if the temperature stays where it is right now (50s, thanks for asking), you will see me in one of my patient’s room, but you will not recognize me. i would turn into a pillar of ice, and  i would have no one to blame but myself, for choosing a more comfortable life.

it is hyperbolic. of course. but really, it is so cold when i went to work last night, i had four layers of clothes, and i was still having the chills. i have no idea how people survive the snow.

anyway, the weather is so trivial. there are more important events.

for example, one of my patients last night was a guy in his early 50s who had a stroke after a kyphoplasty. before the surgery, he was fairly healthy. the only thing that was really wrong with him was his kyphosis, so he opted to have it repaired. the stroke happened a few days after the successful surgery. when i got him monday night, he was completely nonverbal, and has been that way for a couple of weeks. pneumonia was slowly dragging him down, and his secretions, if i could sell what i have suctioned from him, would have made me filthy rich.

i didn’t voice it out, but i had the feeling, he did not really have a problem about talking, he just did not want to do it. not the one to easily give up on things like these, i started talking to him everytime i suctioned, which was pretty much every hour. he would fight and take my hands out as i insert the suction catheter through his nose, but i explained it is important, and in the end, he would cave in and relax. i forgot all about my worry that he will be in respiratory distress and will be transferred to ICU, because everytime i suctioned, he was breathing better.

i was determined to make him talk. but he seemed more determined not to. his determination prevailed. tuesday morning, i went home feeling defeated. i felt like i wasted time for nothing.

last night, i was given report that he is better. but talking? that was not mentioned. imagine my surprise when i heard him talk to his wife! his wife told me he has been talking here and there the whole day, but she cannot really understand a thing he was saying.

“does he know his name?” i asked.

“i don’t know, let me ask him.”

slowly, he opened his mouth and said his name. i asked her if he knew her name. the look in her face made me realize she didn’t want to know. she didn’t want to get disappointed, if he didn’t know her name. still, i asked her to ask him. she placed her face close to him, talked to him in spanish, removed his oxygen ask, and waited for him to answer.

“…..Lupe….”

almost a whisper. ever so gentle.

i looked at her to confirm if that was indeed her name. she placed the oxygen mask back, looked at me, and nodded, fighting the tears back. i might have said “great!”,more than i was supposed to, but i was really excited, i didn’t care.

it must have been an amazing feeling. to hear your name being whispered by somebody you love, the one you thought death would snatch. the one you don’t want to let go, but whose life was being threatened to end. it must have been an amazing feeling. it must have rocked her world, must have awaken her passion.

i don’t really know. i left the room to give them time alone. it was a moment just for them.

i may not have a part in my patient’s decision to start talking again, but it sure warmed my heart to witness such a moving event. not the kind of warmth that will stop me from wearing all my winter gear the whole day and night, this early, but still.

it was the kind of warmth i needed to keep driving to work, even if the steering wheel feels like a block of ice.