I fell asleep crying into Nelson’s chest, leaving dark wet patches on his maroon tshirt. It’s one of those times when you can’t feel and can’t think and mental exhaustion just renders the body helpless.
