MLC: MAFIA LOVING CARE
Elizabeth paced the room, listening to Mark's labored breathing. Where were the people hospice was supposed to send to look in on him today? Part of her wanted to be objective and think like a doctor, but this wasn't a patient--this was her husband. She knew the end was inevitable, but she was scared.
There was a knock at the door. "Finally," Elizabeth muttered as she rushed to answer it. She was taken aback at the sight of the two men standing there. Only the stethoscopes around their necks identified them as medical professionals. They were both dressed in Italian suits. Their dark hair was slicked back. One of them was bulky and the other thin. Neither one of them looked like anyone she wanted to meet in an alley.
The bulky one said, "I'm Dr. Tony Soprano," in a New York accent.
"I am Furio Guinta," the other said in a thick Naples accent.
"He's my nurse," Dr. Soprano explained. "What've we got here?" He pulled Mark's chart from his briefcase and looked through it. "Hmm," he muttered, listening to Mark's heart and lungs. He glanced at Furio, who turned up the oxygen.
"I hope that helps. He sounds like he's suffocating. Is there anything you can do to at least make him more comfortable?"
"We can give him a big dose of morphine, that's about it," said Dr. Soprano.
"Doctora Corday," said Furio. "De oxygen is at 98%. I cannot turn it up any higher."
"He doesn't have much time, does he?"
"No. I'm afraid he'll be sleeping with the fishes soon."
"Anything is better than this. Why must we prolong his suffering?"
"How would you feel about increasing the dose of morphine?"
Tears welled up in Elizabeth's eyes. "I suppose it would be the kindest thing."
"Are you sure, Dr. Corday?"
She nodded.
"One hundred miligrams, Furio."
"Yes, doctor." He prepared a syringe and approached the bed. "You feel a little poke now," he said to Mark.
When he stepped back, Elizabeth knelt by the bed. "Goodbye, Mark. I love you," she sobbed. She stayed there, crying, until she knew he was dead.
When she stood up, Dr. Soprano embraced her. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Corday. If there's ever anything we can do, you let us know, OK?
Furio handed her a business card. "We are not just for hospice patients. If de little bambina ever gets sick and you need someone to care for her, you call us, capisce?"
"Is there anything else we can do right now?" Dr. Soprano asked.
"No, thank you."
The two men left.
Elizabeth paced the room, listening to Mark's labored breathing. Where were the people hospice was supposed to send to look in on him today? Part of her wanted to be objective and think like a doctor, but this wasn't a patient--this was her husband. She knew the end was inevitable, but she was scared.
There was a knock at the door. "Finally," Elizabeth muttered as she rushed to answer it. She was taken aback at the sight of the two men standing there. Only the stethoscopes around their necks identified them as medical professionals. They were both dressed in Italian suits. Their dark hair was slicked back. One of them was bulky and the other thin. Neither one of them looked like anyone she wanted to meet in an alley.
The bulky one said, "I'm Dr. Tony Soprano," in a New York accent.
"I am Furio Guinta," the other said in a thick Naples accent.
"He's my nurse," Dr. Soprano explained. "What've we got here?" He pulled Mark's chart from his briefcase and looked through it. "Hmm," he muttered, listening to Mark's heart and lungs. He glanced at Furio, who turned up the oxygen.
"I hope that helps. He sounds like he's suffocating. Is there anything you can do to at least make him more comfortable?"
"We can give him a big dose of morphine, that's about it," said Dr. Soprano.
"Doctora Corday," said Furio. "De oxygen is at 98%. I cannot turn it up any higher."
"He doesn't have much time, does he?"
"No. I'm afraid he'll be sleeping with the fishes soon."
"Anything is better than this. Why must we prolong his suffering?"
"How would you feel about increasing the dose of morphine?"
Tears welled up in Elizabeth's eyes. "I suppose it would be the kindest thing."
"Are you sure, Dr. Corday?"
She nodded.
"One hundred miligrams, Furio."
"Yes, doctor." He prepared a syringe and approached the bed. "You feel a little poke now," he said to Mark.
When he stepped back, Elizabeth knelt by the bed. "Goodbye, Mark. I love you," she sobbed. She stayed there, crying, until she knew he was dead.
When she stood up, Dr. Soprano embraced her. "I'm so sorry, Dr. Corday. If there's ever anything we can do, you let us know, OK?
Furio handed her a business card. "We are not just for hospice patients. If de little bambina ever gets sick and you need someone to care for her, you call us, capisce?"
"Is there anything else we can do right now?" Dr. Soprano asked.
"No, thank you."
The two men left.