I wondered if my own passing would be so polite.

Night sounds had settled in -- that slow, steady rhythm of 4:00 AM.

A constant hum of the heater, distant static of the radio scanner, the quiet shuffling of the all night janitor cleaning debris from a busy day. Outside the stars twinkled -- silent guardians in the winter night. My head dropped to the desk, and the sounds carried me like steady breaths in and out -. a quiet flow in a quiet time -- peaceful rest.

BEEPBEEPBEEP. The radio exploded shattering the still. Medic 3 on the way in. Five to seven minutes. Chest pain. Blood pressure 80/40. Time to move. Fast. All points bulletin. Lab XRay Physician Nurse. We're on.

He arrived profoundly peaceful in his pain. A white face against white sheets. His lips cool and blue. So politely he answered our questions, and so politely he received our procedures. Pale and cool on those white sheets -- not one complaint.

The other nurse mumbled a paragraph of questions as she focused on her paperwork.. filling in the blanks of his chart. Quality Assurance requires it be so. He was 82. I told her that I thought he was hard of hearing and she should speak more distinctly. Actually, I think he was listening to another call -- the sound of singing from a distant shore.

He told us in perfect clarity his name, age, birthdate, shoe size; however, when the doctor asked about the course of pain, he answered simply, -I used to be a ship's captain."

"What?" "For years I guided big ships up and down the canal."

"Yes, I see... and about your pain?"

There was no blank on the chart entitled "Life Work", "Life Vision." Perhaps we should have asked less about drug allergies and more about life experiences, ability to see, to laugh, to dance to the rhythm of life songs. Instead we filled in the blanks of our required paperwork. Repeatedly, we stuck him with IV catheters -- attempting to penetrate to his blood supply --penetrate to his very heart.

Our sticks were unsuccessful. His eyes drifted so far away. Usually we rush around pushing drugs, doing CPR, entubating. Not for him. His heart beat on just well enough to avoid our procedures, but not well enough to keep him here. We kept diligently on sticking and watching -- working away at the mere shell of his existence.

I wish it were not always my job to stop death. At times I'd like to respect its peaceful passing.

I rubbed his sweet bald head and called his name. He looked at me, "Yes?" I realized I had nothing to say. I watched as he drifted on -- that far away look -- a sea captain on his course. Steady on, my friend, steady on.

Maridee Spearman