Remembering those 72 hours turns my stomach. I continue to think of it whilst I’m treating a wound that doesn’t heal. The following morning, we see our son exactly the same, in the same place, the same posture, everything remains the same, hour after hour…

Of course, we aren’t lacking anything, if it wasn’t for the surgical smell and the aseptic environment, it would have seemed that we are in a hotel, treated with constant hospitality.

And then you can think to yourself “they are really looking after us! Of course, in a situation like this…”  like what? Oscar has to wake up and we’re going home!

But you drown in your tears and the shock of seeing your son in a coma, breathing thanks to a machine with a thousand cables and tubes. I was only thinking about taking my son home to take care of him, to love him, get him out of there and give him all his family’s love, we were waiting for a thread of life that we could hold on to tight…

The humanity that we did not feel was camouflaged with offers, with a room for us to rest in, parking tickets and food and drinks if we needed it… Water everywhere, in the ICU waiting room, in Oscar’s box… They saw so many people arriving worried about what was happening that they offered us another room… two! After a while, they even closed the whole area on the second floor, perhaps they thought we would cause a scandal or talk to the patients, whom we respected at all times.

But all of this was worthless to us. Ungrateful? Maybe, I don’t care, they weren’t giving me what I wanted, «sweetening the suffering» is what I thought, we just wanted Oscar with us, to wait for him to wake up… although they probably knew already that he would never do that. They would confirm this to us 72 hours later.

I knew that my child had fallen asleep forever on March 29 and the agony of those 48 hours was a nightmare. The helplessness, impotence, and anxiety I felt would find no peace. But I didn’t want to believe it.

The hugs and crying shared with all those who loved Oscar and us, broke us in two and comforted us. I looked into everyone’s eyes and said _This can’t be happening to us; I don’t want to be the protagonist of this nightmare, no, not my child, Oscar… Oscar is the one who is there, he can’t be…

Always by Oscar’s side, speaking to him at night, holding his hand next to his «babau», a gift his sister gave him at birth which he always kept by him. I would play his favourite playlist, even reggaeton, just to see if he would wake up and would tell me, mom, give me a break! I read to him over and over again what his friend, his soul brother had sent me to read, on how much they still had to do together; I put the piano notes that his friend gave him which he loved to listen to, anything I could do to see a reaction…

And the news reached us exactly 2 days after I saw my child leave, lying on the stretcher. How many times have I thought why didn’t I get a sign to stop him at that moment and tell him, no! Don’t go, not today! I can’t get this out of my head.

Confirmed brain death, confirmed by tests, by machines, when my heart knew already that leaving my child without oxygen for so long was not good.

And that’s when «I’m sorry» sounds like NOTHING, no apology, no regret, no pain, you see only human beings in front of you as if providing a weather forecast… we continue to be in shock, and I tell them:

_Raise your head, yes you! look at me!”, “You have taken my son from me”. Here he was born and here he remains because of you.

_You have taken my son from me.

Nobody says anything. They stay still, they don’t react, maybe they think we’re Neanderthals and we’re going to attack them and we’re going to rip their hearts out… no… that’s what they did to us.

And even so, with all the pain that one can ever feel, we wanted Oscar’s heart, the heart of an athlete, a heart so big and strong that he fought until the last moment, to continue beating for another person who may need it, and we stated so. My son was perfect in life, so in his death he had to continue to be so. Generous and giving life to whomever could take advantage of a second chance.

And that’s when my daughter, 4 years older than Oscar, leaves the room, she can’t breathe… and my niece takes her to the ER for treatment. They have already been warned that someone from the family might come, they know what had happened days ago… and even so, when my daughter arrives with an anxiety attack asking for a sedative, something to soothe her, the first thing they say is: “Can you give me your ID card and your health insurance card?”, not even a wheelchair even… just that. Knowing they were aware of the situation, you tell me, does this show humanity? I don’t understand it. Tell me if it having us «in the dark» two more days until some papers certify what they already knew from day one shows any humanity. 48 more hours dreaming of a different outcome; and then you hear « We are preparing the family.»

Humanity: Ability to feel affection, understanding or solidarity towards other people

I am not able to understand the motivation or negligence of the trauma team that did not even operate on Oscar, that did not participate in what could have happened to him; the same team that operated on my shoulder just 2 weeks earlier. I cannot understand that being 80 meters at most from the ICU where I spent almost 72 hours next to my son, they were not able to come and give us support, or at least, condolences for our terrible loss. I have not even been asked by them why I have not followed my postoperative period and progress with them. I really do not understand the lack of empathy and solidarity within a team of doctors (Artroesport) who pride themselves, posting photos on the walls of their office of famous people thanking them, I can’t do it…

_Could it really not have been done better?