patient C has that familiar face, familiar look. he has Down’s syndrome. admitted for respiratory distress, he had this episodes of really bad cough, i felt sorry for him. everytime i suctioned his secretions, it felt like his tracheostomy tube will come out. to make matters worse, i just increased the rate of his tube feeding and although he seemed to tolerate it, he was slightly nauseated at the beginning of the shift.

he kept me busy, but he was “very cute”, i ignored my aching legs. in his early 30s, he still looked like an angel. and if there was something he knew best, it was to smile. his face lighted up everytime i entered the room. his smiles were only interrupted by the coughing. he made my difficult night a lot easier. his smiles so innocent it made me feel so appreciated.

five rooms away from him were two of my other patients. both in their mid 80s, both depressingly loosing their marbles, i felt sorry for them.

patient A would scream for the cops, “GET THE POLICE! NOW! YOU ARE TRYING TO KILL ME WHILE CORPSES ARE ON THE FLOOR? WHAT RIGHT DO YOU HAVE TO KEEP THE CORPSES ALIVE, AND YOU WANT ME DEAD?”

what?

patient B would call every five minutes and say: “i had a heart surgery, and i understand the doctor left a list of instructions on a paper so i will not bleed. are you following his instructions closely? am i bleeding?”

what?

patient A calls and asks: “WHAT IS THAT DEAD BODY DOING IN THAT BED?”

to which patient B responds: “i am not dead, i just had heart surgery.”

“CALL THE POLICE! NOW! DON’T JUST STAND THERE AND LOOK, MOVE! NOW!”

they both needed my attention every so often, i eventually ended up just grabbing a chair, and sitting outside their room to make sure they didn’t “kill” each other with their words and confusion.

when both ladies finally fell into the slow but short effect of the sleeping pillls, i was exhausted. i was not only physically drained, but i was terrified at the thought of my future.  i wondered if reaching the ripe age of 80 is worth it. these ladies’ condition made me sad and weary. i didn’t want to turn 80. alive, yet unaware of the joys i am supposed to enjoy. but then again, it boggled me. how do i do that?

it was a tiring night to say the least. the only thing that kept me going was patient C’s smile. the smile of innocence that made me realize that balance makes sense. i smiled back at him.

i know it must be a heartbreaking thing for parents to find out that their child has Down’s syndrome, but they must be thrilled to find out later that these kids’ warm and loving nature is like a sip of ice cold lemonade on a really hot summer day.

well, maybe even better than lemonade really. besides, summer’s just a memory. except, i can’t think of another form of simile. but, you know what i mean.