A Tale of Two Patients

This is an old story, but still worth sharing as it teaches us rare human quality. Author unknown.

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Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room.

One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs.

His bed was next to the room’s only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.

The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

Every afternoon, when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pa ss the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.

The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance.

As the man by the window described all this in exquisite details, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine this picturesque scene.

One warm afternoon, the man by the window described a parade passing by.
Although the other man could not hear the band – he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days, weeks and months passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep.

She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real world outside. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window besides the bed.

It faced a blank wall.

The man asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate who had described such wonderful things outside this window.

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.
She said, ‘Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you.’

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There is tremendous happiness in making others happy, despite our own situations. Shared grief is half the sorrow, but happiness when shared, is doubled.

It is what we do for the others that make our lives meaningful.

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Thanks to Su Cheng Lim, a former colleague from Malaysia, for forwarding.(picture credit: columbiariverimages.com)

Postscripts To A Bloodbath

I was reading a lot of posts about yesterday’s Quirino Grandstand hostage crisis, and this one caught my attention – because this one’s from the pen of a person who was actually inside the bus. Allow me to repost this narration of the incident by Bang Lu Min. There are lessons to be learned.

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Mr. Mendoza was already upset even before he saw on television what the policemen did to his brother. The other tourists who remained inside the bus were complaining. Wei Ji Jiang wanted to go to the bathroom. Dao Chi Yu was hungry and the rest were just groaning and whining like they have forgotten that our lives rest in Mr. Mendoza’s hands.

The hostage taker, as you know him was really nice. He treated us okay and even let the elders and the children leave the bus. He said your policemen treated him unfairly. He was a policeman too and was accused of doing something he had no knowledge of. But your government didn’t listen so he used us to get everyone’s attention.

Things would have never turned for the worst if he didn’t see how his family was dragged out of their house and taken into custody. He was watching the news all the time as we huddled around each other behind the bus. He shouted some words in your language then started shooting in the air. A girl about my age started screaming. Mr. Mendoza demanded her to stop but she didn’t understand English. God, he had to slash her neck with a knife just to put her to rest. Her boyfriend who tried to hit him was shot in the head.

Tension was rising. You can see in his face how scared and confused he was. The bus driver ran away leaving him alone with strangers from a distant land. I can see him walking across the aisle, sometimes pointing his machine gun to one of the tourists. But he tried his best not to hurt us, especially those who really cooperate.

I guess its in your nature not to inflict pain on others unless it was necessary. I remember him saying that he will free us before sundown and implored us to forget everything when we return home. But his words don’t matter now. The policemen were trying to force their way in, while we all lied down to shield ourselves from bullets. Mister Mendoza blindly shoots at his enemies which I think kept them from rescuing us. I hear sobs under the chairs. Some were even shouting the names of their loved ones even when the air merely eat their words. Kevin Tang tried to escape when the glass door was was shattered, but one shot and he slumped on the floor with blood gushing from his mouth.

Heavy rain pitter-pattered on the rooftop. In old Chinese saying, it means an end to a struggle. Finally, somebody was able to open the escape hatch at the back of the bus. Freedom. But I knew Mister Mendoza was still alive. I knew he was just waiting for a chance to strike back at his enemies. So I told those around me not to escape. Let the authorities come for us instead. Then there was gunfire. He was firing at his enemies with a machine gun. Those who were at the escape hatch fled abandoning us once again. It’s like a nightmare with no end and to wake up means a certain death. Then somebody from outside the bus threw a canister. It forced out a black smoke that is so painful to the eyes and putrid smelling to the nose. People started screaming. We cannot breathe. Some ran in front of the bus but Mister Mendoza warned them of stray bullets. It was too late. One was hit on the head, the other was hit on the shoulders. Bullets were now flying. Its like the authorities thought we were all dead. Mister Mendoza finally admits his mistake and said sorry to everyone, dead or alive. He then ran towards the front of the bus where he would meet his maker. As he passed by my chair with bullets whistling overhead, I clutched my hand on the velvet curtain and wrapped it around my face. All I could think of was to stay alive – for my child who is waiting for me back in Xinjang. I know I will survive,

I will come home.

Bang Lu Min    Survivor, Quirino Bloodbath

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Taken from Uma Khouny’s FB. Picture from Seerpress.com.

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Update: I read from FB that according to sources, this letter was found to be a FICTION as there is nobody named Bang Lu Min among the survivors. As to whether somebody just made this up in not a good idea, as we should not be playing with the feelings of the victims. Or could the writer be a real survivor, but decided to change his name for the sake of confidentiality? We’ll soon find out.

Old Health Post Reviews

WORRIED OVER ELEVATED SGPT

Since I started writing for this site, the post which was most read and had the most number of comments was my story entitled “Worried Over Elevated SGPT“. When I wrote it in May 2008, I was just trying to relate my personal account on how I managed my problem.

But now, it seemed readers are still finding my old post on search engines when they try to look for solutions for their own SGPT problems. Many have dropped their queries while others just shared their experience. The thread is very long now, but the discussions were very interesting.

Let me just reiterate to the readers that the discussions and answers in the thread are not intended as and do not substitute for a professional medical advice. The information presented is just for patient education only and it is still recommended that the readers see their personal physician for further evaluation of their individual cases.

THE COLOSTOMY STORY

This post which I wrote in July 2008 still generates readers who are interested in Ostomies  or Stomas. It was an honor to get a very positive comment from the President-elect of the United Ostomy Associations of America, Ms. Kristin Knipp.

This post was also linked in different health sites like this one by the Student Nurse Journey.

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Again allow me to thank everyone who drops by, especially those who took the time to leave comments. I truly appreciate this.

Chicken Ala Carte

I Buy My Time

I attended a workshop on time management a few months back and one point that was emphasized in the lecture was that “we can’t buy time.” Once time is gone, you can never get it back. Spending time on non-sense stuff can never be returned back to be used again.

However, I still feel that in one way or another we CAN buy time. When I say “buying” means the use of money. How I do it?

1.  There are several ways to go to work -by public bus, which passes by every 30 minutes, or by taxi which you can take anytime. The bus is a much cheaper way but it would take me a longer time to reach my workplace, because it stops every now and then at many bus stops. But most of the time, I take the taxi to get to work, because I arrive early at work and the extra minutes I get is used to prepare my self for work. And since it only takes a short time to get to work with the taxi, I didn’t have to wake up early. That means I can sleep that few minutes in the morning and get up without rushing. That means I can stay up a bit late the previous night to be with my family. I feel that I “bought” time by taking the cab instead of the much cheaper bus.

2.  Coming home from work would be the same. Instead of waiting for the public bus, I take the cab again to reach home early. That means I will be spending the extra minutes at home resting and enjoying with my family, than spending it outside the streets waiting for the bus to come and then standing inside a full-packed bus. I get to eat dinner early too.

If you have the budget to spend on “time” why not buy it for some quality life? Indeed, once time passes, it can never be bought back.