Worth Noting

Megs:

Haha, now I'm reciprocating by blogging you this while you're at your ball. Hope Chicago's awesome.

This week's been oddly fulfilling. Saturday - July 31st; day of the Eye Ball, aka the Optometry Ball 2010, the Horror-Opter. I'd been looking forward to this for a month!

But what was most memorable about that day wasn't the ball at all - it was earlier, at the Hospice. It was the first time I'd really felt affected, really involved, or moved or however you would describe it. Obviously, I've seen and met many patients over the last year and a half and heard recounts of incredible struggle during my volunteering shifts. But at the end of every shift I guess I'd leave everything behind at the Hospice when I went home.

I have wondered about that, and about myself; I've questioned my own (in?)sensitivity, and why it seems to take a heck a stimulus to evoke a passionate emotion in me. With the exception of Hadashi no gen (and I don't even know why - my classmates didn't find it very emotional), I can honestly say that I've never cried while watching a film or reading a book. When I see something tragic in the news, or hear of someone's passing away - I am sorry; pensive, but not really upset. Trying to maintain a "stoic" image isn't something I have any particular interest in, so I don't see a point in having a front. It's just the way I am, I guess.

But I digress about the previous Saturday. Maybe it's because of the fact that, apart from making sure that the counter-tops sparkle and making tea/coffee, all I really do is lend an ear to patients to hear about their day; and last week, as I was bustling along the corridor near the end of my shift, I was quite evidently 'spotted' by some nurses and other staff. They asked me if I spoke Chinese, and I said I did. What transpired was that someone in one of the wards was having trouble communicating the patient's needs to the nurses and the doctor in English and they needed a translator.

My quick visit to said ward made me feel this terrible sadness. I think it was the joint effect of seeing the patient's condition, seeing her husband's devotion to her, and how, despite being present in such a caring environment, they were still struggling and experiencing isolation, a kind that only a language barrier can bring. The husband had such an expression of gratitude on his face when I told him I was able briefly bridge for them this gap. His thanks was far more than I deserved; all I did was a quick rattle-off to the nurse of what had been troubling the patient for the last three days. It took about five minutes. I went home.

It's like this. You might do something small for another person and to you, "it's little, oh it's nothing". But someone else it's very obvious that they needed this help. And of course, more often than not, people can feel pleased with themselves if they know that the "helped someone". There's nothing wrong with that. But simply, it's just so so so different to having this chord, this need, struck in you. It's a stricken feeling and I'm finding it difficult to articulate. Like... 'you know you did something good + they needed your help + something personal just happened + you don't deserve such huge thanks + you need to be doing so much more.'

Had I just unwittingly stumbled on the experience of the "humanistic reward" that medical schools bleat on about? I dunno. But I had to assuage/act on/do something about that feeling. I returned three hours later and got the patient's husband help me make a bi-lingual chart so he could point to a sentence and tell the doctor or nurse how his wife was feeling and what she was needing. It's been a week and I hope it's helped them somewhat.

Insert-Optometry-Ball-description-here... or I think I'll do it in a later post, if I can be bothered.

Midnight! Good night.