Muhahahah. ok then. i'll start first. happy? and this story is
not crap. it's real ok?
I used to as a temporary staff at the national cancer center. Work
there wasn't easy. You were faced with the prospect of people dying
everyday. You could be having a chat with a 12-year-old girl
suffering from lung cancer and realise the next day, she was gone
forever. Try as i might, i couldn't get used to the fact that i
worked at such close proximity with death. I guess i might have
been over emotional, but the pain of seeing death staring straight
at me through the patients' eyes haunted me. It's not that patients
can't heal, but still....
I was working with my favourite doctor. He would always put in his
best effort for the patients. He didn't care if he was hungry or
tired. If there was a patient, he could help, he would. Even if
he/she was obviously for another doctor.
Then walked in a man accompanied by his wife. He looked perfectly
fine. But the wife was doing her best not to cry. The man had
cancer of the brain, or somewhere along the lines (I cant really
remember). The cancer was slowing eating into his brain and he was
losing his functions. I watched on as the doctor did the brain
tests. My heart sank when he failed the tests one by one. But when
he was asked what was two times two, hes face lighted up,
confidently yelled: "i know! i know! it's six!" He looked
triumphantly at the doctor and turned to flash a smile at his wife.
He saw her face, screwed up, trying so hard not to cry, and he
realised that .... The doctor did other tests on him, but he was so
shaken that he didn't care anymore. I don't know whether he could
or didn't want to identify the cat, but he refused to co-operate.
He either shook his head distractedly or kept mumbling... "i don't
wanna die". I was trying so hard not to cry. The doctor came to the
last test. He handed the man a slip of paper:" Write anything you
want." With a shaking hand, the patient grasped the paper and pen.
He seized the pen until his knuckles turned white. At last, after
staring at the blank paper, he scribbled on it. With all the anger,
frustration in him, he threw it on the floor. Lightly and
unperturbed, it floated and landed on the doctors feet. He picked
it up. From the illegible scrawl, I could barely make out the
words: " I want to be happy."
The doctor handed it back saying with a smile " Dont we
all?"
" Yeah. But you still have time to see the blue sky, to smile, to
laugh, to enjoy life! You still have time to love and to be loved.
I dont."
He started crying and trembling. Keeping the professional
composure, we tried to comfort him. Suddenly, he stopped crying. He
reached into the plastic bag that he was carrying and pulled out a
pretty box of decorated with seashells. And he gave me a
rose.
"There, thats the souvenirs I bought when I went to Malaysia. Im
not going for anymore treatment. Ive spent all my money on my
first and last trip overseas. Im going to die. I dont need
momentos. Im happy. And I want to make you happy too."
We were too stunned to speak. He and his wife got up and shook our
hands, gripping tightly and left. Then my self-resolve crumbled and
the doctor and I cried openly.
I never saw him again. I wished I had said more to him. But I never
forgot him. Whenever it seems that Im against the world, I look at
the pressed flower in my wallet and am grateful for the chances I
had to be happy.
there. this is one of my stories.
