Last week, my grandmother passed away.
And it's difficult to explain the type of sadness I feel. I cried when I found out she passed that morning, and repeatedly had to hold back tears throughout that day. However and perhaps it's strange to admit, there seems to lack a certain level of grief. I almost feel guilty for not feeling sad enough. And this is something I feel I have to attribute to the distance that existed between us. I love her dearly and will always have many fond memories of her and be grateful for what she has done for me and my family, especially in my younger years, but, other than a few brief moments that I saw her on Skype a few months back, our interactions had been extremely limited over the past 6 years. I'd say hello to her every few months whenever I was home and my mom was on the phone with family, but the last time I spent any significant time with her was when I was in Colombia during the winter break of my sophomore year in college.
This distance isn't to say that I loved her any less for all she has done for me, or even for being my grandma, but I think it perhaps cushioned the blow a lot more. She wasn't directly in my life for a long time, and so there is that disconnect that does not really allow me to miss her more than I normally do, but of course, now when I do think of her, I am saddened by the fact that I know she is no longer around, even if it is for a quick hello.
I perhaps have also been prepared for the fact that she will pass because we knew her time was coming from the cancer she had. My grandmother was a fighter. She always denied any symptoms and downplayed the severity of anything she had. Just days after an operation, she would be trying to walk around, clean, and cook back home. She was tough, but cancer is one of those things that will break down the strongest of spirits. It did, however, happen, very suddenly which was shocking. I think everyone thought they'd get a chance to say goodbye, at least I know my mom did. Again, perhaps because of that distance, it's that I felt more at ease to understand that her time was coming, and she would eventually pass, and find peace and comfort. I also don't know how much to attribute my reactions to having been in the hospital and seeing patients die. Sometimes it'd happen overnight, so when I would come in the next morning; the resident would tell me my patient had passed away. Again, something I knew was bound to happen for whatever reason, but even for that man who I'd only known for a few days, and even if it was for a short moment, there was just an emptiness in the world. There was a need for me to take a moment and acknowledge the fact that this man didn't just walk out of the hospital to continue with his life, he came here, and it ended... right where I last saw him.
The first time I had to see a patient pronounced dead, the resident and I walked into the room, closed the door behind us, and examined the patient. It felt surreal. It felt fake and staged, and out of this world. It was only the two of us and the deceased, and it was as if I was looking at a model. It was a tiny, elderly woman, with frail wrinkled skin, and wisps of gray hair. But, there was no color--no life--in her skin. The eyes were vacant, the lips pale. It felt completely unnatural to not hear heart sounds, to not hear her breathing. To touch the skin, looking for a pulse, but knowing I would not find one, and to know there was no one there to feel my fingers. To hear my voice. It was like looking at an empty vessel, and it made me uncomfortable. It made me empty.
I think its extremely hard to know how to voice comfort and understanding in the face of death. On one hand, words never seem enough. I held my mother after we found out as she cried, as she told me she didn't get to make it back to Colombia to say goodbye. That her mom didn't wait for her. And I had no words. The clichés seemed cheesy and scripted. "She's in a better place. She left fast enough so she didn't feel pain. She didn't suffer. It was for the best. You'll get to say your goodbye tomorrow." Perhaps we say them because they need to be said. Perhaps they are clichés because they are the best we can do. No one has thought of better words, at least not when you're in the spur of things. There is truth to them. She, as we believe, is now in heaven in a much better place because as I heard, you get to bounce on clouds. She left us suddenly--12 hours prior, she had been video chatting with my older brother. She didn't suffer, because the pain from cancer can sometimes be unbearable. And the funeral services were stalled for an extra day so my mom could be there in time. So perhaps the clichés are the best we can do to help bring comfort. But of course I feel it's always more important to be there for the people, listen to them, absorb their tears, and even distract them, make them laugh.
And how to explain death? How do you make someone believe something you do? Especially in the light of losing someone? I believe in a heaven, and I believe that we are both soul and spirit-- the soul being our essence, and the spirit a gift from the Big Guy upstairs. I believe the spirit returns to God where it belongs, and the soul.... I'm not sure. I believe the soul is everything that we are, and I believe that we share it with everyone. It is how we live through others, how we live on through our children, through the ones we love, through the actions we do, and the things we create. It is enriched by our lives, by love and laughter. Perhaps it is the part that we say never leaves this world, and perhaps it goes to being one with all of us. But, this is what I believe. It is what brings me understanding and comfort in the face of death. But it is what I believe on no basis of scientific truth--only faith. Is my answer enough to bring anyone some understanding when they cannot understand the finality of death? We can't force our beliefs on them. I just think of when I will have to deal with talking to patients and their families about death. I just hope to be a source of comfort and empathy. I can't say I would know what more to give, but I guess it depends on every individual person. What they believe in, their religion. I mean, we have religion to explain death... and in turn, provide meaning to life. In order to be rewarded in the afterlife, we have to behave in such ways while we are alive.
But what if we don't have faith in religion? Or in anything? I'd have to admit, I believe I have to question the existence of God in the face of death. Or at least, in the face of my grandmother's death and my mother's suffering. I think it's something all reasonable people should do. And I don't feel it necessarily has to break your faith in anything, but it can only lead to a deeper understanding of what your faith is. I, personally, find it foolish to say things like "God does good things" when good things happen, and say "God works in mysterious ways" when bad things happen and believe it blindly. To just comfort yourself with "God has a plan" when things are down. Not to say any of that is untrue, but I think truly believing in something involves understanding it, which is why leads in religious institutions pray often, meditate, and read their scriptures frequently. Questioning intangible things like this leads you to examine your own life in light of what you believe is important, and it gives you a better understanding of your own ideals.
And I say this, because in light of my mother's suffering, I have to wonder what God’s ultimate plan is for her. I have seen her sacrifice and endure hardships all her life, and as I have stood mostly powerless to change the situation, I have to wonder when she will catch a break. It broke my heart to tell her that her mom only had at most a week to live (sadly, it turned out to be less than 12 hours). She cried and cried and she knew it would be for the best, but would not accept the loss of her mother. She would also not forgive herself for mistakes long in the past. But she also talked about the death of an older brother I had who died shortly after birth 30 years ago. And even though my parents decided to pull life support because it was the best decision, she never accepted his death.
In all honestly, most of my tears were for my mother. I cried when I heard my aunt’s voice through the speakerphone telling me of my grandmothers passing, of her last moments. But it was nothing compared to the pain I saw in my mother. How vulnerable she looked. How she shook. Even the next day, how scared and nervous she was to get on the flight and have this nightmare become reality. And so I wonder... what benevolent being would allow so much trouble for a woman who has given her life to her sons, who works day in and day out to get by, who never denies anyone, and rarely asks? Who finds herself with more bills than friends? With more headaches that joys? As I look into my own future in the coming months, I must still be grateful to that enigma in the sky that the rest of my family and friends are healthy, with food on the table, and a roof on their head. And for now I am happy she is with the rest of her family and she does not have to grieve alone. She can spend a few weeks with loved ones, sharing stories, and celebrating grandma's life.
I, for one, remember..
- the soup (sancocho) she would always make for lunch... even when I go to Colombian cafe's here, she's who I think of.
- the way she never seemed to age... for the life of me, I always thought she was like 80, ever since I was 5 up until now that I'm 25.
- the way she always looked tiny and her skin looked fragile
- the way she'd scoff and storm off when my mom and her started to get at each other.
- the way she could just sit on a chair and knit for hours.. and for someone who was 80 for a long time, her dexterity was impressive.
- the stories I would hear as she would parade me around the city when i was a baby cause I had beautiful gray eyes (now they're boringly brown).
- her glasses hanging from her neck whenever she would look up from reading her little books
- the way she'd say my name and grab my face to say hello
- how she'd turn away from the camera because she hated how she looked in photos (like mother like daughter)
- the way she comforted me after my father passed away... how she calmed me down from the rage that was building inside.. and brought me tea.
- the way she took care of my father as he was dying from cancer.
- the little birdie she hid in her carry-on which she had to fly back to Colombia after a visit.
- the bed of hers which I now sleep on when I stay at my moms.
One could say I'm lucky that as much as I loved her, her death didn't...break me, I guess as much as say my mom or my cousins who live with her, but I think I would've been luckier if it did, because that would have meant she was a much more important part of my life, and I'd have more recent memories of her rather than just those from when I was young.
La bendicion Mama Aurita. Cuidanos desde el cielo con papi y christian y carlos.
Monday, March 5, 2012
Friday, February 3, 2012
The Fire (Jack's Hero)
**Short story from an idea I had recently. 2/3/12
It's so hot. Everything is so --cough-- dark.
My head is hurting.... it feels wet--
No, I shouldn't look... maybe it's blood.
--cough-- It smells so bad... so hard... to... breathe.
Wait.... what happened here? Everything was fine. He was--
"Is there anyone here?! HELLO!"
Who was that? Who's downstairs?
"Is someone here?"
A different voice. Firefighters? "I.... I'm here." That was pathetic.
"Yo, did you hear that?"
I don't recognize that voice... is he here to help me?
"Nah, I didn't hear anything. What was it?"
"It... it sounded like a whimper."
I gotta try again, come on... big voice. "Room!"
"There it is again! It was a grunt or a bark. I'm telling you, someone is still here."
"I can't hear anything man, this fire is roaring. We gotta get out of here."
"Damn it, we can't check the upstairs. Maybe if we get the ladder and go in from outside."
Firefighters. Here. I need to --cough-- get to them. Come on! Move.... move.... Fuckin' come on, get out from under the bed!
It's so smokey I can barely see.
The room was relatively spared for now, but the fire was creeping in. The smoke was everywhere, and the heat unbearable.
There's fire everywhere... I'm-not-gonna-make-it. I-don't-want-to-die-like-this-oh-my. Please-someone-help-me--
"Ugh"
AH! Is that him? "Jack!?"
"Uhhh"
He's across the hall.... in the bathroom.... I can get to him. Just --cough-- run... run through the flames... they're... they're just colorful waves--an illusion. Come on--
No, I can't-...I-can't-I-can't-I-can't. I can't. AHHH! I've-never-been-this-scared. Stop it. He's taken care of me since I ran away from home. Always food on my plate. Warm blanket in my bed. Even these ugly sweaters he gets me. I like it. I need to get him.
The wide hallway to the bathroom was surrounded by flames that reached the ceiling. Half of it was already hanging, crumbling. The stairway to the left was destroyed, only the first two steps at the top still stood strong. The doorway to the bathroom was just one thick curtain of smoke that glowed orange and red.
Run through, run through, run throughhhhhh... OOOWWW. So hot!
Stop. Drop. Roll. Roll. Roll.
An older looking man was pinned under a fallen room. His clothes and skin dark, burned. The fire surrounded him, but it wouldn't be long until he was engulfed.
Shit. He's trapped.
"JACK! Wake up!" Come on. Ugh, his skin looks so burned. I'm afraid to touch him. "Come on! We need to get out!"
"Is....that...you....boy?
"Yes! Let's go!"
"I.... --cough cough-- can't... get up..."
"Yes you can! Come on!" I'll need to push that beam out of his way. Geez, its heavy.
"Oh my God! Everything's --cough cough-- on --cough cough-- fire! I need to get my photos... my... oh my god! How did this happen?!"
"It's too late! We have to get out!" Finally, the beam is off!
"Ugh... smart, boy. My home! OW, damn it! My leg hurts like hell!"
Damn it! "COME ON!" There's a fire!! Do I need to hurt you to get you moving!
"OW! Don't do that, Bruno!"
I'll drag you by the shirt if I have to!
"Ugh... alright alright. Let's get out of-- what was that?!"
Glass shattered from one of the other rooms. One of the firemen poke their head through the broken window.
"HELLO! Is anyone alive!?
"YES! In the bathroom! Alright, Bruno, I'm up. Let's get out of here."
Finally!
There was a loud crack and Jack jumped out of the way, tackling Bruno, as part of the ceiling crashed in over where he was laying on the floor.
"OW"
"Holy shit! I'm sorry... did I hurt you?"Ohhhh.... I'm...... dizzy....
"Oh no! Don't -- cough cough-- dare try to die on me! You got me up! Shit... have you been bleeding this whole time?"
....I'm... sorry....
The two firefighters walked into the hallway.
"Sir, are you okay?!"
"Yeah, I'm okay. But... my dog. I need to get him out of here!"
.... my dog? That... sounds.... nice....
"Franco, carry the dog. Sir, Come with me. We need to hurry, stay low!"
"We got you buddy....God damn, why couldn't it be a chihuaha or something!"
The firefighters ran on either side of Jack as they hurried across the hall back to the first room. It had caught fire and was in danger of collapsing."Let's go through the window. Jack you first."
Ah... fresh....air.... cool... air.....
Jack was greeted by other firefighters and a medic team. They gave him oxygen and wrapped him in a blanket. He looked over at his house as Franco and the other firefighter carried out Bruno and brought him to Jack.
"Hey, boy. How you feeling? You alright? --sigh--"
Better.... I can breathe easier.... head... still hurts.
"How are you, sir?" "I'm... I'm alright... shooken up, but fine. My arm hurts like hell from the fire, and my leg hurts a bit. But... i'm worried about him. He woke me up and got me moving.... Geez, if it wasn't for him, the ceiling would've fallen on me."
"Well, you got yourself a good dog there. We'll get you to a hospital and get him to a vet as soon as we can. I'm sure he'll be okay."
.... I think i just need rest....
They hurried into an amulance and set off for the hospital.
It's so hot. Everything is so --cough-- dark.
My head is hurting.... it feels wet--
No, I shouldn't look... maybe it's blood.
--cough-- It smells so bad... so hard... to... breathe.
Wait.... what happened here? Everything was fine. He was--
"Is there anyone here?! HELLO!"
Who was that? Who's downstairs?
"Is someone here?"
A different voice. Firefighters? "I.... I'm here." That was pathetic.
"Yo, did you hear that?"
I don't recognize that voice... is he here to help me?
"Nah, I didn't hear anything. What was it?"
"It... it sounded like a whimper."
I gotta try again, come on... big voice. "Room!"
"There it is again! It was a grunt or a bark. I'm telling you, someone is still here."
"I can't hear anything man, this fire is roaring. We gotta get out of here."
"Damn it, we can't check the upstairs. Maybe if we get the ladder and go in from outside."
Firefighters. Here. I need to --cough-- get to them. Come on! Move.... move.... Fuckin' come on, get out from under the bed!
It's so smokey I can barely see.
The room was relatively spared for now, but the fire was creeping in. The smoke was everywhere, and the heat unbearable.
There's fire everywhere... I'm-not-gonna-make-it. I-don't-want-to-die-like-this-oh-my. Please-someone-help-me--
"Ugh"
AH! Is that him? "Jack!?"
"Uhhh"
He's across the hall.... in the bathroom.... I can get to him. Just --cough-- run... run through the flames... they're... they're just colorful waves--an illusion. Come on--
No, I can't-...I-can't-I-can't-I-can't. I can't. AHHH! I've-never-been-this-scared. Stop it. He's taken care of me since I ran away from home. Always food on my plate. Warm blanket in my bed. Even these ugly sweaters he gets me. I like it. I need to get him.
The wide hallway to the bathroom was surrounded by flames that reached the ceiling. Half of it was already hanging, crumbling. The stairway to the left was destroyed, only the first two steps at the top still stood strong. The doorway to the bathroom was just one thick curtain of smoke that glowed orange and red.
Run through, run through, run throughhhhhh... OOOWWW. So hot!
Stop. Drop. Roll. Roll. Roll.
An older looking man was pinned under a fallen room. His clothes and skin dark, burned. The fire surrounded him, but it wouldn't be long until he was engulfed.
Shit. He's trapped.
"JACK! Wake up!" Come on. Ugh, his skin looks so burned. I'm afraid to touch him. "Come on! We need to get out!"
"Is....that...you....boy?
"Yes! Let's go!"
"I.... --cough cough-- can't... get up..."
"Yes you can! Come on!" I'll need to push that beam out of his way. Geez, its heavy.
"Oh my God! Everything's --cough cough-- on --cough cough-- fire! I need to get my photos... my... oh my god! How did this happen?!"
"It's too late! We have to get out!" Finally, the beam is off!
"Ugh... smart, boy. My home! OW, damn it! My leg hurts like hell!"
Damn it! "COME ON!" There's a fire!! Do I need to hurt you to get you moving!
"OW! Don't do that, Bruno!"
I'll drag you by the shirt if I have to!
"Ugh... alright alright. Let's get out of-- what was that?!"
Glass shattered from one of the other rooms. One of the firemen poke their head through the broken window.
"HELLO! Is anyone alive!?
"YES! In the bathroom! Alright, Bruno, I'm up. Let's get out of here."
Finally!
There was a loud crack and Jack jumped out of the way, tackling Bruno, as part of the ceiling crashed in over where he was laying on the floor.
"OW"
"Holy shit! I'm sorry... did I hurt you?"Ohhhh.... I'm...... dizzy....
"Oh no! Don't -- cough cough-- dare try to die on me! You got me up! Shit... have you been bleeding this whole time?"
....I'm... sorry....
The two firefighters walked into the hallway.
"Sir, are you okay?!"
"Yeah, I'm okay. But... my dog. I need to get him out of here!"
.... my dog? That... sounds.... nice....
"Franco, carry the dog. Sir, Come with me. We need to hurry, stay low!"
"We got you buddy....God damn, why couldn't it be a chihuaha or something!"
The firefighters ran on either side of Jack as they hurried across the hall back to the first room. It had caught fire and was in danger of collapsing."Let's go through the window. Jack you first."
Ah... fresh....air.... cool... air.....
Jack was greeted by other firefighters and a medic team. They gave him oxygen and wrapped him in a blanket. He looked over at his house as Franco and the other firefighter carried out Bruno and brought him to Jack.
"Hey, boy. How you feeling? You alright? --sigh--"
Better.... I can breathe easier.... head... still hurts.
"How are you, sir?" "I'm... I'm alright... shooken up, but fine. My arm hurts like hell from the fire, and my leg hurts a bit. But... i'm worried about him. He woke me up and got me moving.... Geez, if it wasn't for him, the ceiling would've fallen on me."
"Well, you got yourself a good dog there. We'll get you to a hospital and get him to a vet as soon as we can. I'm sure he'll be okay."
.... I think i just need rest....
They hurried into an amulance and set off for the hospital.
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
Personal Statement
*This is the personal statement I wrote for my residency application
I have a vivid memory of my father sitting in our living room with the lights off, listening to his vinyl records at the end of each week. Although I am unsure of what he was thinking, I always imagined he found a sense of peace and relaxation. It was his time to reflect as Spanish ballads filled the house. He had a deep appreciation for music that he imparted onto my brothers and me. My older brother became a popular disc jockey, my younger brother learned the saxophone, and I joined the school’s orchestra playing the flute. My father instilled in me the idea that if you love something, you should nurture that passion with a lifetime of learning and practice, even if that path is difficult.
When I was ten years old, my school orchestra had one opening so I jumped at the opportunity. I had been teaching myself the guitar at the time, but I longed for formal training. The instrument available was the flute which I enthusiastically embraced. The orchestra was divided into three bands: A, B, and C. A-band was for the most advanced players, and C-band for the beginners. At the end of each semester, all three bands along with the choir performed in a concert. Since I was in C-band, I was required to attend practice on Friday mornings at seven am and in the afternoon. The musical professor informed me that with enough work I could join B-band after the first winter concert.
I practiced vigorously at home and fell in love with learning how to read sheet music and translating that into musical sound. My father noticed my dedication and was very supportive, sitting in my room to listen to me instead of his vinyl records. It was incredible to eventually play full songs instead of only notes, but I wanted to play more than the simple selections in C-band. I began to attend the morning and afternoon practices of all three bands, even though I struggled with B-band and could only observe A-band. When the winter concert finally arrived a few months later, I was practicing with the A-band, and performed with both B- and C-band. My entire family came to watch the performance including my father, who would rarely take off from work.
The first concert my father missed was a winter concert two years later. My mother said he was not feeling well. A few days later, after he returned from grocery shopping, I watched as my father fell to his knees and began crying in my arms. I was confused and scared because I knew that this was more than just not feeling well. I learned my father had recurrent colon cancer and was given six months to live. As he became progressively weaker, he would wheel himself into my room to hear me practice. Once he was bed-ridden, I would play music in his room. My father passed away the night before my thirteenth birthday. While that incident eventually drove me towards medicine, I still associate him with music. When I began college, my refund check allowed me to purchase my own flute. I finally was able to continue to nurture my passion for music and keep alive that connection I had with the instrument and my father.
As for the school orchestra, I advanced to A-band after my first concert and quickly became the student our music professor asked to sample new selections to see if they were appropriate for the rest of the group. After four years of practices, concerts and parades, I was able to play first chair in an opening performance at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center. It was unnerving to play in front of such a large audience of adults and musical enthusiasts, especially when I had a microphone in front of me, knowing it could amplify any mistake that I made. I had worked hard for the moment, so I turned away from the blinding lights and intimidating crowd and simply played music.
I have a vivid memory of my father sitting in our living room with the lights off, listening to his vinyl records at the end of each week. Although I am unsure of what he was thinking, I always imagined he found a sense of peace and relaxation. It was his time to reflect as Spanish ballads filled the house. He had a deep appreciation for music that he imparted onto my brothers and me. My older brother became a popular disc jockey, my younger brother learned the saxophone, and I joined the school’s orchestra playing the flute. My father instilled in me the idea that if you love something, you should nurture that passion with a lifetime of learning and practice, even if that path is difficult.
When I was ten years old, my school orchestra had one opening so I jumped at the opportunity. I had been teaching myself the guitar at the time, but I longed for formal training. The instrument available was the flute which I enthusiastically embraced. The orchestra was divided into three bands: A, B, and C. A-band was for the most advanced players, and C-band for the beginners. At the end of each semester, all three bands along with the choir performed in a concert. Since I was in C-band, I was required to attend practice on Friday mornings at seven am and in the afternoon. The musical professor informed me that with enough work I could join B-band after the first winter concert.
I practiced vigorously at home and fell in love with learning how to read sheet music and translating that into musical sound. My father noticed my dedication and was very supportive, sitting in my room to listen to me instead of his vinyl records. It was incredible to eventually play full songs instead of only notes, but I wanted to play more than the simple selections in C-band. I began to attend the morning and afternoon practices of all three bands, even though I struggled with B-band and could only observe A-band. When the winter concert finally arrived a few months later, I was practicing with the A-band, and performed with both B- and C-band. My entire family came to watch the performance including my father, who would rarely take off from work.
The first concert my father missed was a winter concert two years later. My mother said he was not feeling well. A few days later, after he returned from grocery shopping, I watched as my father fell to his knees and began crying in my arms. I was confused and scared because I knew that this was more than just not feeling well. I learned my father had recurrent colon cancer and was given six months to live. As he became progressively weaker, he would wheel himself into my room to hear me practice. Once he was bed-ridden, I would play music in his room. My father passed away the night before my thirteenth birthday. While that incident eventually drove me towards medicine, I still associate him with music. When I began college, my refund check allowed me to purchase my own flute. I finally was able to continue to nurture my passion for music and keep alive that connection I had with the instrument and my father.
As for the school orchestra, I advanced to A-band after my first concert and quickly became the student our music professor asked to sample new selections to see if they were appropriate for the rest of the group. After four years of practices, concerts and parades, I was able to play first chair in an opening performance at the New Jersey Performing Arts Center. It was unnerving to play in front of such a large audience of adults and musical enthusiasts, especially when I had a microphone in front of me, knowing it could amplify any mistake that I made. I had worked hard for the moment, so I turned away from the blinding lights and intimidating crowd and simply played music.
Tuesday, September 20, 2011
My Patients
One of the best things about being in the medical field is that we get to see patients and take care of them. We get to make them feel better from a variety of causes. They may have an infection, a cut, depression, asthma, anxiety, etc. We can do something to help them... most of the time. Of course there are times where the only thing we can do is make them comfortable so that they are not in pain and distress. Sometimes, aside from treating their disease, patients just need someone to talk to.
There was one patient who unfortunately was morbidly obese with an abdominal hernia, skin graft, an ostomy (poop bag), and 4 other tube drains coming out of her. There wasn't much I can do when I rounded in the mornings except talk to her and check her drain outputs and vitals. I talked each morning with her for a bout a week until we decided we had to get her into the OR to see if we can fix some possible infection with her bladder. When I finally met the family before the operation, the patient told them I had been taking great care of her because I would come in every morning to make sure she was okay. I told her and her family I would be there throughout the operation, which I was. After the operation, I was able to follow her for another week and we were able to remove all the drains, except her ostomy. However, since we had to get into her abdomen, we had to cut through her skin graft which she was so proud of how it had healed.
One of the interesting conversations we had was when we removed all the tubes from her, we joked about how she was finally "becoming human" again. For a long time, she had been bed-ridden in the hospital with doctors and nurses just coming in and out to check up on her, look at drains, monitor vitals, and draw blood. Slowly but surely, we were able to discharge her to a rehab center where I hoped she would improve. I wished her the best of luck and to keep working hard because even though she had so many medical problems, she had an amazing outlook. Each morning, she fought through pain and discomfort to say, "We are taking things one day at a time. I probably should have been dead by now, but I'm still here. Let's get this solved and move on to the next step." Unfortunately, I actually saw this week that she had returned to the hospital. I don't know why as I was not present when she arrived to the ER, but I hope she's in good hands.
The comment about becoming human struck a cord with me. We all know patients are people too, but sometimes a hospital can be a very scary place. It can be a dehumanizing place. You can be feeling your worst--at your most vulnerable--and be all alone. What if no family or friends visit? All you have is the medical students, residents, and nurses who pop in for a few minutes to make sure you are okay, but not much else? On top of that, you have an IV tethering you to a pole, a foley because you can't get up to urinate on your own, an ostomy because you had a serious GI problem, drains to clear out fluids, and a nasal cannula so you can get oxygen. I have never been hospitalized so I have never been in that situation, but I can't imagine what it does to a person's sense of self. To their soul, seeing their bodies broken down so much.
In movies and tv shows, they don't show that if you get shot or stabbed, especially in the abdomen, chances are you will end up in the hospital for a few weeks with and have an ostomy for at least 3-6 months. Why, because it isn't heroic. Maybe they'll end up in a wheelchair and crutches which may make them tragic, or they will recover in a testament of willpower and faith. No one wants to see someone with a bag of urine taped to their leg, or an ostomy leaking stool. The image of a person in a hospital bed portrays a sense of weakness (even if they may be the most couragest of people), disease, and a fear of death.
There was another patient I had, a little old lady who was a pleasure to talk to in the mornings when I was on surgery. She was doing well but I had to keep visiting her to change an open wound she had on her abdomen so it could heal properly. However, one afternoon, I was walking by to make sure she was okay when I realized she had to change her dressing. I then noticed that the patient in the next bed was arguing with the nurse because the two patients were getting annoyed with each other. My patient was positioned by the door and felt claustrophobic so she wanted the curtain to be moved so she can see outside the window. The other patient wanted her privacy. The nurse tried to play mediator but in a horrible way. The other patient began yelling at the nurse saying that my patient was disrespectful, and that her and her husband were mean and should move out of the room. All this was said with a curtain in between, as if my patient couldn't hear through a piece of cloth. And as I was changing my patients dressing, she started to cry and told me that all she wanted was to see the window. I tried to comfort her and the nurse said she would look into separating the patients.My patient then turned to me and wished me the best of luck. She said how she believed I would be a great physician because I took the time out to talk to her everyday and check up on her to make sure she was okay. She said she felt that I actually cared for her. It's important to be able to be there for your patients in a way that they feel as if they have someone they can talk to, someone they can open up. I think it improves their experience in a hospital.
Today, I had a patient who was this older gentleman with urinary retention for 2 days. He was also great to talk to, and we made a few jokes and laughed, but I decided to keep our little talk short because I knew he was in a lot of discomfort and unfortunately would need a foley catheter to empty his bladder. I checked up on him a couple times to make sure he was okay and he felt much better. At the end of his stay in the ER, he shouted out for me and wanted to thank me for helping him feel better.
It's a great feeling to meet new people everyday and help them in someway. Obviously in the ER, we are treating very acute illnesses, trauma, or life-threatening things, but it's also important to be there for the patient emotionally. There have been multiple times when I would stay a few minutes longer with a patient because she just had to divulge her story to me. It may not even be relevant to her treatment, but she just had to talk about her job, or he had to talk about his family, or they talked about a trip they did.
The rapport between a healthcare worker and the patient builds a sense of trust and comfort that can make being in a hospital tolerable. No one feels good when they are sick or are in pain, and so it's worth spending a few extra moments to hear them out. That is why I hope to to try for each of my patients to:
1. Make them smile or laugh once a day
2. Learn something about them outside of their disease
3. Make sure they have what they need such as a pillow, blanket, cup of water, etc.
I want to learn and work hard so that I can take care of my patients to the best of my ability, but I hope to always remember that my patients are more than just the disease. They are still people with feelings and fears. They are people who at the present time are vulnerable and weak. And if I can, I don't see why I can't help calm those fears and provide them support.
There was one patient who unfortunately was morbidly obese with an abdominal hernia, skin graft, an ostomy (poop bag), and 4 other tube drains coming out of her. There wasn't much I can do when I rounded in the mornings except talk to her and check her drain outputs and vitals. I talked each morning with her for a bout a week until we decided we had to get her into the OR to see if we can fix some possible infection with her bladder. When I finally met the family before the operation, the patient told them I had been taking great care of her because I would come in every morning to make sure she was okay. I told her and her family I would be there throughout the operation, which I was. After the operation, I was able to follow her for another week and we were able to remove all the drains, except her ostomy. However, since we had to get into her abdomen, we had to cut through her skin graft which she was so proud of how it had healed.
One of the interesting conversations we had was when we removed all the tubes from her, we joked about how she was finally "becoming human" again. For a long time, she had been bed-ridden in the hospital with doctors and nurses just coming in and out to check up on her, look at drains, monitor vitals, and draw blood. Slowly but surely, we were able to discharge her to a rehab center where I hoped she would improve. I wished her the best of luck and to keep working hard because even though she had so many medical problems, she had an amazing outlook. Each morning, she fought through pain and discomfort to say, "We are taking things one day at a time. I probably should have been dead by now, but I'm still here. Let's get this solved and move on to the next step." Unfortunately, I actually saw this week that she had returned to the hospital. I don't know why as I was not present when she arrived to the ER, but I hope she's in good hands.
The comment about becoming human struck a cord with me. We all know patients are people too, but sometimes a hospital can be a very scary place. It can be a dehumanizing place. You can be feeling your worst--at your most vulnerable--and be all alone. What if no family or friends visit? All you have is the medical students, residents, and nurses who pop in for a few minutes to make sure you are okay, but not much else? On top of that, you have an IV tethering you to a pole, a foley because you can't get up to urinate on your own, an ostomy because you had a serious GI problem, drains to clear out fluids, and a nasal cannula so you can get oxygen. I have never been hospitalized so I have never been in that situation, but I can't imagine what it does to a person's sense of self. To their soul, seeing their bodies broken down so much.
In movies and tv shows, they don't show that if you get shot or stabbed, especially in the abdomen, chances are you will end up in the hospital for a few weeks with and have an ostomy for at least 3-6 months. Why, because it isn't heroic. Maybe they'll end up in a wheelchair and crutches which may make them tragic, or they will recover in a testament of willpower and faith. No one wants to see someone with a bag of urine taped to their leg, or an ostomy leaking stool. The image of a person in a hospital bed portrays a sense of weakness (even if they may be the most couragest of people), disease, and a fear of death.
There was another patient I had, a little old lady who was a pleasure to talk to in the mornings when I was on surgery. She was doing well but I had to keep visiting her to change an open wound she had on her abdomen so it could heal properly. However, one afternoon, I was walking by to make sure she was okay when I realized she had to change her dressing. I then noticed that the patient in the next bed was arguing with the nurse because the two patients were getting annoyed with each other. My patient was positioned by the door and felt claustrophobic so she wanted the curtain to be moved so she can see outside the window. The other patient wanted her privacy. The nurse tried to play mediator but in a horrible way. The other patient began yelling at the nurse saying that my patient was disrespectful, and that her and her husband were mean and should move out of the room. All this was said with a curtain in between, as if my patient couldn't hear through a piece of cloth. And as I was changing my patients dressing, she started to cry and told me that all she wanted was to see the window. I tried to comfort her and the nurse said she would look into separating the patients.My patient then turned to me and wished me the best of luck. She said how she believed I would be a great physician because I took the time out to talk to her everyday and check up on her to make sure she was okay. She said she felt that I actually cared for her. It's important to be able to be there for your patients in a way that they feel as if they have someone they can talk to, someone they can open up. I think it improves their experience in a hospital.
Today, I had a patient who was this older gentleman with urinary retention for 2 days. He was also great to talk to, and we made a few jokes and laughed, but I decided to keep our little talk short because I knew he was in a lot of discomfort and unfortunately would need a foley catheter to empty his bladder. I checked up on him a couple times to make sure he was okay and he felt much better. At the end of his stay in the ER, he shouted out for me and wanted to thank me for helping him feel better.
It's a great feeling to meet new people everyday and help them in someway. Obviously in the ER, we are treating very acute illnesses, trauma, or life-threatening things, but it's also important to be there for the patient emotionally. There have been multiple times when I would stay a few minutes longer with a patient because she just had to divulge her story to me. It may not even be relevant to her treatment, but she just had to talk about her job, or he had to talk about his family, or they talked about a trip they did.
The rapport between a healthcare worker and the patient builds a sense of trust and comfort that can make being in a hospital tolerable. No one feels good when they are sick or are in pain, and so it's worth spending a few extra moments to hear them out. That is why I hope to to try for each of my patients to:
1. Make them smile or laugh once a day
2. Learn something about them outside of their disease
3. Make sure they have what they need such as a pillow, blanket, cup of water, etc.
I want to learn and work hard so that I can take care of my patients to the best of my ability, but I hope to always remember that my patients are more than just the disease. They are still people with feelings and fears. They are people who at the present time are vulnerable and weak. And if I can, I don't see why I can't help calm those fears and provide them support.
Tuesday, September 13, 2011
Nights on the Path of Broken Hearts
The nightfall breaks with the call of the dead
Leaving me here tortured in my bed.
The thought of you has intoxicated my dear head
Leaving me here blinded by my tears
Under moonlight, escaping and hiding from all of my fears.
Just remember who held your hand through your darkest years.
Your voice, its melody would drown all my noise
I'd stay afloat on clouds of luscious flowers
Thinking of the long hours before I can hear you again.
I love you now still, just as I did back then.
But now I'm lost and I need to know
When did all this change? Just tell me exactly when.
Your footprints in my heart have messed me up
I can't even look in your eyes and ask, "What's up?"
It feels like my heart's about to burst
When I feel you in the nearing air.
That golden shine that flows from your hair
Melts my pain back to a smile
And I take it for all its worth
Even knowing the feeling will only last a short while.
Can't you see the blood running down?
Down from my dark eyes to my lips
Bringing backs memories of country trips
Days when your smile seemed so real
When you could touch my heart and know what I would feel
But it's all gone now
It went by so fast I keep thinking wow.
You kept my heart and I'm asking for it back.
Take the razor
Slice my wrist or,
Cut my throat, drown my face
Leave nothing behind but a single trace.
A way to find you holding me
Give me my heart, it’s longoverdue.
Bury me alive with the words
"I'll never stop loving you."
3/26/04
Leaving me here tortured in my bed.
The thought of you has intoxicated my dear head
Leaving me here blinded by my tears
Under moonlight, escaping and hiding from all of my fears.
Just remember who held your hand through your darkest years.
Your voice, its melody would drown all my noise
I'd stay afloat on clouds of luscious flowers
Thinking of the long hours before I can hear you again.
I love you now still, just as I did back then.
But now I'm lost and I need to know
When did all this change? Just tell me exactly when.
Your footprints in my heart have messed me up
I can't even look in your eyes and ask, "What's up?"
It feels like my heart's about to burst
When I feel you in the nearing air.
That golden shine that flows from your hair
Melts my pain back to a smile
And I take it for all its worth
Even knowing the feeling will only last a short while.
Can't you see the blood running down?
Down from my dark eyes to my lips
Bringing backs memories of country trips
Days when your smile seemed so real
When you could touch my heart and know what I would feel
But it's all gone now
It went by so fast I keep thinking wow.
You kept my heart and I'm asking for it back.
Take the razor
Slice my wrist or,
Cut my throat, drown my face
Leave nothing behind but a single trace.
A way to find you holding me
Give me my heart, it’s longoverdue.
Bury me alive with the words
"I'll never stop loving you."
3/26/04
Monday, September 12, 2011
Ay Nina
Ay niña linda, no te me vayas
Quiero que sepas que tu eres mi talla.
Ay niña linda, me gustan tus besos
Quiero que nunca de mi estés lejos.
Ay niña bonita, dulce princesa
Tus labios tan suave, ay que riqueza.
Ay niña bonita, mi alegría
Te necesito a mi lado, todo el día.
Deseo la ternura de tu piel.
Besarte una vez, hasta cien.
Que nuestras almas griten de pasión
Porque sin ti, mi vida no tiene razón.
Ay niña linda, quédate conmigo
Por que sin tu amor, yo estoy ciego.
Ay niña linda, venga conmigo
Estaremos juntos, hasta el fin del siglo.
4/11
Quiero que sepas que tu eres mi talla.
Ay niña linda, me gustan tus besos
Quiero que nunca de mi estés lejos.
Ay niña bonita, dulce princesa
Tus labios tan suave, ay que riqueza.
Ay niña bonita, mi alegría
Te necesito a mi lado, todo el día.
Deseo la ternura de tu piel.
Besarte una vez, hasta cien.
Que nuestras almas griten de pasión
Porque sin ti, mi vida no tiene razón.
Ay niña linda, quédate conmigo
Por que sin tu amor, yo estoy ciego.
Ay niña linda, venga conmigo
Estaremos juntos, hasta el fin del siglo.
4/11
Saturday, August 20, 2011
My Mind, Body, and Soul
“You don't have a soul. You are a Soul. You have a body.” - C.S. Lewis
According to the Bible, we are souls with a physical body. In it's basic sense, the word "soul" means "life" yet yet it can be so much more. It IS us. It represents that feeling of "me" that has always existed even before we "discovered" who we are through the craziness of adolescence and college. And while our souls are attached to a physical body, it is not determined by that body. Yes, our view/ self-image/ perception of ourselves is influenced by the physical world around us, our soul still represents that unique individuality of who we are. We are who we are, individuals, separate and different from anyone who has ever been and ever will be. You are you and I am me. We are filled with personal memories and emotions, ideas and dreams, and just as our bodies are different (unless you're a twin or killer clone), our souls are different (even a clone's... I think.)
“What can you ever really know of other people's souls - of their temptations, their opportunities, their struggles? One soul in the whole creation you do know: and it is the only one whose fate is placed in your hands” - C.S. Lewis
Depending on who you ask, when we die, one of three things happen to us:
1. Our souls leave our bodies and reach the afterlife. As we are souls, we can recognize each other at the big party in the clouds, right next to the Bacon and Martini bar.
2. Our souls are recycled and given to a new environmentally-friendly body: a baby, which unfortunately has has no stored memories so we forget who we were. We start over though we don't know it, unless you believe you can access your past lives.
3. Our souls disappear when we die, because it is a formation of an active brain. Once the brain dies, we die through and through.
Perhaps, fear of the idea that "we" will no longer be alive and experience life that has helped propel the idea of reincarnation. We are scared to realize the fact that once our bodies die and our soul moves on, "we" will never experience being alive again and facing the wonders and tragedies of this world. To know what it felt like to have the warm sun on your skin, or taste a delicious burger, or relax to music. So, some of us grasp onto the possibility that "we" come back, even if we don't remember ever being alive. But at least, we get to enjoy life again.
Imagine playing a game for 80 years and then you died and your only voice-, retinal-, and soul-activated controller was destroyed so badly you could never play again. Instead, you had to sit back on a couch with people who also died and just watch other players enjoy the game. And, as wonderfully comfortable as that couch may be (it's made of clouds), you know you will never play again. Will never get that joy of getting to the next stage (kissing first girlfriend, graduating college, getting married, etc) or leveling up (having sex with said girlfriend, getting a six-pack or keg, buying a maserati, etc). You can just watch, maybe give advice and look out for the people still playing. Unless you don't believe in couches, in which case, maybe you get another controller to try again. Or you don't believe in couches or controllers, and once your character dies, that's that.
But why am I talking about souls? For the last 4 weeks I have been doing a rotation in Psychiatry down at Trenton. I have been seeing patients with all manners of mental illnesses. From people who have repeatedly tried to take their own lives to someone who thought he was transforming into the Hulk. From someone so paranoid he wanted to install cameras in every room of his house to someone who thought she was sleeping with Obama. This made me realize how much we take for granted our own sanity and our connection with reality. The simple act of just seeing the world for how it is, is lost on these patients. They cannot control hearing voices or seeing things. They cannot control waking up feeling hopeless or utterly alone. They cannot go to a supermarket without paralyzing fear. They cannot maintain friendships, let alone jobs. And then, there are patients who can no longer remember who they are. They have no recollection of their past, their friends, even their name.
How scary is it to lose control over our own emotions? To lose touch with reality? To lose ourselves?
Out of those three, as a young person, I am most terrified of losing myself. Especially considering that one-fifth of people in their 80's have dementia. There's a significant chance that it can happen to any one of us. Our emotions can be fragile with depression and anxiety, but luckily there are medications and therapy that can help that. Our minds can be unhinged (even without legilimency) and that is extremely scary. It is difficult trying to live your life while truly believing the CIA is after you, or that your thoughts are being stolen from your brain. That your spouse is cheating on you, or that everyone you love has been replaced by aliens. Medications and therapy may help, and I would never wish this on anyone, but for some reason, I'm still more scared losing who I am.
"Ordinary riches can be stolen, real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you.” - Oscar Wilde
We are who we are because of our experiences. Everything we have learned and done in our lives. Every memory we have, every laugh we have shared, every tear we have shed, every dream we have wished, and every choice we regret. We are given a soul, a unique and individual force, that we may (depending on who you ask) use as we wish to experience this gift of Life. Our soul is who we are and it adapts as our views on ourselves and the world changes. We enrich our souls by being kind to one another. By being active and doing good deeds. By praying and mediating, loving and laughing, forgiving and repenting, learning and creating. I believe the soul expresses itself powerfully when we create art, be it music, stories, statues, or architecture. Geoffrey Latham says "music is the vernacular of the soul" with Rabindranath Tagore adding that "music fills the infinite between souls." Henry Ward Beecher believes “every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.”
Our soul is filled with our own true possessions and that when we share them with the world through art, people are astounded. I believe that is why music is so powerful, paintings sell for millions, and books are read for thousands of years. These artists share their souls with us and we connect with them. It stirs emotions and memories inside of us. We are all different souls, but (if you believe it) all come from one source, and thus we are kindred souls. And even moreso, we are gifted with kindred spirits. The spirit is the part of us that is immortal because it is a part of God or a universal force much greater than us that has been here since the beginning, creating the universe itself. It is our connection to that force. There are universal ideals and concepts that ring true to all of us, no matter who we are or where we are because they emanate from that force, and because of our minds, we can understand and express them. And because of our kindred souls and spirits, we are connected to each other and these ideas, and to this force that is both around us and contained within us. This is why people across all the world know of love, friendship, honor, trust, and hatred. Perhaps because of this ability to connect with others, that we on a very deep level, can discover true love and soulmates.
But what happens when we can no longer share our soul? When our brain in all its neurosciencey glory fails us?
“There can be no knowledge without emotion. We may be aware of a truth, yet until we have felt its force, it is not ours. To the cognition of the brain must be added the experience of the soul.” - Arnold Bennett
“Wisdom is to the soul what health is to the body” - De Saint-Real
Dementia is a disease of the brain where a person deteriorates. They lose their memories and past. They lose their cognition, their ability to think and act. They slowly break down body and mind. Most of them at first, can be completely conscious and coherent. Educated people can hide their problem longer because they can improvise and have a deep well of knowledge. They may be able to take care of themselves and do math problems, but ask them about themselves, and they are lost. Can you imagine living your life not knowing you are you? Just living, pretending things are okay because you don't know they are not, until someone asks what you had for breakfast and you can't remember. So, you fake it and answer the Big Steak Omelet from IHOP. Without a working body and mind, we can't express ourselves through thought, emotion, or action. We can't express our souls.
What happens to us? What happens to our feeling of "me?" What happens to our soul? We can say that nothing happens, because we are still alive, and we are the same person even if we don't remember it. Or maybe something happens. Our soul is given a reprieve and is allowed to move on, leaving behind a body that is just living. The person is just an empty vessel. The husband will say "She's no longer my wife. She's not there. She's just a woman, but I still love her and can't leave her." Or perhaps the soul is stuck, suffering in a body that is dying. Perhaps there is a miracle where the soul breaks through and the person has a shimmer of recognition when they see a friend's face. Or they come back for just a few moments (The Notebook) to talk with their loved ones. Or they laugh, just for a second, as the soul grasps at straws, as "laughter is the spark of the soul."
Who knows? It makes me upset that as we age, life plays a great joke on us. As we age, we gain confidence, power and wealth. We find love and build a family. We work hard for a good life. But when all is said and done, we have retired and sent the kids off to college and our ready to enjoy the fruits of our labor, our bodies and minds decay. Just when we finally had time and money to travel the world, go fishing, or get into bingo, those unfortunate are stricken with illness of the body and mind, and perhaps, hopefully not, our soul.
Maybe we can find comfort, for those who believe, that we are souls and have thus nurtured our souls with our lives, and even in the face of losing one's mind and body, we are not lost. We may no longer be able to express it at the time of our death, but hopefully it is strong enough, that when we pass onto the afterlife, our loved ones can recognize us at baggage claim before passing by the Margarita Fountains over on Cloud 5.
Or you'll find comfort that your soul comes back in a new body, and through dreams you remember, even if it's just for a moment, of who you once were.
Or you hope that you have lived a happy and fulfilled life because you don't believe in any of this nonsense, because all good things come to an end.
*if none of this makes sense, it's okay. That's why you should never expect to win a debate on the logistics of God, the soul, the spirit, free will, and His plan. Our minds are not quite there yet, probably b/c we're too preoccupied looking out for the FBI.
According to the Bible, we are souls with a physical body. In it's basic sense, the word "soul" means "life" yet yet it can be so much more. It IS us. It represents that feeling of "me" that has always existed even before we "discovered" who we are through the craziness of adolescence and college. And while our souls are attached to a physical body, it is not determined by that body. Yes, our view/ self-image/ perception of ourselves is influenced by the physical world around us, our soul still represents that unique individuality of who we are. We are who we are, individuals, separate and different from anyone who has ever been and ever will be. You are you and I am me. We are filled with personal memories and emotions, ideas and dreams, and just as our bodies are different (unless you're a twin or killer clone), our souls are different (even a clone's... I think.)
“What can you ever really know of other people's souls - of their temptations, their opportunities, their struggles? One soul in the whole creation you do know: and it is the only one whose fate is placed in your hands” - C.S. Lewis
Depending on who you ask, when we die, one of three things happen to us:
1. Our souls leave our bodies and reach the afterlife. As we are souls, we can recognize each other at the big party in the clouds, right next to the Bacon and Martini bar.
2. Our souls are recycled and given to a new environmentally-friendly body: a baby, which unfortunately has has no stored memories so we forget who we were. We start over though we don't know it, unless you believe you can access your past lives.
3. Our souls disappear when we die, because it is a formation of an active brain. Once the brain dies, we die through and through.
Perhaps, fear of the idea that "we" will no longer be alive and experience life that has helped propel the idea of reincarnation. We are scared to realize the fact that once our bodies die and our soul moves on, "we" will never experience being alive again and facing the wonders and tragedies of this world. To know what it felt like to have the warm sun on your skin, or taste a delicious burger, or relax to music. So, some of us grasp onto the possibility that "we" come back, even if we don't remember ever being alive. But at least, we get to enjoy life again.
Imagine playing a game for 80 years and then you died and your only voice-, retinal-, and soul-activated controller was destroyed so badly you could never play again. Instead, you had to sit back on a couch with people who also died and just watch other players enjoy the game. And, as wonderfully comfortable as that couch may be (it's made of clouds), you know you will never play again. Will never get that joy of getting to the next stage (kissing first girlfriend, graduating college, getting married, etc) or leveling up (having sex with said girlfriend, getting a six-pack or keg, buying a maserati, etc). You can just watch, maybe give advice and look out for the people still playing. Unless you don't believe in couches, in which case, maybe you get another controller to try again. Or you don't believe in couches or controllers, and once your character dies, that's that.
But why am I talking about souls? For the last 4 weeks I have been doing a rotation in Psychiatry down at Trenton. I have been seeing patients with all manners of mental illnesses. From people who have repeatedly tried to take their own lives to someone who thought he was transforming into the Hulk. From someone so paranoid he wanted to install cameras in every room of his house to someone who thought she was sleeping with Obama. This made me realize how much we take for granted our own sanity and our connection with reality. The simple act of just seeing the world for how it is, is lost on these patients. They cannot control hearing voices or seeing things. They cannot control waking up feeling hopeless or utterly alone. They cannot go to a supermarket without paralyzing fear. They cannot maintain friendships, let alone jobs. And then, there are patients who can no longer remember who they are. They have no recollection of their past, their friends, even their name.
How scary is it to lose control over our own emotions? To lose touch with reality? To lose ourselves?
Out of those three, as a young person, I am most terrified of losing myself. Especially considering that one-fifth of people in their 80's have dementia. There's a significant chance that it can happen to any one of us. Our emotions can be fragile with depression and anxiety, but luckily there are medications and therapy that can help that. Our minds can be unhinged (even without legilimency) and that is extremely scary. It is difficult trying to live your life while truly believing the CIA is after you, or that your thoughts are being stolen from your brain. That your spouse is cheating on you, or that everyone you love has been replaced by aliens. Medications and therapy may help, and I would never wish this on anyone, but for some reason, I'm still more scared losing who I am.
"Ordinary riches can be stolen, real riches cannot. In your soul are infinitely precious things that cannot be taken from you.” - Oscar Wilde
We are who we are because of our experiences. Everything we have learned and done in our lives. Every memory we have, every laugh we have shared, every tear we have shed, every dream we have wished, and every choice we regret. We are given a soul, a unique and individual force, that we may (depending on who you ask) use as we wish to experience this gift of Life. Our soul is who we are and it adapts as our views on ourselves and the world changes. We enrich our souls by being kind to one another. By being active and doing good deeds. By praying and mediating, loving and laughing, forgiving and repenting, learning and creating. I believe the soul expresses itself powerfully when we create art, be it music, stories, statues, or architecture. Geoffrey Latham says "music is the vernacular of the soul" with Rabindranath Tagore adding that "music fills the infinite between souls." Henry Ward Beecher believes “every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his pictures.”
Our soul is filled with our own true possessions and that when we share them with the world through art, people are astounded. I believe that is why music is so powerful, paintings sell for millions, and books are read for thousands of years. These artists share their souls with us and we connect with them. It stirs emotions and memories inside of us. We are all different souls, but (if you believe it) all come from one source, and thus we are kindred souls. And even moreso, we are gifted with kindred spirits. The spirit is the part of us that is immortal because it is a part of God or a universal force much greater than us that has been here since the beginning, creating the universe itself. It is our connection to that force. There are universal ideals and concepts that ring true to all of us, no matter who we are or where we are because they emanate from that force, and because of our minds, we can understand and express them. And because of our kindred souls and spirits, we are connected to each other and these ideas, and to this force that is both around us and contained within us. This is why people across all the world know of love, friendship, honor, trust, and hatred. Perhaps because of this ability to connect with others, that we on a very deep level, can discover true love and soulmates.
But what happens when we can no longer share our soul? When our brain in all its neurosciencey glory fails us?
“There can be no knowledge without emotion. We may be aware of a truth, yet until we have felt its force, it is not ours. To the cognition of the brain must be added the experience of the soul.” - Arnold Bennett
“Wisdom is to the soul what health is to the body” - De Saint-Real
Dementia is a disease of the brain where a person deteriorates. They lose their memories and past. They lose their cognition, their ability to think and act. They slowly break down body and mind. Most of them at first, can be completely conscious and coherent. Educated people can hide their problem longer because they can improvise and have a deep well of knowledge. They may be able to take care of themselves and do math problems, but ask them about themselves, and they are lost. Can you imagine living your life not knowing you are you? Just living, pretending things are okay because you don't know they are not, until someone asks what you had for breakfast and you can't remember. So, you fake it and answer the Big Steak Omelet from IHOP. Without a working body and mind, we can't express ourselves through thought, emotion, or action. We can't express our souls.
What happens to us? What happens to our feeling of "me?" What happens to our soul? We can say that nothing happens, because we are still alive, and we are the same person even if we don't remember it. Or maybe something happens. Our soul is given a reprieve and is allowed to move on, leaving behind a body that is just living. The person is just an empty vessel. The husband will say "She's no longer my wife. She's not there. She's just a woman, but I still love her and can't leave her." Or perhaps the soul is stuck, suffering in a body that is dying. Perhaps there is a miracle where the soul breaks through and the person has a shimmer of recognition when they see a friend's face. Or they come back for just a few moments (The Notebook) to talk with their loved ones. Or they laugh, just for a second, as the soul grasps at straws, as "laughter is the spark of the soul."
Who knows? It makes me upset that as we age, life plays a great joke on us. As we age, we gain confidence, power and wealth. We find love and build a family. We work hard for a good life. But when all is said and done, we have retired and sent the kids off to college and our ready to enjoy the fruits of our labor, our bodies and minds decay. Just when we finally had time and money to travel the world, go fishing, or get into bingo, those unfortunate are stricken with illness of the body and mind, and perhaps, hopefully not, our soul.
Maybe we can find comfort, for those who believe, that we are souls and have thus nurtured our souls with our lives, and even in the face of losing one's mind and body, we are not lost. We may no longer be able to express it at the time of our death, but hopefully it is strong enough, that when we pass onto the afterlife, our loved ones can recognize us at baggage claim before passing by the Margarita Fountains over on Cloud 5.
Or you'll find comfort that your soul comes back in a new body, and through dreams you remember, even if it's just for a moment, of who you once were.
Or you hope that you have lived a happy and fulfilled life because you don't believe in any of this nonsense, because all good things come to an end.
*if none of this makes sense, it's okay. That's why you should never expect to win a debate on the logistics of God, the soul, the spirit, free will, and His plan. Our minds are not quite there yet, probably b/c we're too preoccupied looking out for the FBI.
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