I’m sensitive to sounds people make and the moments they make them.
When my sister gave birth to my nephew, I recorded his heart beat from the monitor. When I got an ultra sound on my arteries, I recorded the sound and asked about it. When I’m in the woods, I pay attention to the wind.
I’m especially sensitive to the sounds my Dad makes. I’m sensitive to his voice — its timbre, its frequency, phonation, all of it. And the other day I heard the sound of Dad receiving morphine.
He was lying back in bed. The certified nursing assistant (CNA) came in with what appeared to be a straw, a very thin white straw that contained morphine. Along with the straw came a Q-tip like wipe which helped prevent any burning around the mouth from the morphine.
The CNA gradually woke him up with a “Mr. Brady, I need to give you something.” His eyes looked up. She looked down at him and wiped his mouth. Then she put the tube in.
It sounded like a low frequency gurgle. Like saying “ahh” for a throat examination but imagine there’s phlegm in your throat. It was short. It was followed by an almost barely audible “hum”.
This will be the first of many doses of morphines Dad will receive.