“ time can heal or rot ”

Lying in his bed watching television he finally looked comfortable. 

He was suffering from the chronic pains after his infected legs were amputated. His legs were taken off but he was feeling phantom pain; a kind of suffering when you know it is not there but you feel  it there anyway.

He told me one day that time heals all wounds but not his; you need to be connected to your wound to let time heal it. His wounds were taken away with his legs so he can’t rely on time.

To some, time is a measure of moments to test the resilience of those who survive. They are the ones who age with grace; their wrinkles, limps, falls, walkers, canes, wheelchairs and even their prosthesis are considered a time honored ritual as time heals if there is enough of it.

Others struggle with not having enough of time; they blame time management skills or anything else, but the reality lies within them.

Just remember that it is OK to take your time as time has the power to heal or rot; the choice is there.

" death by overdose "

She did it again. She was brought into the hospital with an overdose of medications. She was resuscitated, revived and brought back to the same life from which she so much wanted to escape.

She was then doing better, and began to work on her emotions and feelings. One day she told me that it was not her drug overdose but her overdose of feelings that was going to kill her.

To some, feelings are a language of intuition; it is something like calling for a higher purpose or doing something apparently impossible to achieve. Those are the ones who are blessed with using their feelings like a guardian angel watching and giving sense to emotions.

Others lead their lives with feelings of this and that without connecting the dots. Their whole lives follow their feelings; it's something as strong as like falling and rising in love or taking away one’s own life. They are the ones whose lives become hostage to languages of emotion and the pay back can be huge.

The secret of a balanced life may be as it is; like to feel it all while knowing the difference between feelings and the drama of life.

“ hearts of heroes, lives of legends”

She was under treatment for her lung and heart diseases but she amazed me from day one of her hospital admission. She was nice, pleasant, and a mother-like character.

As days being counted from today to tomorrow and yesterdays looked better than passing by day, I saw her condition was getting worse. At one point her diseases became a poor prognosis from medical standards. As I lead the discussion about her care she chose to keep herself comfortable without any struggle. She said, I had a very good life; no regrets. Her treatment continued with limitations of no heroic measures. The rest of her stay in hospital remained calm, comfortable and being herself; nice, pleasant and a mother-like character till the end.

To some, heroes never die as it happen in movies and legends born of extraordinary circumstances.

Others wonder about the hearts of heroes and lives of legends. They know this every day secret; truly any mother fits into what is thought so rare.

" proving crystal ball wrong "

She was suffering from a tumor of glands that had metastasized; the tumor had spread its tentacles in the near and far organs, and draining life out of her.

Her condition was deteriorating every day and she was dying by all accounts, even in her looks. There were issues of pain, weight loss, infections, insomnia, anxiety, and fear of another day bringing the same misery. I saw her struggles to prove the crystal ball wrong as she told me upon admission to hospital.

Sometimes predictability is also a curse, she told me one day. I was telling her taking things day by day, one day at a time. I was there that day and the very next day and the days after the next days. I wondered with a heavy heart about the struggle of living day by day without a tomorrow of hope.

Sometimes predictability is a curse, I do remember her words.

To some, the reality is sometimes so real that they turn to a crystal ball to seek answers of their choice.

The myth of finding unforeseen answers blind us from what is seen and readily available- the answers.

Others strive to prove crystal ball wrong with their will; they keep the ball rolling until they see the face of hope coming day after day. They are the ones who know the power of awareness:  this time will pass.

" peace brings puzzles"

War brings wounds, peace brings puzzles.

Kill them all to save them all. 

That was his daily mantra as I saw him pacing in that ward.

I was told that he was a soldier with a heart of a warrior. He lost his mind to a war but war failed to make him lose his heart. He was talking from his heart as I perceived his mantra.

Everyone knew he had seen what most of us even can’t imagine. Someone once said that living after seeing a war is hard; memories of death and dying even can kill those who had survived

One day I found him calmer and sitting up in a chair. I asked him about his mantra. He looked at me, smiled and got up. I heard then what I had heard before; war brings wounds, peace brings puzzles, kill them all to save them all.

To some, an experience of war brings them to a place, where mind just can’t lead and heart lose its language.

Others live on as tales of warriors; when heads rise, hearts sink, souls fly and bodies get counted with a pride.

I know now what I knew then; he was one of those.

" the dark side of truth"

He was suffering from a metastatic cancer, and to our knowledge his lung cancer had even invaded his brain cells. He was dying by all prognostic parameters and his treatment had been tailored to a palliative care.

He was forgetful, and happy. I was happy for his forgetfulness as I knew that he was not dying of a loss of a tomorrow. His ending was without struggles of beginning; no remembrance of how, what, if and but of anything.

One day he told me that he wanted to live forever, and that he might beat his cancer. Then he asked me to tell him the truth whether he was going to make it.

I stood there in silence, hoping that he may forget his question soon, and to my relief he did.

Some words are too weak to carry the burden of a truth. The dark side of the truth is the cross over of words, the notion of telling the truth. The hardest truth is listening the truth about oneself.

I saw that day a circle of compassion; words losing meaning, silence taking over. and the action of inaction doing wonders.

"short at noon, long at eve"

His disease was progressing, and his body was becoming almost bed bound. He was suffering from ALS, a disease known to trap mind in an immobile body; some say that this disease can hold ones soul captive in an earthly medium for eternity.

He was supported via artificial means, and a ventilator was connected to his tracheostomy tube. His eyes were bright so was his peaking soul through his eyes. No words can capture those moments as I write these lines.

He was a man without a shadow, one of my colleagues said. I saw no shadow as he was lying flat in bed, it seems his body was protecting his shadow. Some may say that he was being carried on on his shadow; a weak body supported by its shadow like a cushion while being bed bound.

To some those patients lying in a bed bound state lose a lot including their shadows.

Others make us aware of the facts like shadows are short at noon, long at eve. Surely shadows have a purpose, I used to ponder what until now when another usefulness of shadow was revealed. I saw a bed bound patient resting peacefully on his shadow, surely shadows have purposes.

" who made the first butterfly"

Being a patient who suffered a heart attack and a near death experience, he was on a roll. He was talking about life as nothing had changed. He claimed to be an atheist, which he still was. He was my friend, a well-established clinician, whose job was to evaluate and manage the impact of diseases as it affect the mind  and mind disease affecting physical body. His famous saying was that an insane mind can also make a decision though insanely.

I observed that he did not changed a bit as he was recovering. I know that people have right to believe in as they wish. Human mind has its limitations even to fantasize; our mind so to say usually  need a reference point to shoot a thought.

To some there is a God who made the first butterfly.

Others wonder in mysteries of mind with a GPS whose reference points are man-made with limitations of being human. They simply fail to admit what their heart keep telling them all along. They are the one who attempt to find a human god in this Godly universe.

" can't have a walker"

He suffered from a stroke which left him with an unsteady gait. As his life turned around towards better days, he reported to me that he is getting around, even going out to watch games.

One day on his visit I inquired about his mobility and use of a walker and wheel chair. He smiled and said, I don’t use those, I can walk, it’s just my knee. He was not willing to get help or use a walker or wheelchair. Then he walked slowly using his cane, making me afraid of him falling. I visualized him slowing everyone down when he was going to games

To some getting help or using a wheel chair is a sign of weakness. They see themselves in others eyes as frail and old, dependent and dying. It may be a matter of pride and ego..

Others take help to help themselves, By keeping pace with their surroundings, they keep the circle of life revolving by not obstructing fast-paced people around and after them.

Sometimes it is important not to get caught up in ones strength, as no one is watching our frail selves for its strength anyway. I think acceptance of ourselves, our limitations, frees us to live another day with pride of certainty.

" rare to share"

She was admitted with a non-healing wound on her leg. I saw her lying still in the hospital bed with her eyes closed. She looked peaceful, contrary to her angry looking leg wound.

She informed us that she had a rare condition and she was being cared for by nothing but the best amongst the best of doctors. She showed us her pictures taken with famous people. She understood that she had some sort of celebrity status because of her condition.

To some a rare to share condition gives them a celebrity status. Being part of a registry of rare diseases provides them inner strength to survive against the odds of limited available treatments.

I heard her proud voice as she shared her pictures, but as I listened to her closely she could not hide her sadness of being a medical celebrity, as it does not come with longevity or even pride.

I hoped that someday finding a cure may make her proud of being who she was once upon a time.

" being show cased in a hospital bed "

As I knocked on his door and entered in his room, I found him all dressed up, I complemented him on his attire. He smiled and said, may I help you.

He was suffering from memory issues, and since the passing away of his wife he was more lost. He was mostly living in the past. I have learned that people fall to their roots when they are in stress, or when experiencing physical or mental loss. Our true core comes out whether being naughty or nice, profane or kind, in words or deeds.

He was a salesman who sold merchandise, that’s what he did. I saw him at his best when it was least expected.

To some, hospital rooms and beds are show cases of patients on display. During our morning rounds we circle around them to discuss their care amongst ourselves and with them. Being a patient is being vulnerable, putting out oneself to be cared for by so many strangers.

Others know that they are the ones who are also on display to show what they have in them; care and share as they walk by seeing patients bed by bed, room by room lying in hospitals all over. They are the ones who make human show casing dignified with their respect of patients, knowing the importance of what will remain and what will be lost over time in the sacred doctor-patient encounters.

" a fly stuck in a room "

Have you ever seen a fly stuck in a room buzzing around, hitting the walls, doors and windows, and could not find a way out. I was that fly, he declared that day.

He was suffering from a substance addiction.  All resources were available to him; a supportive family and a caring society but he was lost.

One day he told me that some days he want desperately to recover and regain what was lost due to his addiction, but he could not. He was like that fly stuck in a room, wasting all wing power hitting the walls and windows not knowing that slowing down and walking on its legs under the door is the passage to freedom. 


To go across slowly on its leg and gain freedom without fast wings was within reach and a possibility, he stressed his point.

To some it never happens, they get lost as the causality of life’s challenges;  which  blind them to look across and go around.

Others stood up to challenges of life by slowing down, and wisely using power of wings to fly or legs to walk to reach to their destinations including  the most wanted place like a drug free zone.

" I care, I can't"

Being a writer he was well versed in making a point. His computer screen was his canvas and his key board was his brush. The missing part was him; he was not there.

Suffering from a stroke made him what I was seeing then; a frail, nonverbal, paralyzed man.

After months of care he did recover, but mentally he got clouded. His fiction belongs to truth, he once believed. I saw the becoming of a truth.

Life is a stage with ongoing drama, everyone knows that. He was living in a truth or a fiction was living in him, no one knew. His eyes were silent so were his lips.

One day I sat next to his bed, he looked at me with a smile. I smiled back at him; no words, no sound, no nothing. Some feelings are too strong for words to carry and some are too pure to be touched by a word. A smile was returned by a smile, with a feeling of I care but I can’t.

" as far as the mind could see "

A dying man can be saved by letting him die in peace; a compassionate death which can be planned by those trained to do so. That was the discussion about his care. A man with multi-system organ failure whose days were numbered. This was one reality, but the other reality was the denial of that fact by his family.

He always wanted to live, that was their argument, though none of them knew for how long. He was dying and that was totally unacceptable to them. 

One time I was asked about hope. Other times wishing for luck was talked about. I felt during those moments that hope was wishing for fruition, but none of them allowed it.

I was also asked quite frequently to keep chasing life on the crutches of a ventilator, drugs and drips, tubes and feeds. I saw pain and suffering; as far as the mind could see I saw no hope.

To some, reality never sinks in. It is those who never understand that it is not about them, and during the process everyone suffers; especially the one who dies.

Others know that when they follow the wishes of the one who trusted them to care for when they themselves could not, it is when hope can be seen working in sync with a wish. Llike it happens in fairy tales; a dying man can be saved by letting him die in peace. 

"what life destroys, love resurrects"

He had an aortic aneurysm rupture and he was saved after going through a life saving surgery. As his condition improved, he became more interactive. 

During his prolonged hospital stay we started to know him apart from his illness. We came to know that he was a man who had been through a lot. His life stories became our life connections.

I think the stories of our lives are the most sacred human link; whether a connection or communication between man to man or God to man, as shown in many books of man and Books of God.

To some, human stories are interesting as we share, finding ourselves as being one of the characters in others stories. A connection or bond of victims or victors made via story telling, and in the process of sharing stories, we learn something useful such as to live on in another story to be told. 

What life destroys, love resurrects; that was the story of a man who survived a surgery.

"buying hope in a black market"

She told me that she is not going to give up. She was suffering from metastatic breast cancer and she was struggling to make it to the next day alive. She was putting out what ever was left in her: courage, hope and wish.

I was amazed by the expression on her face as I saw her each passing day. She had one of those smiles where you can not hide the pain spilling out from the edges of her smile. I called it a paradox, like a truth which cannot be a fact.

One day she asked me about her prognosis; what's next, that was her question. I knew her by then; a fighter to the core. I asked her whether she wanted to know the truth or should I lie. I saw a look on her face I will never forget. I wished, if I had any power I would have given her good news. I even thought  about buying hope in a black market.

To some giving up is giving in like losing a battle. Others give in in a battle to take over a war.

In the end, only the directions of our foot steps on a battle field or in life count; winners and losers in life all equal out when we understand that nothing lasts for ever except the ways of the warriors and their legends of facing life.

“hate destroys all so does love”

He was admitted with multiple medical issues but his emphysema was the one limiting his being. He was not able to eat, drink or sleep due to his fear of not being able to breath. The fear was real, so to speak.

As his days of life in the hospital passed by, his condition showed some signs of improvement

I saw he was able to eat, talk and sleep. One thing was missing ; no one had seen him smile. He had no visitors, no one to fall back on, no arms to circle around him. He was a loner and a complainer; he hates everything that was his reputation.

To some finding problems in each and every thing life offers is easy, that is their way of life. They are the ones who miss out on life's offerings pains and pleasures; as hate destroys all, so does love of hate.

Others cherish life with dignity with no place for hate, knowing that you become where you put your thoughts and it shows up on your face in the circle of life.

"when carrying care feels like a burden"

She had a diagnosis of  emphysema with respiratory failure in need of a lung transplant. I saw her struggling for air and being in pain due to multiple steroid-induced fractures. She was clearly suffering from life which some people describe as the most common STD.

I saw her husband quite involved to the extent of being over-bearing in the care of his beloved wife. As time goes on, as it does in all situations any way, he appeared more and more content with our care. I saw loss of connection between him and her. I saw long hours, days, months and years of care turning from a journey of holding on and digging in until the end, to giving up and backing off right there now.

To some carrying care feels like a burden when they have fatigue of compassion, an attribute only people have when we ignore ourselves as being human.

Others carry care like a soldier, who holds up his ammunition with both arms while crossing a river to protect it, knowing that "nobody cares how much you know, until they know how much you care".*

*Theodore Roosevelt

" antidote of fear "

We all get afraid of something from time to time. Fear is a part of life.

Patients have their fears of living with the diagnosis of a disease and physicians have their own fears of not being able to heal all patients all the time.

He was recovering from a motor vehicle accident that, as we learned, was a near death experience.  In his own words, he saw death approaching him in slow motion though he was speeding in his car.  Only he knew what he was talking about, until one day his words were understood by many.

To some fear is a shut down feeling, amnesia takes over and the process goes on.

Others find an antidote of fear in either trust or faith, knowing that trust comes with accountability and faith comes with vulnerability.

“the wars of heart, mind and gut”

Though he looked like a story teller, he was a veteran with amazing stories of battlefields.

He had lost parts of his body during wartime. He was suffering from non-healing wounds
which were old wounds but, in his words, old wounds with new pains.

One day I asked him about his lessons from the battlefield and how he felt being a warrior. I saw a sharp glow of valor in his eyes as he said, no one likes war; we all have conflicts of ideas and needs. Creating a rationale, that’s the nature of ourselves. The best part of war is its end, the best stories are the survival stories and the best attribute is to keep humanity in acts of war.

To some, the lessons of the wars of heart, mind and gut are a source of daily strength as wisdom at a run.

Others keep their swords out to fight with their backs against the wall defending the unknown.

" love of distant lands"

He was brought in via med flight after being found stranded in a remote area for days. He was hypothermic, septic and struggling to hold on to life.  His condition stabilized over the next few days, as he started to respond to treatment and gradually became more responsive.

I still remember the first words out of his mouth. It was the name of a place I later found out was his home town, which he had never returned to after leaving almost half a century ago.

Life's journey makes all of us time travelers, though some of us travel  to the distant places of our dreams to make a life far away from where we once belonged.

To some life goes on regardless of living here or there, where one is now, that is the place to call home.

They are the ones who remember the saying " for every time zone that we are in, other than here, we drain our life energy".*

Others keep the love of a distant land hidden deep down while living in two worlds. They are the ones who never totally accept either of those worlds, until one day they find themselves connected to their roots.

I felt a yearning of love for distant lands when he uttered his first words.

* a Caroline Myss quote.

" a deer caught in headlights"

The day she was admitted, she became known for her expression of a deer caught in headlights.

She was suffering from a neuromuscular disorder where her body was no longer being controlled by her brain. The heartbreak was her complete awareness of that, and her understanding that she can’t do anything about it.

I saw fear in her eyes, a fear of the days to come as her disease progressed. I always related fear with the unknown, until I saw her with fear of the known.  She was afraid, she was aware, and she looked like a deer caught in headlights.

To some, their eyes are windows to their souls; you can see in their eyes your own destiny.

Others have eyes which remind us of windows with shades; limitations of their bodies with their fears blind them from living in the present moment.

I knew it then as I know it now. That was an observation; no words only expression and remembrance.

"to become a flower"

He loved flowers that was so obvious with his hospital room which was a picture of a mini garden of roses, tulips and other varieties. He was a gardener by profession that was the cause of his problem too. He was admitted with a skin infection.

One day I asked him about his thoughts about flowers. He said that some days he just want to become a flower as flowers are givers of hope, encouragement, color and life. He told me that when you give hope, appreciate and encourage some one you become a flower. He smiled and continued, try it some day you will feel like a flower: light, colorful, divine.

Time has gone by until recently I thought about those words; when you give hope and encouragement to someone that is the becoming of a flower from bud to full blossom.

To some a flower is a sign of ultimate feelings of remembrance:love, sorrow,joy.

Others remind us the becoming of a flower when they say “and the day came when the risk to remain tight in a bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom” *

*a quote Anais Nin

" lets postpone death"

He was suffering with a diagnosis of failing lungs and his lungs were unable to do the basic function of oxygenation. The disease was progressive and the prognosis was poor.

The dilemma was that he wanted to live and death was not yet imminent. There was struggle, argument, desire, wish but no hope. That was a phase of shadows as I saw his death peaking through the corridors of passing by tomorrows.

One day he asked me, lets postpone death. I looked at him with humility. I said nothing. That was a perfect nothing I knew then but I still remember that moment of nonverbal communication, and how badly I wished I could..

Some follow their course of disease and life as “all diseases run into one, old age.”*
Others who are diagnosed with cancers,they get calendars of death in terms of 3 month survival to years of survival. Then there are those who surprise us, they live beyond their calendars.

I wonder with feelings of random joy in some predictions to level of sheer sadness in other cases. Probably the word sad summarizes it all: struggles,arguments,desires.


*a Ralph Waldo Emerson's quote

"fog on a shower mirror"

He was a teacher, and I guess teacher never retire. So was him,always trying to teach something as we took care of him. I kind of like him as a patient. He was a philosopher with a sound mind, which was amazing at his age of eighty eight.

One day I told him that his medical history was long but I hoped that his resume might be longer than that. He smiled and replied in a funny way that he did not want to leave a medical legacy like a disease after his name but he wanted to leave behind a legacy of mind..

As days goes by in hospital, one day he talked to us about shadows.He asked us to think that why we have shadows when we walk toward light and why there is a fog on a shower mirror after we end up a bath.

You don't find shadows in the dark or a fog on a shower mirror when you go in for a shower.He continued to enlighten us by saying that life's challenges reveal as shadows or fog. The work is to become pure and part of the light. Darkness hide shadows only to reveal to those who walk towards light as a warrior of light to conquer their own shadows

What was that all about? I still wonder sometimes.

Sometime it is not what we assume and sometime what we assume is not what it is.

"nothing but my presence in a present moment count"

She was suffering from a metastatic cancer with a painful tangle around her spine sending waves of pain in her existence.It was a sad day like other days as we took care of her She was managed with pain killers to relieve some of what was killing her.Besides her cancer; pain,fear and anxiety were her existential enemies.She was  miserable in front of our eyes,making us feel her pain when we were not ready to feel anything. Every day I saw a dying women who knew that she was dying but she was not ready to die.She had not accepted that.There was no acceptance,.the good,bad and ugly sides of death.

As I took care of her  I developed a connection of trust.I felt her pain and she became aware of that. One day I saw a smile on her face for a brief moment.I thanked her pain to giving her back a brief breathing moment.I was happy. As I explored my treatment plan,she told me that nothing but my presence in a present moment counted.." If you are here you would like to be more than a head count,you should  like to be present in that moment"..

To some our presence in a moment is all that needed to relieve some of their pains though temporarily.
Others within our ranks won't even try to be beyond a head count.They are the one who are absent in a present moment.They are one who miss out the most powerful remedy in their sleeve called presence which is sometimes mightier than a pill.

"can luck be a matter of choice"

He had a life full of adventures and a history of falling and getting up to face what comes next.

I saw him during his treatment and told him that he was a lucky man to be alive compared to man in his age and with his life style. Besides a history of a few broken bones nothing else was broken.He disagreed, he considered himself not so lucky.

I wondered about luck as I always considered luck an absolute happening against odds of possibilities. He had money and choices, how come he did not feel lucky as luck can be on demand for him.But it is what you want so badly knowing that it may not happen but can happen not knowing how. And When it happen that is luck.

To some onetime winning of a lottery is a matter of an absolute luck, others survive life’s punches on a daily basis and feel not so lucky.

Can  luck be a matter of choice, an inflated word underappreciated daily.

"a good heart can be a bad heart"

At one time he was young and full of dreams. Then he got older as we all do. Aging is a measure of time when we look at ourselves. Sometimes our reflection in mirror tells us the truth, other times an in depth vision of CAT scan make us see through in and out. The premise of nothing to hide,the true nature of our being revealed as such without make up.

He was suffering from a failing heart,what we called cardiomyopathy.

He had a good heart, always giving, always forgiving. His family and friends had same opinion. I saw his ailing heart was struggling to keep pumping life force in his body, I wondered about the fate of a good heart.

Some hearts belong to the heart of universe; always there, always full, always amazing.
Others live a life with empty hearts; a life of struggle, sorrow, loneliness.

The choice of a heart is always there,"to live in hearts we leave behind is not to die"*.

______________________________
*a quote from Thomas Campbell

"when love is just not enough"

She loved him so much that she changed her daily routines to take care of him. He suffered from a stroke, paralysed waist down with no hope of recovery.

This was not a fairy tale as I saw her exhausted face weeks after she became a care giver. They had arguments,tears,regrets but a smile or a laugh was not mentioned even as a word on their next follow up visit.It appeared to me that they were together merely of ones need and others guilt. It felt like that love was just not enough to keep them going.

I knew the fatigue of compassion in care givers but I had not seen bleeding love out of what had been built as a love for life contract. So that was it,when love is just not enough.I wondered.

To some love is life,it adds value to live in what life offers.

Others fantasize love as being separate from the challenges which come with being alive.May be those are the one to whom love is just not enough when challenges arrive.

I think love adds colors of a rainbow to life. Though during build up of dark clouds we sometime lose sight of a rainbow which always come with rain,thunder and sun shine ;so is the love, always enough, always there, always to look for.

"a story with a somber ending"

He was dying and she was sitting next to his hospital bed holding his hand.

They were high school sweet hearts.Life took them away when they were ready to commit so they went on their separate ways.Both got married, had children and then left behind when each of their spouses died.The miracle of Internet united them after all those years.That was a story of love.

As I saw them happy,I contemplated about their long awaited yearning for unfulfilled love.Both of them were happy in the shadow of a certain death.Though both knew their journey of coming together to be parted soon.

Some may see a romance of a life time in this story,others find a story with a somber ending.

I still wonder about a possibility that the story might be a long awaited answered prayer of some, to meet again at least once in this life time.