The man I want to become, translated…
The X-ray of the skull was on display on the computer, there were, so many places of white that were, out of place on the dark screens, from the shapes, you can tell, that they were, nails for the bones, the bone plates too; on the jaws, there were, signs of fracture also, that was, forcibly, held together, by artificial metal plate. And, if the patient before him wasn’t covered in flesh, it would be hard, to imagine how broken this person had once been.
The young patient, K was about my age, half of his face was, collapsed, there’s that sign of the tracheotomy that he’d had from before; he’d moved around much slower, and, spoken in broken up sentences, but in our conversation, I’d gotten that he was, a very courteous kid. K entered and exited my office several times already, because his broken jaws had, affected his teeth—the roots of teeth, were originally, sturdy and complete, but because of his continued inflammations, they’re now, uneven.
After the session was over, I’d taken the advantage of K washing his hands, to talk to his mother who’d accompanied him to see me—turns out, that as he was riding his motorcycle on Yangming Mountain, he’d, run into a light post, and, he was, close to disfigured—then, K went into a vegetative state, lay there in the hospital for several months, with only a THREE on the comatose indicator, and, his mother and father, were already, prepared for him to die. But maybe it’s because of how young he was, miraculously, K regained consciousness, and, regained his mobility too, and went through several plastic surgery, to reconstruct his disfigured face, to where he is right now, still, NOT yet complete in his looks.
“As it’d happened, we’d still, needed to, accompany him through it………”, K’s mother told. Back then, the primary surgeon of her son told her NOT to send her son into a nursing home; to bring him home and look after him herself, that if the patient recuperated in a familiar place, he will recover sooner too. With a job, she’d needed to, ask for a leave of absence every two hours, change K into a clean pair of diapers. K’s mother talked of this so lightly but, my heart was, so heavy as I’d heard.
“Unlike you all, no need for anybody to worry.”, K’s mother spoke, lightly.
Is that so? I’d, patted, that huge scar of my left arm, recalling how back when I was young, I’d gone to the factory to help, but, because I was playing around, my whole right arm was, dragged, into the machines, and, as the machines took my entire forearm in, it’d, stopped. Back then, my father saw, and quickly he’d, shut off the power, and, used the machines, to pry it open, and, as my forearm was, “rescued” out, it’d become, that squeezed dry segment of sugarcane, a HUGE hole was in it.
On the way to the hospitals, I recalled how my mother was holding on to me, in the backseat, I’d, lifted my arm high up, tried, to slow the blood flow down. Being unimaginably calm, I’d watched the yellow fatty tissues, and the blue and red veins and arteries in my arms, my fear was overwhelming my sense of pain now. Later on, my father told me, that, right after my mother saw me get pushed into the operating room to get patched up, she’d passed out there.
Maybe, it’s because how young I was, how my bones hadn’t hardened up yet, later on, other than the rope-looking scar, and a little bit of loss of strengths, compared to my left, my right arm was still, quite agile. But, as I’d, thought about it, on how my mother passed out in the E.R., was it, due to shock, or, was it because she was so worried, that I might, lose my arm? And how I was, going, to fare in the futures had, gotten past her own imaginations, I suppose.
After my father passed, there’s, one less person to worry; I’d stumbled around living away from home on my own, and, whenever I’d called home, I’d, told my mother about the good things and not the bad stuff I’d, encountered in life, because I didn’t want her to worry. But, am I, a man, whom someone doesn’t have to worry over? Even though I’m closing in on thirty, I still can only pay attention to one thing at a time; and would often, offend someone, with my rash nature. After I’d become a doctor, I’d, sunk and floated, in the perilous medical field daily, and, as the patients asked about my age, at first, I’d, felt happy, believed, that I did, my tuning up well enough; until later, I’d found out, that it was, how the patients don’t feel comfortable, getting treated by a physician who’s, so young.
And so, I’d started, overcompensating, in my office, I’d often, used an overt professionalism, attempted, to persuade the patient; but, compared to my aged professors who’d looked so comfortable, so used to things happening all around, my untrained words, and my eyes that twinkled on, usually, gave me away, how I’d, lacked the self-confidence in life. We’d spent a lot of time, listening to the patients, telling us about their symptoms, trying, to understand what was, happening to them, and I’d pondered often, what sort of a person am I, in my patients’ eyes? Am I a doctor, who can set his patients’ minds at ease?
K walked toward me in the long hall from the restrooms, he’d still, walked unsteadily, with his eyes set on his mother and me, but, his gaze, drifted away. I’d scheduled a callback for him six months from now, as I wrote the appointment down, I’d told K, like I was, encouraging myself, “Keep working hard!”, hoped that six months from now, both he, and I will become, someone whom our loved ones don’t have to worry about.
This, is the growth processes, that this young doctor had started out on, as he interacted with his patients and their families, he’d learned, that there is, still, a LOT for him to learn, that becoming a doctor, is only, the FIRST step to his own maturation processes, and, he’s, on his way, to become a better surgeon, as he’d realized about himself, that there’s, still, a lot he’d needed, to learn in the trade, and as a person too.