Mr. A has sadly passed as expected by we who have been treating him. The ventilator is still connected and pumping. But their is no HR, rhythm, pulse, BP, O2 sat, or any other sign of life other than the vent pumping air into his chest.
But I guess that's enough for a little hope.
The family informs us that they are ready for us to "let him go". Thanks for the permission but Elvis left the building about thirty minutes ago. No encore, sorry.
"But we would like to pray over him first." I am informed. Fine by me. "Could you tell my Sister's-husband's-baby's-niece to come in and pray with us?"
Umm ok. Which of the sixty of you is she? Or he? What?
I find Sister's-husband's-baby's-niece who is on the phone with Brother's-wife's-mother's-nephew.
"Uh uh. No. I can't be a part of this!" she yells. "I got too much faith! Too much faith I tell ya."
Sister's-husband's-baby's-niece looks to me for answers of course. "What his vital signs?"
"He doesn't have any." I say for the fourteenth time since obscure great nephew tried to punch the doc for trying to turn of the ventilator after Mr. A made his exit.
"Mmm. I just got too much faith."
