My patients are dying and I am buying nightgowns on eBay

(queen #114)
for decades
I slept in whisper-thin cotton dishdashes
but they’ve all worn out, I’ve not traveled in a while
and what I really want is not to be found on the interwebs

if my house were empty
or occupied by a lover instead of a guest or son
I would sleep in nothing
rather than seeking soft promises in sleeveless modal slips
to make up for all this death

the hazards of eBay are obvious
but I am not squeamish
washing machines and vinegar exist for a reason
and who needs a big carbon footprint?

the new with tags
new without tags
irregular
and gently used items
arrive fresh
often laundered
sometimes wrapped in tissue paper
a nice touch
but unnecessary
and annoying carbon-footprint-wise
since I will ditch the paper and wash the nightgown

*

it’s not like my patients didn’t die before
many had end-stage cancer diagnoses
with treatments that were painful and highly toxic
their dying was slow, anticipated
sometimes welcomed

now I had three deaths in as many weeks
people I had been working with for months or years
admitted to hospital for one complication or another
Patient is deceased.
Click continue to acknowledge.

boom

I am online
scanning squares of pretty hope
timing my bids just right
sexy
cute
soft
click
click

I can think of worse coping skills

*

while they are all soft
none of the nightgowns
is ever quite right
(is anything?)

that one turned out to be much shorter than it looked in the pictures
the pale blue one, also too short
has a sheer flower burnout decoration comically placed over the left nipple
that black one is old-lady-muumuu full
super soft but does not make me feel lovely
the blue and white one is crinkly
and looks like a tent
the green one is too snug
makes me grumpy if I forget to stretch it out after washing
the rust colored one has too-skinny straps
and is more pink than rust
the one with the cute ruffles is way too short

*
and then the nightgown from PJ Salvage arrives
tidied in crinkly paper
pleased with itself
or rather
it arrives from karlaskornershop
100% positive feedback
member since 2009
10,000 items sold

I wash and dry the slip of black
loaded with happy white dots
silk ribbing the sides
and lacing up in an I-love-you form-fitting hold
gentle on my curves, cupping my breasts
embracing my body

but

it stinks
bad
someone-died-in-it
bad
bled-out-in-it
awful
lived-in-it-for-months-while-excreting-toxins
kind of stink

I soak it
in baking soda
vinegar
Dawn
hot water
boiling water
hydrogen peroxide
even Miguel’s fancy rum
I hang it outside
in the sun
in the rain
suffocate it
in mothballs
and dryer sheets

I cannot pinpoint the smell
connect it to a fluid
or orifice
but it is brutal
relentless
unremovable
impossible to ignore

like the toxic shrouds
wrapping my patients

Click continue to acknowledge

(disappearance #449)

L missed an appointment with me.
It happens a lot
sometimes patients get held up.

L was looking for you this morning –
he waited here for a bit.

L is a sweet young man
who’s had an awful lot of challenges
for his young years.

He was tachycardic
and transferred to hospital.

I log onto the charting system
turn to stare at the mountains
while I wait for his record to load.

I want to write a children’s book
L told me at our last appointment.
Maybe you can help me.

We haven’t worked together long
and he was often sick and missed appointments
though lately he’s seemed better.

This view calms me down every time
patients tell me.

When I turn back to my computer
a rectangle has popped onto my screen.
I roll my chair closer.

Patient is deceased.
Click continue to acknowledge.

I stare, not comprehending.
This can’t be right. L is young, has a child
had been doing so much better.

Patient is deceased.
Click continue to acknowledge
the box insists.

I work with cancer patients
death happens sometimes
is not unexpected the way it would be
if I were a painter or a teacher.

Still.

Patient is deceased.
Click continue to acknowledge.

The box is drumming its fingers impatiently.

I hold the face of this sweet, gentle man
husband, father
a little longer

and click continue.

**

Born in Lebanon, Laila Halaby is the author of a memoir, The Weight of Ghosts, two novels, Once in a Promised Land and West of the Jordan (winner of a PEN Beyond Margins), and two collections of poetry. She is an educator and counselor who works with community groups and organizations to create trauma-informed, expressive arts programming.