Something I Can’t Unsee

I saw something that I can’t unsee, something that even the most forgetful part of my brain simply won’t forget. The sheer dread that crossed my face, feelings of sympathy and regret. The inadequate nature of existing, in such a perfect untouched state, is a prized possession that others long for, yet it is another “for-granted” part of my fate.

I saw that man, the one I can’t unsee, in the operating room, as part of the Summer Surgery Program at UC Irvine. On my last day in the O.R. I viewed the removal of a fungal infection from an amputee in an orthopedic surgery. Before this man was put under anesthesia I saw him look up at his already amputated foot, as if it was the last time he was seeing it, and it brought tears to my eyes. It was at that moment that I realized the implications of caring. Very few people are blessed with knowing what they want to do in their future, and I knew in that moment that I wanted to do everything in my power to make sure that this patient was going to be okay and that he would see his foot again.

And I saw that girl, the one I can’t unsee, on my regular volunteer shift at the local hospital. Between answering discharge calls and delivering trays, I glanced to my right and there she was, being wheeled down the divergent hallway to the hospital cafeteria. I saw that girl in her ragged purple shirt and black pants, dressed like she was part of some communist regime, confined between a grasp of life and death. She sat sideways in her wheel chair, almost as if she was falling over. Her head hung below the armrests and her right hand was twisted back towards the floor. And I couldn’t see her face and her long black hair. And I couldn’t see her shoes and her painted nails. All I could see was her. I saw her. I see her. And I know her. She is me. She is her. She is everyone who ever thought that they were having the worst day of their lives. But I couldn’t turn my head away and I kept staring at her because I cared. And nothing had ever made me care so much but the way she dragged across the floor with her head bobbing up and down, knowing how her imperfect nature didn’t bother her. I looked one last time straight into her eyes, beneath her long black hair, and I could see her smile.

This is the reward at the end of the line, in striving to be a physician, in learning to treat the patients with respect; this is a translation of the small deeds that will one day amount to something. This is caring: knowing that someone’s smile will be a reflection of your actions.

It is now that I realize, I am so inadequate, so incomplete. I am so caught in the “for-granted” amendments of my fate that I often overlook everyone else. But this was the day that I stopped and looked and finally cared. I am unconscious. And he, broken, torn apart, and helpless is alive. I am nothing. And she, paralyzed, frozen, almost dead… is everything.