Not for the faint of heart
You know how it is. You see movies about lawmen, gangsters and other bigger than life characters who live for danger and smile at the face of danger while dodging speeding cars and bullets routinely before breakfast. Whether cops or robbers, these heroes and anti-heroes always end up interrogating bad guys just before taking their last breaths, or arriving at the scene of the crime with dead bodies littered all over like confetti after Mardi Gras. Whatever the situation may be, these characters stand there like nothing remarkable happened as they watch a ruffian or a friend slowly bleed to death. Thoughts of Richard Gere playing the role of an Irish freedom fighter helping the FBI to catch an invisible assassin known only by the bloodchilling moniker of the Jackal. In one encounter where he was too late to help out, his Russian police friend was shot in the liver. He had just enough time to catch a clue she provided before the poor cop lady coughed out blood and then expired. He mourned, yes, but one has a feeling that he's used to people dying around him.
And somehow, you'd wish you were this person, living in the fast lane, taking in the terror and the danger as though it was just another day at the office.
I couldn't count how many times I had the exact same sentiment whenever I see these tough-as-nails big shots. Hey, I like Batman partly because I share his loathing for crime. Maybe I should be a crimefighter, or at least a cop. Maybe I should be using my God-given gifts to combat injustice and help the oppressed. And since I do have this inclination for the dangerous life, maybe, just maybe, I have what it takes.
Last night, after driving my aunt to the hospital in the morning thinking it was only one of those days when a relative got too sick that she'd need hospital care and then maybe after a day or two would see her eventually get better. It didn't happen that way, and what did happen was totally unexpected. By mid-afternoon, my aunt was already having a lot of difficulty breathing, and her diastolic has dropped to a dangerously low 40. That's when I realized the she was in deep trouble. I tried to be optimistic - I've seen more wondrous miracles happen to people closer to me. I went home to get a little rest, planning to come back early evening to a slew of good news delivered by the family doctor with a nonchalant attitude understating the welcome message that my aunt was going to be just fine.
Again, it didn't happen that way.
I was about to have dinner when my mom called from the hospital and told me that my aunt probably doesn't have much time left. Hungry enough to eat a horse, I tried to temporary quell the hunger pang with a gulp of Coke and immediately drove to the hospital. Already tense as hell on the way there, nothing could still have prepared me for the sight I was to behold. My aunt was already wired to a respirator, with several nurses and out good-natured family doctor looking harassed while hovering around her and the monitoring instruments at the same time. My mom, my aunt's sister, looked on the verge of crying, so my wife and I immediately rushed to her side. I found myself unable to watch as my aunt took short but tremendously labored gasps of breath from the hose fastened to her mouth by bandaging tapes, which made her look somewhat like that bizarre Voldo character of Soul Calibur fame (despite the video game reference, it was still a ghastly sight). Of course, I sometimes couldn't help but look, and in the few glances I made it was easy to note the harrowingly short transition of my aunt's breathing from difficult gasps to nothing more than the faint rising and falling of her chest. My heart shattered to piece when my mom vocally noted that her sister's chest was still moving, as though she was still harboring hopes of witnessing a miracle. But our doctor, kindhearted as he is, could do nothing but lay down the truth that the battle had already been lost. In the end, my mom could likewise do nothing but accept it, and as my aunt's vitals deteriorated even more, she leaned down towards her ears and whispered what I imagined a final farewell.
I was actually seeing someone die right in front of me.
Though my aunt and I weren't super tight, I do have a lot of good memories of her, most of it during my growing up years. Though her husband left because of her inability to bear a child, she still made the most of life in the way she believed to be right. And if there was one thing I'll cherish about her, it's how she made a huge impact in the lives of the people around her.
I'm trying to drive the point of discovering just how different I am from the tinseltown superheroes that I've come to admire. I think I'm good enough to fight crime? I don't even have the faintest idea how squeamish I am until now. It was the first time I saw someone dying in front of me, and it was an experience I'm hardly eager to have again. Maybe it's just like everything else - the more one is immersed into it, the more one gets used to it. But watching someone die is not like building up your stamina through workout and basketball games. The latter makes you feel like your lungs are about to burst, but at least they're fun. Watching someone die is the one thing in the world I pray I may never have to undergo again.
But I fear I will. And next time it might just be someone much closer to me.
Yes, I'm afraid of the day when it happens. But no matter how much I shun it, it's a part of life. And all I can do is accept.
And somehow, you'd wish you were this person, living in the fast lane, taking in the terror and the danger as though it was just another day at the office.
I couldn't count how many times I had the exact same sentiment whenever I see these tough-as-nails big shots. Hey, I like Batman partly because I share his loathing for crime. Maybe I should be a crimefighter, or at least a cop. Maybe I should be using my God-given gifts to combat injustice and help the oppressed. And since I do have this inclination for the dangerous life, maybe, just maybe, I have what it takes.
Last night, after driving my aunt to the hospital in the morning thinking it was only one of those days when a relative got too sick that she'd need hospital care and then maybe after a day or two would see her eventually get better. It didn't happen that way, and what did happen was totally unexpected. By mid-afternoon, my aunt was already having a lot of difficulty breathing, and her diastolic has dropped to a dangerously low 40. That's when I realized the she was in deep trouble. I tried to be optimistic - I've seen more wondrous miracles happen to people closer to me. I went home to get a little rest, planning to come back early evening to a slew of good news delivered by the family doctor with a nonchalant attitude understating the welcome message that my aunt was going to be just fine.
Again, it didn't happen that way.
I was about to have dinner when my mom called from the hospital and told me that my aunt probably doesn't have much time left. Hungry enough to eat a horse, I tried to temporary quell the hunger pang with a gulp of Coke and immediately drove to the hospital. Already tense as hell on the way there, nothing could still have prepared me for the sight I was to behold. My aunt was already wired to a respirator, with several nurses and out good-natured family doctor looking harassed while hovering around her and the monitoring instruments at the same time. My mom, my aunt's sister, looked on the verge of crying, so my wife and I immediately rushed to her side. I found myself unable to watch as my aunt took short but tremendously labored gasps of breath from the hose fastened to her mouth by bandaging tapes, which made her look somewhat like that bizarre Voldo character of Soul Calibur fame (despite the video game reference, it was still a ghastly sight). Of course, I sometimes couldn't help but look, and in the few glances I made it was easy to note the harrowingly short transition of my aunt's breathing from difficult gasps to nothing more than the faint rising and falling of her chest. My heart shattered to piece when my mom vocally noted that her sister's chest was still moving, as though she was still harboring hopes of witnessing a miracle. But our doctor, kindhearted as he is, could do nothing but lay down the truth that the battle had already been lost. In the end, my mom could likewise do nothing but accept it, and as my aunt's vitals deteriorated even more, she leaned down towards her ears and whispered what I imagined a final farewell.
I was actually seeing someone die right in front of me.
Though my aunt and I weren't super tight, I do have a lot of good memories of her, most of it during my growing up years. Though her husband left because of her inability to bear a child, she still made the most of life in the way she believed to be right. And if there was one thing I'll cherish about her, it's how she made a huge impact in the lives of the people around her.
I'm trying to drive the point of discovering just how different I am from the tinseltown superheroes that I've come to admire. I think I'm good enough to fight crime? I don't even have the faintest idea how squeamish I am until now. It was the first time I saw someone dying in front of me, and it was an experience I'm hardly eager to have again. Maybe it's just like everything else - the more one is immersed into it, the more one gets used to it. But watching someone die is not like building up your stamina through workout and basketball games. The latter makes you feel like your lungs are about to burst, but at least they're fun. Watching someone die is the one thing in the world I pray I may never have to undergo again.
But I fear I will. And next time it might just be someone much closer to me.
Yes, I'm afraid of the day when it happens. But no matter how much I shun it, it's a part of life. And all I can do is accept.