John Curley watched a man die and now has two regrets

John Curley recounted this story during Tuesday’s “Tom and Curley Show.”

I had nothing to do Friday, so I texted my buddy, Dave the Cop, to see if I could do a ride along.

After two or three calls, Dave checked on his other police buddies. He pushed some buttons and asked, “So, you want to see a guy having a heart attack?”

I said, “Yeah, sure.”

We were about two blocks away from the call, which was at Providence Hospice, a Catholic, low-income housing facility near the Pike Place Market. We raced over.

We arrived before the medics and Dave held the elevator door for them, along with four firemen, and two police officers. There were nine of us altogether.

We slowly ascend four floors. And while we’re waiting, the man is having a heart attack.

But it’s not like in the movies where you see people run up the steps. It’s just sort of quiet. Every once in a while there’s a squawk from a police radio. Then we arrive.

We pour out of the elevator into a disorientingly bright hallway. They opened the man’s door. I didn’t bother going in because there were so many other bodies entering this small apartment; I just sort of stood back and watched.

They dragged the man into the hallway and everyone began working. Quietly. Nobody’s saying anything. Just asking for vitals – the routine of the life of these people.

I have two regrets.

Watching them work, I realized that the life of this individual was seeping out right in front of me. And to my right, was the dying man’s neighbor, an older woman. She was like a mouse, peaking her head out from her door. She’d softly say things like, “He’s a nice neighbor… he’s a very good neighbor… I hope he’s Ok.” The emergency people were busy.

I should have said something to her.

It’s not that I could have told her, “He’s dying or dead.” But I could have engaged with her. I could have said, “Tell me why he’s a good neighbor.” Something. Because this is the end of his life. You could tell. The man was the color of car primer at this point and the medics were trying to slide that tube down into his throat so they could breathe for him.

The lady kept poking her head back out, “He’s a good neighbor … He’s good, he’s good.”

And I ignored her. And I shouldn’t have.

I was watching emergency crew at work, but it’s not like I was totally fascinated by what they were doing. I felt like since I came with Dave, I should be watching them. And not her.

My other regret: I turned to the right and saw a Crucifix on the wall. I should have said a prayer for the guy. Obviously, he’s Catholic or he wouldn’t have been there.

Before I could think of these options, someone walked out carrying a paper in his hands. And, all of a sudden, the medics just stopped. Everything stopped.

The tube was taken out of his throat; IV from his arm. Another guy started collecting garbage like you would if you were a flight attendant, throwing bags and others into a bag.

There, left on the floor, sitting on this heavy-duty white canvas, was this man. No shirt on, almost completely naked. Just there. And everybody just stood up and walked away.

Someone had found a do-not-resuscitate letter taped to the door. It basically said, “do not take any extraordinary means to save my life.” So that was it.

The emergency personnel gathered their stuff and closed their packages, almost like a salesman selling shoes. Then we pressed the button and waited for the very slow elevator to come back.

All nine of us got into the elevator and down we went.

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