Two days ago, I had a dichotomy. I was called to an emergency, someone who had committed suicide at sea. At first, we were notified that they're looking for a missing person who's left a suicide letter. Then we got the call.

We jumped. Took the ambulance, the doctor and all the equipment we needed, and arrived on the scene. We saw two medics leaning over a young man, performing CPR. We jumped out of the ambulance, equipment at hand, and came closer.

It was about six in the morning. It was still chilly outside, and the sun was yet to reach its full light. There was a nice, pleasant breeze, and in any other case, I'd say it was one of the most beautiful early morning I've seen this year. Only problem is, I didn't have the time to appreciate this morning because of the man lying down on the shore.

We were five medics (three from my team and the two who found him) and the doctor at first. The two other medics with me helped the medics by helping with removing vomit from the guy's mouth and helping them with the CPR itself - it's an exhausting task and it's important to switch roles on the fly. I was more about removing vomit and helping undress the victim, but most of the time, since I was the senior medic, I was more about managing the happenings than actually treating the man, calling ambulances, making sure everything is done effectively and quickly.

However, as soon as we got there, the first words I heard from the doctor had confirmed what I'd been thinking for several seconds - this guy's long dead. He was probably floating around for about two to three hours when he was found, but the doctor decided to continue CPR anyway - later I was told that someone as young as 22 does sometimes, scarcely still, come back from deep hypothermia. We were soon joined by two paramedics and another two doctors, all of which tried some advanced resuscitation using electric shock, different drugs and intubation. Although it was obvious all along that this guy's no longer with us, we went on anyway, and did whatever we could to make sure that everything has indeed been done and everybody walks away clear-minded and with a clear conscience.

He was soaking wet, blue-skinned, and cold as a rock. Since he had a lot of vomit coming out of him, and most of it was very chunky, our suction machine didn't work and we had to resort to using our fingers to remove the aspirations. I'll tell you, having your fingers up some dead guy's throat is no pleasant trick.

He was so obviously dead, for crying out loud. And I had my fingers deep in his mouth removing chunks. It's an experience I would never forget. But that wasn't the worst part. Not even the half of it.

Let us except the white-and-blue skin, the cold touch, and the dummy-like movement of his dead body under the team's wonderful efforts. The thing that was disturbing me the most about this guy was his eyes.

His eye were like a demon's eyes. The pupils dilated, the iris naturally blue, and the conjunctiva totally, completely, disturbingly -


red.


All of the cords in his eye whites had exploded, which colored his eye whites traffic-light red. And to me, it seemed as if his red eyes were omnipresent, always watching. I know it sounds stupid, but his eyes disturbed me deeply. In a way, I'm thankful for that because it meant I got to look away quite a bit. Whenever I had to report to someone about what's happening, I could just turn around, watch and sniff the sea breeze and do it clear-minded. And whenever I had to remove his vomit, I hid his eyes from mine.

At last, after almost an hour of resuscitation, the three doctors have declared his time of death. I was still a bit awe-struck by what just went on under my nose, and still I couldn't shake his red eyes. When the doctors tried to close them, his eyelids kept resisting. It wasn't until we covered the body that I could finally take a deep breath of relief.

We've done whatever we could for the guy, but his will to kill himself beat us to it. He couldn't swim, and the sea was deep under the pier we were at, so he did what he thought was most effective for him.

I think it's such a shame when someone kills themselves. I'm not judging anyone, but as someone who's hit pretty low lows and moved on, I'm always up for getting therapy if needed and of course, managing to move on and carry on, because once you hit rock bottom, it's uphill from now. I don't appreciate people who take their own lives, but I don't judge them. People should not be judged for being weak and unmotivated. But damn, his cold stare will haunt me for quite some time.

I guess it's the relative sameness of the role that makes this sort of occasion so awfully exciting and so awfully difficult to digest. I guess if I was a traumatologist somewhere I would have been more used to seeing dead people, but as long as I'm a lowly medic at a place of sometimes-excruciating routine, this sort of routine-breakers will always be a shock.

Anyway, that's the most interesting thing that happened to me lately, possibly in the last seven months.
Just thought I'd share it.

I think I'm over my little setback now. Very willing to keep helping my brother around on Fridays. Very happy about that.

Had some Maredsous beer. It's awesome, if you can, go ahead and get yourself a 0.7-liter cup. Awesome, awesome beer.

Bought a ticket to a Draconian concert in February. Awesome, awesome band.

Anyway, this post has been long enough.