In Sickness and in Health

Now that I'm a month into my residency torture err, training, there is a dearth of topics to blog about. But somehow, you always find something that will make you write and share.

There are two people whom I have come to admire these past few days and they aren't consultants, seniors nor doctors for that matter. They are ordinary, everyday, SO's (significant others) of patient's admitted here at the hospital.

They have given me a perspective of how "in sickness and in health" is supposed to work.

First, Mr. Tomas (not his real name, of course). His wife was diagnosed with Gastric CA since 2003 and underwent resection and chemotherapy. She was admitted for anorexia (loss of appetite) and body malaise.

She was everything you'd notice of a cancer patient -- bald, weak, pale. She had bruises all over that I could not explain because everything was normal save for the fact that she had cancer.

Yesterday, she suddenly started screaming at the roof, praying and was restless despite the sedatives I gave her. I've noticed that patients who suddenly start seeing stuff and screaming out Bible phrases have a tendency to start heading towards that proverbial white light at the end of the tunnel.

I thought it was brain mets. CT scan negative.

I thought it was encephalopathy. Nada. Nil. Zilch.

As I was going off duty, I walked by Mr Tomas outside their room. I stopped and talked to him for a few minutes and I talked to him about where we stood with treating his wife, and anybody could see the toll of taking care of his wife on his face. His hair was a bit mussed up, eyes bloodshot and teary, unshaven and worry crinkles on his brow. He was standing outside as his two sons tried to calm their mom down inside their room. He thanked me for whatever explanation or insight I could give, mustered a smile and I bid him good night.

Later that night, his wife was transferred to the ICU because of a probable seizure disorder probably with the cancer spreading to parts of the brain not easily visible on scans.

I can only imagine what he is feeling right now. Because as corny as it sounds, one could see how much he cared by looking into those teary, bloodshot eyes.

The other person is Mrs Cecilia (again not her name). I admitted her husband for the complaint of unresponsiveness and probable severe pneumonia and a stroke. They barely scraped by with money for admission, intubation and a CT scan, and let alone the mounting expenses for antibiotics, heart medicines and the ventilator to the point that she had approached me for a DNR.

Insensitive as I was at that time, I was quietly comforted knowing she would be signing that sheet of paper that would relieve everyone of us on duty that day, of any responsibility. I almost even groaned when the attending discouraged her from doing so.

But I'm thankful I realized I was wrong.

While I monitored everything about the patient that whole day -- his vitals, his sats, his weaning, his IV's -- she was always there beside him. I could tell she loved him even from the time she came up to me and tears trickled down her cheeks asking for that piece of paper.

I gave her a smile every time I came. She smiles back.

I was assigned to another ward at the start of the month, but still I see her from time to time walking in the hallways, bringing a bottle or two of IV fluid. I asked from my co-residents how her husband was doing only to find out they have not been procuring the IV antibiotics and some meds. Sometimes they have money, sometimes they don't.

But love, in sickness and in health, they have an abundance.

And to love like they do is how love is supposed to be.