The Heart monitor and the Boy

“Beep…beep…beep…beep…” The heart monitor never wanted to stop making the periodic noise that filled its life. Whenever the beeps got longer it knew the pain that was going through the people in the room, or the pain that was going to go through as soon as a phone call. This one time the heart monitor was connected to a little boy, his feeble heartbeat barely registered, he had leukemia. Day in and day out the boy laid on his bed alone.

“Mr. Beep, what does death feel like?” the boy asked. If a heart monitor had its own heartbeat, it would have been full of sadness at the question. The boy kept speaking. “I know you don’t speak but you clearly care about me. Every time I get bad you beep fast to let other people know to look out for me, so thank you. But you know, I don’t want to leave yet.”

The heart monitor knew the boy wasn’t going to make it. It heard the doctor’s conversations and the parents crying at night. The heart monitor was accustomed to death, but it was growing depressed.

The boy continued talking to the heart monitor.

“Mr. Beep I wanted to be an astronaut if I grew up. I wanted to fly through the stars and land on the moon.” The heart monitor continued beeping, but every day the boy still spoke.

“Mr. Beep I just want my daddy and mommy to be happy.” Every day the child spoke.

“Mr. Beep are you actually a Mrs. Is that why you haven’t spoken back to me?” And every day the heart monitor continued beeping. The little boy made it very hard to not care for him.

“Mr. BEEP! IT HURTS STOP IT, I HATE NEEDLES! MR. BEEP PLEASE SAVE ME!” His wails were cutting at the heart monitor as it beeped faster as the boy felt the pain.

“Mr. Beep,” the boy said weakly. “I talk to you every day, but not once have you talked to me. That’s very mean Mr. Beep.” His breaths were so shallow you could imagine how much effort he puts into speaking. The boy’s skin was so pale that it felt like he’s never seen the sun in his life. Slowly, the parents stopped visiting.

“Mr. Beep, I don’t want to die. I want to be an astronaut and see the stars. I want to take mommy and daddy with me. Mr. Beep why have my mommy and daddy not come to see me the last couple of days. I miss them Mr. Beep.” The heart monitor, if it could shed tears, was crying. The nurses and doctors did not spend every minute with him but the heart monitor did. Every needle, every vomit, every day of agony the heart monitor wanted to grab the little boy’s hand and tell him that he’d walk on the moon.

“Mr. Beep, what does death feel like?” The boy took deep breaths. “I hope death is nice to me, but I don’t want to die. I want to talk to you one more day Mr. Beep and I really, really want to hug mommy and daddy again.” And even though the boy’s skin was so sensitive that the bedsheets felt like needles, he smiled when he said that. The heart monitor did not want to stop beeping for this boy, who had such a big dream. The days past and the nights went by.

“BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, BEEP, beeee…” A horde of doctors and nurses surrounded the little boy and the heart monitor watched. He had nothing else in him. He died. His parents finally showed up and they cried and felt the guilt and shame for abandoning their child. The nurse gave them a little note that the boy had in his hand. It was a drawing of the boy and the heart monitor on the moon.