Twice in my life I have experienced the death rattles. That sound that comes from the back of a person's throat when unmoving saliva builds up and they have lost the natural ability to swallow. When you hear that sound, the end is near. Death is not far away when the death rattles are heard.
In my minds eye, I can see the pool of clear fluid, lying in the back of the throat, air rippling across it, causing a gurgling sound that goes on for several hours, perhaps days. Twice in my life. I had to ask the first time I heard it. "What's that sound?" The response was grave. "It's the death rattles." Sometimes, education hurts when you ask and learn. An unpleasant life lesson.
I've been told they're not painful... for the patient. Nevertheless, I was pained. I feared them, like the monsters under the bed. I can still hear them. They whirl back on my memory's soundtracks. Like a record spinning round, the needle rides across the grooves and that familiar reverberation sparks the visual of the dying. The death rattles echoing.
The stages of death have worked their way into my brain. I feel morbid. Knowing what to look for. Coma-like state where the patient drifts off to place never to return. Blue or purple tips of fingers. Cold legs and feet indicating no circulation of blood to that part of the body. Swelling, retention of fluid that the body can't filter out.
Finally, the death rattles. That wicked, taunting sign that I despise the most.
I never want to hear that sound again.
I hate it.
CSM
In my minds eye, I can see the pool of clear fluid, lying in the back of the throat, air rippling across it, causing a gurgling sound that goes on for several hours, perhaps days. Twice in my life. I had to ask the first time I heard it. "What's that sound?" The response was grave. "It's the death rattles." Sometimes, education hurts when you ask and learn. An unpleasant life lesson.
I've been told they're not painful... for the patient. Nevertheless, I was pained. I feared them, like the monsters under the bed. I can still hear them. They whirl back on my memory's soundtracks. Like a record spinning round, the needle rides across the grooves and that familiar reverberation sparks the visual of the dying. The death rattles echoing.
The stages of death have worked their way into my brain. I feel morbid. Knowing what to look for. Coma-like state where the patient drifts off to place never to return. Blue or purple tips of fingers. Cold legs and feet indicating no circulation of blood to that part of the body. Swelling, retention of fluid that the body can't filter out.
Finally, the death rattles. That wicked, taunting sign that I despise the most.
I never want to hear that sound again.
I hate it.
CSM
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