Thursday, July 23, 2015

Everything means nothing

It's likely that my face, in general, just looks like it's holding back tears. If I'm laughing it's happy tears, and if there's tragedy occurring...well then.

When I saw the old man, delirious, obese, post-stroke, edematous - what did I feel? I was scared. Helpless, too. But most of all I was horrified. 

'Treat all patients like they are your family members.' My heart would break. But no; at that moment I was not about to cry. 

Am I being cruel when I ask: why is it so criminal, evil even, for a palliative patient to commit suicide? Often after the diagnosis is made, they can spend three to six months deteriorating. That's a medical term. It means months of slowly losing their sense of time, place, and being. Again, it means slowly forgetting their family. Gradually losing their lucidity and consciousness. Often there is pain, so much pain, and then the dreamless morphine sleep, and maybe snatches of...what? In between. They start wearing diapers. Being fed in bed. Their skin hangs loose off their bones. And we hear the distant groans...the yelling...


This means different things to different people. Some will fight for days or hours more - it's their right, and our duty to help them with that wish. But some don't want that prolonged suffering. I wouldn't, so I can understand. I just...I'm not sure...is it ok to think that way? Sigh. 

Tmr we have a small test, long lectures...next week I'm in counselling care, which should be a blast :) really. Johari's window? I laughed. 

About my tearful face that held no tears: perhaps my body knows what my heart doesn't. Maybe it knows it before my brain, anyway. In a way, that would make sense.


Alicia Keys ft Usher - if I ain't got you

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