" 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.