She is peppered with questions and told the most unrelated things. The time now is seven at night, it didn't rain today, your heartbeat looks good, you're going home soon, today is Monday. She nods every time, but says nothing.
She gets asked a question. She nods yes. She gets asked another one. She shakes her head no. Then an open-ended question comes her way. She doesn't nod or shake her head...because she wants to answer. She gestures to the plastic piece of equipment covering her mouth. She wants it removed.
The family members ask for permission from the staff. Her mask comes off for a moment or two. The question comes again. Her lips move, her tongue shows, but there is no voice. The conversation continues in silence. The family is left guessing, helpless and desperate.
She wants to speak. She uses her fingers. She moves her hands. Her eyes dart around restlessly as she tries to get her family to understand what she said. Her children stare, clueless. They try to provide helping words. The words only bring more helplessness. She shakes her head no.
My heart aches. Where is her voice? What is she trying to say? Her mind must be cluttered, clouded, fatigued. She wants to speak to her children, her children cannot hear. She wants to speak to her children, her children do not understand. She wants to speak to her children... But the only sound we hear comes from a cold, lifeless machine. It beeps.