This is me at work. This is L., my patient, who with his 5 brothers went to World War II. I listened to L. tell me about the war for about, maybe, 50 hours total over the course of 18 months or so. He has a purple heart. His wife was my patient too and I sat in between them for a week holding both of their hands. They were side by side in twin beds, her dying, him sick and crying and scared. And she died, and he lived. He remained my patient.
That's my table that was my great-grandmother's. That's my mug that makes me think its funny everytime I use it and gives me an amused feeling that I like. That's the pen I used when I signed my resignation letter and faxed it in and therefore could no longer go visit L. and, you know, listen and be with, as I formerly did.
That's me giving him a certificate of recognition for his military service as well as one for his late wife, who was also a veteran.
I could write a book about me, for the top photo and what's on my table, and I could make it all true and it would be a little bit shocking and also a heartbreaking work of staggering genius, which Dave Eggers got to before me. Some people hog all the good names.
I could write a book about L., and me, or just L., and I could even write a book about just the few political and personal and beautiful and terrible things flying around the room in just that photo about that moment, me, L., a company, death, medicine, politics, war, ethics, love, terror, a certificate on a piece of paper. It would be a little bit shocking and also staggering, heartbreaking, and genius in an obvious kind of way. I would like to write that book but I'm not sure if I can do it and make it true. If I couldn't tell it true, I don't want to tell it at all. The closest I can come for now is just to allude to it. But that is a beginning.
I notice now how he's holding on to my wrist. That was really the point, the truth, of the whole thing, although I don't know if anyone other than L. and I and the photographer, his daughter, ever got that part straight.
I thought about these photos of photos about 10 minutes ago while I was taking a pee in my house, and what it felt like in both of those photos. What lead to it and where it is now. Both of those photos go together. While I was peeing they just came to me and I thought, The whole team could not bear the idea of death and in fact were traumatized and terrified and though end-of-life professionals with training, experience, expertise, regulation and oversight, brought it to subtly and constantly bear upon me to stop it. Just stop it, somehow.
And that was hard. But I withstood it.
But it did wear on me too.
I can understand it better now. I forgive it.
I'm glad I never bought into that. Trying to stop it. That would make a person go nuts.
I'm so glad for that photo of me and L. and that he is holding my wrist and that I know I am feeling happy to be with him in that moment. I remember that moment perfectly even though this past Sunday and most of Monday are an absolute and total mystery that I can only reconstruct by scrolling through texts and messages on my phone.
I was happy then. I was happy. I loved L. and I still love him and that's all that was going on, in truth, in that photo. There are all kinds of clues and inferences and I'm wearing a lanyard and a badge and that's not the point.
We were happy. We were touching each other. It was good to both of us to do that. It was mutual. It was understood. It was safe and loving and kind and not terrifying and death was in the room. We were happy.
I was happy today and while I was peeing and I'm really happy right now.
That's the truth. If I had that photo with me right now, in bed, I would press it to my chest, my heart, and turn off the light, and keep pressing it against me, and fall asleep smiling in the dark, feeling happy, and full of love, love, love.
I hope I can sleep now.
1 comment:
Important and beautiful. Thank you for re-documenting and sharing.
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