Gratitude

She was an unusual lady. And a very unfortunate one. But she inspired us deeply, all those around her who had tendered our care during her last living days with us. Struck mercilessly with sudden blindness, due to a nasty blood clot that choked the vessels supplying her occipital lobes, she had to deal with an unexpected darkness of the world, armed with only the senses of hearing and touch as her only contact with the rest of us.

Our hearts were nevertheless warmed by hers. Her interesting combination of Russian ancestry and a tumultous childhood, being brought up singlehandedly by an unwedded 17 year old mother, had perhaps made her the strong and stoic woman that she was. It probably ran in the genes as well, since her own biological mum had courageously braved the unforeseen dangers of routing via Serbia to Tianjin, China, where she and her child subsequently made their home.

"I can speak Chinese...I was from China..." I still remembered clearly her first few words to me, and her tone, full of pride and strength. There was an immediate affinity, since that was my mother tongue. The nurses and allied staff, too, felt the cord of attachment, especially in the mornings when she would greet us in return with all sincerity and guts. She never shed a tear despite the seemingly hopeless circumstance.

Her family was lovely. Sadness brimmed in their eyes as the flicker of hope faded with days. I consoled her daughter, and did as much as I could to alleviate her sorrows and guilt. She was actually much older than I am, but somehow I felt I could relate to her. I told her about my background, my dad and his illness one day. She was sympathetic and concerned. She gave me her best wishes.

The patient passed away eventually, with peace. As I handed the death certificate to the daughter, I sent my heartfelt condolences and wished I had somewhat made a good difference in the care. She replied with a very soothing smile: "You've not only helped my mother, but you have helped me as well. Thank you."

I could never forget the gaze from her eyes. And I will never regret my decision to be a physician, not in this lifetime.

"At times, our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who have lighted the flame within us."
(Albert Schweitzer, German Medical Missionary, 1875-1965)