June, 2005 Archive

there is no real sensible conversation with mrs. S, but still, i like talking to her. she makes me smile.

“hello mrs. S” i say.

“how come you girls have these pretty long black hair and really pretty faces…”

“oh, you like my hair?” i ask.

“that’s okay, my mom will come and take that home.”

“your mom is coming tonight?” i ask.

“yeah, everything pretty much hurt, i wonder if they can give me something stronger. i hate being unable to move like this.”

“you’re hurting? i’ll see if i can give you some more pain medicine, okay?”, i tell her.

“my sister was here the whole day.”

for two nights, i took care of mrs. S. already in her late 60s, she is trying to regain life after a stroke. for some bizarre reasons, i enjoyed every minute of our “nonsensical” exchanges. i don’t make sense all the time too, so maybe that’s why i can relate.

last week, i didn’t take care of her. M was her nurse, and she was a little upset that the day RN did not give mrs. S a bath. i offered to help her, not only because i was not that busy, but because i miss my talks with mrs. S.

she had her baths on day shifts when she was my patient, so i never had that private and intimate yet awkward conversation that usually takes place during baths. it must be very unnerving…to let somebody ( so what if it’s the nurse?) touch you and wash you. the curtains are pulled, you are covered with towels, but still you must feel naked. unnerving.

i was drying the no rinse shampoo off her hair when mrs. S farted.

“ooops…do you have a plastic bag?”

“what for?” i asked.

“i’d love to poop in it and pop it in the air.”

i laughed my ass off with that. M laughed so hard, she was almost crying.

then, i noticed a really small, very light tattoo on her right thigh. it said “Ray”.

“who’s Ray, mrs. S?”

“oh, some guy i was crazily head over heels with”

“is he your husband now?” M asked.

“no, i met him when i was young. it was foolish.”

“you must have loved him that much to have his name tattooed on your thigh, did it hurt?” i asked.

“it hurt like hell, and it hurt more when i came to my senses and had it removed. unfortunately, they don’t have the technology to erase it really well, compared to what they have now.”

“is your husband okay with it?” M asked.

“he’s okay with it now, it’s been years…”

we were all quiet…i was finishing up washing her legs. i saw mrs. S touching “Ray” ever so gently.

“i was young, it was stupid, but i loved him so bad..” she murmured.

“all in the name of love…” she whispered.

mrs. S was quiet. she was staring beyond the curtains. once again, she was with Ray.

he was not one of my patients but his request or demand (as i overheard it over report) really bothered me. it was quoted after a rather lengthy discussion of his behavior. he believes he deserves someone better, thus this demand:

“i don’t want an indian doctor!”

the only acceptable excuses for this behavior and statement are confusion and dementia. he is not demented, and he is not confused. so to me, this is a sickening case of racism beyond reasonable doubt, plain and simple.

well mister, you didn’t ask for it, but you are getting it. here is an unedited piece of my offended mind:

you must be grateful you are not too sick to be able to make a decision for yourself. you must be grateful you are still able to say what you want to express. you must be grateful you still can see the people around you. you must be grateful you are not dying.

God forbid that you ever feel your chest tightening, and that you are catching your breath, and that all you see is neverending darkness…God forbid that at this time of emergency, an indian doctor (or nurse) touches you! God forbid!

yes, because you deserve so much better.

it is my ardent prayer that before the curtain of life closes down on you, you will wake up and realize that we all belong to just one race….the HUMAN RACE.

not that it matters…

but i think there is a difference between a weirdo addicted to plastic surgery than being a child molester. there is no question about michael jackson’s weird and addictive behaviors. you don’t have to study psychology or psychiatry to diagnose that.

there are always three sides of the story. the prosecutor’s, the defendant’s, and the truth. who knows the truth? only jackson, only the boy, and if you believe in an all knowing supreme being, He/She/It definitely knows the truth.

up to the last minute, both sides insisted they were telling the truth.

the jury’s decision, whether they acquitted or convicted the defendant will always get both positive and negative reactions. there is no escaping criticisms or affirmations.

i am no fan of michael jackson, but i feel for the guy in a way that a sister feels for her brother. whether he was truthful or not, his life will never be the same again. inwardly, and outwardly.

unfortunately, the same is true with that boy.

“…of all his accomplishments, i think the greatest he has accomplished is being the loving, greatest dad to me, and to my three other siblings. ladies and gentlemen, i’m very proud to introduce to you my father, and our baccalaureate speaker…”

he started on a funny note, joking about getting apprehensive he might not be able to graduate witht he rest of his classmates, and how embarassing that would be since his dad is the baccalaureate speaker. the congregation laughed heartily with his witty remarks and was generally captivated.

when his voice cracked with that final sentences, it wasn’t surprising that the church, filled to its seating capacity of about a thousand was silent. i assumed that the rest of the audience, just like me, was savoring every meaning of that simple line this kid just uttered. when he hugged his dad before he sat down, everybody seemed to be in a different world for a moment. i wondered if like me, they were thinking about their dads, or their kids.

i didn’t plan to go to that high school baccalaureate yesterday. i went to church with my family, not even knowing it is still graduation season. i wasn’t ready to be inspired, but i was.

the world offers fame and recognition, but there is no accomplishment greater than raising children lovingly and faithfully. it doesn’t matter if they’re our own or not.

the world keeps us busy and occupied, but today is best the time to express gratitude to those who love us faithfully. it doesn’t matter if they’re our own parents or not.

it is clearer to me now, that when you are a student of the university of life, it doesn’t matter if you are ready or not, inspiration comes at any time, anywhere. from anyone.