When I first visited Keith, who was admitted into hospice care a few days earlier, he was not very accepting. He barely made an attempt at conversation. The vibe was "leave me alone" and so I did. But I made it a point to tell him who I was and why I was there and when he can expect me again. Three weeks after, I had to go on vacation. I was away for a month. When I got back I visited him again. For the first time he spoke to me. We must have chatted for about 30 minutes. I got him enthused about getting him coffee the next time I came to see him. He insisted that he pay me for his coffee and I gave in.
Since then I have visited him for over a month and he has never failed to greet me with a smile and fun stories from his past.
This guy is diagnosed as having terminal cancer. He is fiercely independent and want to get out of the facility the moment he finds lodging. I, of course, am very skeptical that he should be on his own. But I haven't shared my thoughts with him except in my smiles and silence. I think he gets it.
The reasons I'm writing my blog is not just to talk about him. Over the past month and a half we've sort of developed a friendship. We talk for hours now. He most of it. I'm totally okay with it, as I'm there for him.
The day I first saw him, I remember feeling like that this is the patient that was going to teach me something of value. I don't know why, only future will tell. But I listen to my inner voice or instinct whatever you want to call it.
As I was driving home yesterday after my visit, I realised that my lesson from him could be to have emotional involvement and yet not be involved. I realise that I'm making a friend in this dying man. He is a great story teller, has much to share about his life and experiences and I find that fascinating. But more than that his struggle to assert independence over the circumstances he has found himself in, for whatever the time he has left in him, is of great interest to me. I care very easily. It's something that my patients love about me. I think, despite his strong manly facade, he too finds that appealing. I feel he may have warmed up to it. But in the same way I have warmed up to him.
When I first started volunteering, I remember my manager saying, how volunteers who care for hospice patients mourn loss. I, as always, wanted to have my experience to believe in it. I'm thinking now, that there is a chance that I might grieve when Keith dies. For I'm developing a friendship with him. When he dies I should feel as if I have lost a friend.
I'm keen to go through this process. Just as much as I have wanted to understand the process of death, I have also wanted to understand what it would be like to lose someone you deeply cared for. I do not understand why I'm so fascinated with this. But I have been for quite sometime. It started off when one of my uncles died of cancer just a few years ago. I realised that I too can die. I realised that my parents who are getting old, can die at anytime. In one of my meditations, I felt the deep sadness and sense of loss that might be experienced in death. I know I will never fully understand and grasp it unless I die or someone close to me does.
At the same time, I realised how people are moved in the death of their close friends and relatives. I also saw in my uncle who was 75 at the time he died, the fear and the sadness he experienced during the dying process. I've looked for answers I guess in some ways.
Keith is the youngest person I have had as a patient. I've had one other patient of mine die recently. She was much older and basically died of old age. I enjoyed visiting her. But as most of my older patients go through, she had quite a lot of memory loss and dementia,. So she would not remember me from one visit to another. Her stories were repetitions. But with Keith its different. His stories are vivid descriptions of experiences and emotions from his past. He remembers me from one visit to another.
As humans we all make emotional connections. It is what makes us who we are and gives our lives a sense of warmth and security. But those very emotional connections make us sad, unhappy, miserable and insecure. It is rarely we are given the opportunity make an emotional connection with a person who is diagnosed terminal. We establish a relationship, friendship knowing that this person is going to die. So it should be easy, right? I wonder.
I'm seeing my relationship with Keith like that of one of my uncles. Even though I haven't known him for many years of my life, I'm getting to know many years of his life. Somehow, it brings you closer to a person. I want to find how much closer one can get without having an emotional upheaval.
At the same time, I realised how people are moved in the death of their close friends and relatives. I also saw in my uncle who was 75 at the time he died, the fear and the sadness he experienced during the dying process. I've looked for answers I guess in some ways.
Keith is the youngest person I have had as a patient. I've had one other patient of mine die recently. She was much older and basically died of old age. I enjoyed visiting her. But as most of my older patients go through, she had quite a lot of memory loss and dementia,. So she would not remember me from one visit to another. Her stories were repetitions. But with Keith its different. His stories are vivid descriptions of experiences and emotions from his past. He remembers me from one visit to another.
As humans we all make emotional connections. It is what makes us who we are and gives our lives a sense of warmth and security. But those very emotional connections make us sad, unhappy, miserable and insecure. It is rarely we are given the opportunity make an emotional connection with a person who is diagnosed terminal. We establish a relationship, friendship knowing that this person is going to die. So it should be easy, right? I wonder.
I'm seeing my relationship with Keith like that of one of my uncles. Even though I haven't known him for many years of my life, I'm getting to know many years of his life. Somehow, it brings you closer to a person. I want to find how much closer one can get without having an emotional upheaval.
I'm a deeply spiritual person. I have practiced Buddhist meditation for about 8 years now. Most of that time was spent developing loving kindness. It's a platonic kind of love, free of lust but full of love. Ajahn Brahm calls it 'opening the door of your heart'. I have realised that you need to open the door of your heart to everything. For in it you find your own freedom. It's always an irony. We think when we are emotionally invested that we can get hurt and believe you me, we do. But the absence of emotions, it's difficult to built a friendship or any kind of relationship.
The Buddha is known to have been a person who cared very deeply about every single being in the world. His kindness and compassion is described as "his heart would quiver" but yet he was emotionally stable and never fell apart. This quality is described as "equanimity". While your heart quivers at the pain and suffering of others, your heart is strengthened by equanimity so that it never breaks apart and makes you dysfunctional. I want to know what it's like, where the boundaries are. It sounds crazy as I'm writing this, but I think I'd like to know. I want to know what my heart is like.
Just as much I know that I can get frothing wild, wildly passionate, crazily controlling, incredibly caring, I also want to know, at what point my heart would start falling apart. I know what it's like when it falls apart when you cannot have your desires full-filled but I don't know what it's like when you have deeply cared for the well-being of another. Or is it even possible to care so deeply about the well-being of another, unless they are an integral part your life? I'm going to let my experiences answer these questions but with time.
The Buddha is known to have been a person who cared very deeply about every single being in the world. His kindness and compassion is described as "his heart would quiver" but yet he was emotionally stable and never fell apart. This quality is described as "equanimity". While your heart quivers at the pain and suffering of others, your heart is strengthened by equanimity so that it never breaks apart and makes you dysfunctional. I want to know what it's like, where the boundaries are. It sounds crazy as I'm writing this, but I think I'd like to know. I want to know what my heart is like.
Just as much I know that I can get frothing wild, wildly passionate, crazily controlling, incredibly caring, I also want to know, at what point my heart would start falling apart. I know what it's like when it falls apart when you cannot have your desires full-filled but I don't know what it's like when you have deeply cared for the well-being of another. Or is it even possible to care so deeply about the well-being of another, unless they are an integral part your life? I'm going to let my experiences answer these questions but with time.
No comments:
Post a Comment