It's been such a long time since my last entry that it feels a bit strange making time to sit down in front of the screen and sort out my thoughts... A quick update would be that I'm now specializing in Emergency Medicine after finishing my two years of basic training. I entered my fourth decade of life as I experienced failed relationships that left me slightly more unencouraged and less confident each time, and perhaps making me all the more persistent to pass the US licensing exam to confirm that efforts really did matter, and to regain control in my life again. I carried around a thick textbook whose heavy weight eventually became a reminder of how much the small challenge meant to me. It was February 2020 by the time I literally got it off my shoulders, and the world had entered the age of the Corona pandemic which ended up exposing various weaknesses and strengths of our societies.
My experience in EM so far has been closer to urgent care, so I haven't had to deal with moral dilemmas of choosing one life over another. Up till now the closest I've gotten to the virus have been when a patient comes in with a totally different complaint and unexpectedly has pneumonia; his condition would sometimes unexpectedly worsen to the point where he has to be intubated and sent to another hospital with a CV line, by an ambulance that "kind of" quarantines the patient under a plastic tent that has an opening around the patient's head so that the doctor can check on him while the car drives to an available hospital that's forty to sixty minutes away...
But then while I worked through those shifts and rewrote my CV in the hopes of maybe applying for a new hospital, my uncle a couple prefectures away had a brain hemorrhage, Haruma Miura committed suicide, and two physicians got arrested assisting the death of a woman suffering from ALS - the latter two happening this month and urging me to come back here to write this entry.
Earlier this month, I had received a call early in the morning from a wife of a patient who was apparently experiencing symptoms that sounded like paralysis. After checking his chart and finding out he lived more than an hour away from our hospital, I suggested they call an ambulance and go to a nearby hospital, which they did - except that the doctors found nothing new on the MRI. He was sent back home, only to start seizing thirty minutes later, which is what I found out when I got another call from the wife around five pm, asking what to do. I suggested another ambulance call, and this time, the EMS decided it wasn't a stroke, and came all the way to our hospital where he'd had regular visits for other conditions. He was unconscious in a decerebrate state by the time he arrived.
The neurologist who came down to the ER happened to be one of my attendings during my neurology rotation three years prior, with whom I had worked on a case study of a patient who died of a rupture of dolicoectasia, a vascular malformation. It turned out to be a very interesting coincidence, as the ER patient happened to have the same vascular malformation, which caused a brainstem infarction, and ended up with locked in syndrome.
When I visited the patient a week later, communication was minimal as the only parts of the body he could move were his eyes, eyelids, and vocal chords. His tongue and mouth movement were not enough to pronounce words. He would blink every time the answer to my question was "yes", and would cry uncontrollably when I mentioned the words "wife" and "family". My former neurology attending told me that the patient had told his wife beforehand that he did not want any life prolonging measures to be taken if this kind of situation occurred. "It's really heartbreaking; he can't even commit suicide," the neurologist said, as we headed back to each of our departments. I didn't ask if he had actually had a talk with the patient to find out if that was what he truly wanted at that point.
I don't remember what the case was for the young protagonist diagnosed with ALS in the Japanese TV series, "The Time I was Here". I probably wouldn't have even recalled the series had the actor, Haruma Miura, not died the other day, alone in an apartment building only a few minutes away from the hospital I work at. In spite of the fact that I wasn't particularly a fan of his, the news evoked sadness as if an old classmate had committed suicide. I was shocked, and even a bit hurt. I woke up in the dark, thinking of his unbearable loneliness; imagined him trembling as he hung himself in the same darkness. Some people might say it was wrong; I think he may have focused too much on himself while he stayed home during quarantine, he may have saved himself with a tiny change of perspective, but who are we to judge his judgement? He was the only one who could live his life - success, failure, loneliness and all. It was his life, and he'd had the right to end it on his own terms.
Which takes me back to the issue of euthanasia. Marieke Vervoort, the Belgian athlete who ended her life last year said she may have committed suicide had she not had the option of euthanasia. The knowledge that she could end it all gave her mind a sense of peace and helped her live up to her limits despite her intolerable pain.
ALS doesn't cause physical pain like what Vervoort went through but the psychological pain is unmeasurable, as each patient has different scales: some people decide to live with a ventilator; needing help from other people and machines may not necessarily deprive them of their dignity -- perhaps they're very good at redefining their identity. But to some people, not being able to do things on their own feels like losing a big part of themselves.
I still haven't had the chance to meet my uncle after his stroke, but my grandmother gave us a call telling us her son has been rejecting rehabilitation; he still has a long way until he accepts his new self, if he ever will... The biggest problem I find in the recent assisted death in Japan is not exactly that the woman chose euthanasia but that the two doctors (one of which wasn't even a doctor) didn't follow the proper steps in evaluating her will. There seemed to be much more room for discussion, and she also could've changed her mind at the very last moment, but there is no way to confirm at this point.
Regarding my own life, I don't think I was terribly happy during the past three years. After spending a particularly depressing time last year both career-wise and relationship-wise, one thing I've been trying to remind myself lately is not to be too greedy. It's better for my mental health not to chase after chances I don't get, people who walk away, things in the past I was too young to see the true values of. There will always be another chance, another person that would come to me, maybe not now, and maybe not in the form I expect, but I must believe there will be a better future when I'm not quite happy with my current situation. Because good things take time.
The following passage is from an article I came across when I ended my last relationship ("After the Beginning, depression or disappointment"): "There's nothing like thinking that you have failed at love to sharpen your knowledge that life is uncertain and the clock is relentlessly ticking. One tends to ask oneself, if this relationship won't work, will I ever find one that does? Disappointment measures the passing of time as a fall. It is one of our harsh reminders of solitude and aging and mortality."
The writer continues: "Here's where the difference between depression and disappointment becomes crucial. Faced with the prospect of loss, the depressed bypasses disappointment and rushes to the end of the story, even before the story begins. All is failure, decay, rejection. When spring begins, the depressive is already dreading the leaves turning brown and falling off the trees... ...it's a way of saying this imperfect difficult world is not good enough for me. Give me paradise or give me death... ...depression makes the world utterly gray and uninteresting. Then you can tell yourself, what's the use of trying?"
"The disappointed person lingers, however painfully, in the middle of the story, even though paradise has slipped through his fingers. Disappointment keeps you connected to life as it continues to unfold and places an important choice in front of you... ...Neither a utopian outcome nor easy success nor bliss in love is just around the corner. Life is more difficult than you thought. The question is, what next? Are you going to take on the vital forces of life, despite limitations and imperfections, or pull the covers over your head as an exit strategy? ...with disappointment, the plot is still taking shape, even though there may be hard work to do."
A couple weeks ago I stumbled upon a book review on amazon while I sat at the hair dresser for the first time in eight months. It was the most popular review on a Japanese best seller book about a half Asian half Caucasian teenager boy dealing with bullying, learning to accept others and himself, and finding hope despite all the problems we face, written by the boy's Japanese mother. The review was partly about the reviewer's perspective, how she had decided to bring her own half Asian half Caucasian son to Japan instead of raising him in the UK because she didn't want her son to experience racial discrimination; "It's great to think about racism and fight against it, but what kind of parent would want her child to actually experience it first hand in order to overcome it?" She wrote.
This remark definitely has a point; I'd want to protect my future child the best I could. But at the same time, I don't think I'd like to live my life to end it without a single bruise or a cut. When my life comes to an ending, I'd like to be proud of myself despite the numerous ugly wounds (--some I may never recover from); I'd like to be able to love the world as it is despite the numerous suffering it imposed on me. That, I feel would bring a deeper, greater satisfaction, compared to what one would experience from a life lived in a happy bubble. Death may indeed feel like a reward when one reaches that kind of deep love despite the suffering or even because of it; that emotion would connect one to the world and enable one to become truly part of it even in the face of, or after one's death -- the deceased will go on in the form of a greater entity, that is, the world he truly loved.
So I guess my motto has slightly changed from the time I started this blog -- until the day comes, I'll try to dance like nobody's watching, love like I've never been hurt, sing like nobody's listening, and live accepting it's not always heaven on earth but still believing it deserves all my love.
2020年7月25日土曜日
2016年6月25日土曜日
is it so wrong to eat meat?
I haven't written here in a looong time, and so much happened while I was away that I'm not sure why I'm here to write about whether it's right to eat meat, but that's what I'm going to write about anyway. The subject has been bothering me since a couple of days ago when a good friend of mine sent me a link to a video titled "Best Speech You Will Ever Hear" by Gary something. I had been in Boston for two months (first time being outside of Japan in fifteen years!) and was surprised to find the vegan version of everything! I never thought so much about it while I was there; I just felt like consumer autonomy was much stronger in America with so many choices (compared to Japan where I guess would be difficult to lead a completely vegan lifestyle). But now that I've watched a couple of videos and read a couple of articles made and written by vegans, I couldn't help the urge to write down the stuff I personally found kind of odd, just to get it off my chest.
Firstly, it really bothers me that some vegans make it sound like there is a strong link between how a human treats animals and how he would treat other humans. Gary makes it sound like animal lovers are peaceful loving beings while meat eaters are baby Nazis (if not full grown Nazis). If that's true, I'd like to ask why Western countries that consume more meat are generally more concerned about human rights, compared to Asian "vegan" countries.
And I don't think it's totally wrong to say that we eat meat because we're part of the food chain. Every creature on this planet is part of the chain, right? Given our intelligence, we found a way to farm animals (which might seem upsetting because no other animal does it), but any species with the same intelligence would have done the same, because it's an easier (if not better) way to survive. Of course, we should make sure that animals are treated well until they are slaughtered, and I agree that there is no "humane" way to kill an animal, but we have the technology to make sure that the suffering of a cow being killed by a human is at least better than that of a gazelle being killed by a lion.
As for the health aspect, I haven't looked into enough studies to say whether meat increases or decreases human life span, but it's a famous fact that the Japanese average life span increased and became #1 in the world only after WWII when American style cuisine came into Japan and the consumption of meat rose dramatically among the Japanese population. Also, it's commonly said in Japan that eating meat is the easiest way to make sure you're taking in certain amino acids that you'd otherwise lack if you were to only eat plants.
As for the health aspect, I haven't looked into enough studies to say whether meat increases or decreases human life span, but it's a famous fact that the Japanese average life span increased and became #1 in the world only after WWII when American style cuisine came into Japan and the consumption of meat rose dramatically among the Japanese population. Also, it's commonly said in Japan that eating meat is the easiest way to make sure you're taking in certain amino acids that you'd otherwise lack if you were to only eat plants.
I realize there are farmers that mistreat animals, and this is a huge problem that needs to be addressed. As consumers, we should always remember that our lives stand upon the sacrifice of other lives that we do not necessarily see. But becoming a vegan? I need to find more data before deciding on that. It's really a shame that so many vegans put emphasis on the emotional aspect and keep showing videos of animals treated badly. I wonder what they think about all the animals killed in labs. I agree humans are not "superior" or "special", but does that mean we're supposed to sit on our hands and watch our fellow sick humans die because we're not superior and we're not supposed to experiment with mice to save human lives?
If animal protein is necessary to pursue better survival, the sacrifice is necessary to some extent. Or is it human ego to pursue a longer life? Should we simply accept a shorter life if that saves animals? It surprises me that so many people found Gary's speech convincing. If I had been shown the proof that becoming a vegan guaranteed better survival, I would've turned a vegan overnight. Without solid data though, his speech was just emotionally controlling in my opinion.
If animal protein is necessary to pursue better survival, the sacrifice is necessary to some extent. Or is it human ego to pursue a longer life? Should we simply accept a shorter life if that saves animals? It surprises me that so many people found Gary's speech convincing. If I had been shown the proof that becoming a vegan guaranteed better survival, I would've turned a vegan overnight. Without solid data though, his speech was just emotionally controlling in my opinion.
2015年8月22日土曜日
sacrifice
-- Sacrifice is the spirit of love
Summer vacation has almost come to an end, and as I traveled back, I finished reading 犠牲(sacrifice) written by Kunio Yanagida (published the same year Into the Wild was). It's an essay about his son, Yojiro, who committed suicide at the age of 25 after suffering metal illness for more than a decade. One of his problems being anthropophobia, it was difficult for him to get a job, and thus he despaired that he had nothing he could give to society.
At the same time, he was deeply moved by one of Tarkovsky's films, Sacrifice, which expresses the belief that the reason we can live today in peace is due to "the sacrifice of a nameless person who lives somewhere under the broad blue sky". When Yanagida finds his son brain dead, he agrees to donate his kidneys as a token of Yojiro's existence, thinking that this kind of 'sacrifice' was what he had always wanted.
One of the things Yojiro feared most was oblivion -- the fact that when one dies, even the fact that he lived and suffered will be forgotten and deleted from history. A character from a book I read last summer states the exact same thing, to which the protagonist retorts that he should get over the fear, because "there was a time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after". Her point is that even if some people remember you after your death, they too are going to die, and in the end, there will be no one remaining to remember you anyway. This logic applies even to the world's most famous person, because at some point, the human species will extinct, and the planet will collapse.
I guess it's a decent argument, but obviously, the truth that everyone dies doesn't really liberate you from the fear of death. Logically, I understand that everything is going to disappear one day, that it's nonsense to dwell on whether or not you will survive death for what amounts to less than a fraction of a second in geological time. But emotionally, I still fear the possibility of dying leaving nothing behind. I want to give my life some kind of meaning, and I think a lot of people do, including my mother.
To tell the truth, I'm a terrible daughter -- deep down in my heart, I have not always respected her. I've told her more than once that I will never live a life like hers, and that I was 'different'. Apart from the years she spent working as a language teacher, she has worked as a full time housewife, and since she started seeing her 60th birthday coming around the corner, she started asking herself (and her family) the meaning of her own life. She suddenly realized she had no personal accomplishments, and began questioning the value and meaning of her 'self-sacrifice'.
Now I realize that the real reason I sometimes have a hard time respecting my mother is only because she is too busy imagining what she could've become and regretting what she could've done that she sadly fails to see the meaning of the life she has actually lived -- the whole process she calls self-sacrifice.
After reading Sacrifice (and all the other books I've read), and living my life for more than 1/4 of a century, I have come to the conclusion that the meaning of life comes from 'giving' which often requires sacrifice. When I give, the receiving person will also give to another person, and that person will do the same and pay it forward. We will all die, but we will all live on as a participant of a 'giving relay' as long as it goes on.
I don't know how much I will be able to give in my lifetime, how many people I will be able to help when I become a doctor, but every patient I help would not have been saved without my mother's 'sacrifice'. Will my patients think of my mother's existence? Most likely not; they wouldn't even remember the doctor after a while. And does that make my mother's life meaningless? Is she eventually going to disappear forever in cold oblivion? I'd say yes to the latter. But does that matter so much when the unmovable truth is that my mother's sacrifice has helped me help the patient (in some way) to live his life and pay it forward (to someone who hopefully will pay it forward)?
Yojiro, at some point, encounters the concept of "indestructibility of human existence" which appears in a passage written by Mircea Eliade, and states as follows: Every death has contributed to the continuity of life, and my own current life is standing upon the sacrifice of numerous nameless soldiers.
We all fear oblivion because that is our final death. It's scary to think that the evidence that we ever existed is as fragile as a drawing on sand. But even if it is a picture on sand, there are new pictures that will not exist without it. Our life, our sacrifice and love will always be of someone's support, and it's encouraging to think that just because we will never escape oblivion will never change that fact -- something we might call the meaning of life.
I should now call my mom and tell her how much I've appreciated her 'sacrifice'. Because that is why I also want to live to love and give.
Summer vacation has almost come to an end, and as I traveled back, I finished reading 犠牲(sacrifice) written by Kunio Yanagida (published the same year Into the Wild was). It's an essay about his son, Yojiro, who committed suicide at the age of 25 after suffering metal illness for more than a decade. One of his problems being anthropophobia, it was difficult for him to get a job, and thus he despaired that he had nothing he could give to society.
At the same time, he was deeply moved by one of Tarkovsky's films, Sacrifice, which expresses the belief that the reason we can live today in peace is due to "the sacrifice of a nameless person who lives somewhere under the broad blue sky". When Yanagida finds his son brain dead, he agrees to donate his kidneys as a token of Yojiro's existence, thinking that this kind of 'sacrifice' was what he had always wanted.
One of the things Yojiro feared most was oblivion -- the fact that when one dies, even the fact that he lived and suffered will be forgotten and deleted from history. A character from a book I read last summer states the exact same thing, to which the protagonist retorts that he should get over the fear, because "there was a time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after". Her point is that even if some people remember you after your death, they too are going to die, and in the end, there will be no one remaining to remember you anyway. This logic applies even to the world's most famous person, because at some point, the human species will extinct, and the planet will collapse.
I guess it's a decent argument, but obviously, the truth that everyone dies doesn't really liberate you from the fear of death. Logically, I understand that everything is going to disappear one day, that it's nonsense to dwell on whether or not you will survive death for what amounts to less than a fraction of a second in geological time. But emotionally, I still fear the possibility of dying leaving nothing behind. I want to give my life some kind of meaning, and I think a lot of people do, including my mother.
To tell the truth, I'm a terrible daughter -- deep down in my heart, I have not always respected her. I've told her more than once that I will never live a life like hers, and that I was 'different'. Apart from the years she spent working as a language teacher, she has worked as a full time housewife, and since she started seeing her 60th birthday coming around the corner, she started asking herself (and her family) the meaning of her own life. She suddenly realized she had no personal accomplishments, and began questioning the value and meaning of her 'self-sacrifice'.
Now I realize that the real reason I sometimes have a hard time respecting my mother is only because she is too busy imagining what she could've become and regretting what she could've done that she sadly fails to see the meaning of the life she has actually lived -- the whole process she calls self-sacrifice.
After reading Sacrifice (and all the other books I've read), and living my life for more than 1/4 of a century, I have come to the conclusion that the meaning of life comes from 'giving' which often requires sacrifice. When I give, the receiving person will also give to another person, and that person will do the same and pay it forward. We will all die, but we will all live on as a participant of a 'giving relay' as long as it goes on.
I don't know how much I will be able to give in my lifetime, how many people I will be able to help when I become a doctor, but every patient I help would not have been saved without my mother's 'sacrifice'. Will my patients think of my mother's existence? Most likely not; they wouldn't even remember the doctor after a while. And does that make my mother's life meaningless? Is she eventually going to disappear forever in cold oblivion? I'd say yes to the latter. But does that matter so much when the unmovable truth is that my mother's sacrifice has helped me help the patient (in some way) to live his life and pay it forward (to someone who hopefully will pay it forward)?
Yojiro, at some point, encounters the concept of "indestructibility of human existence" which appears in a passage written by Mircea Eliade, and states as follows: Every death has contributed to the continuity of life, and my own current life is standing upon the sacrifice of numerous nameless soldiers.
We all fear oblivion because that is our final death. It's scary to think that the evidence that we ever existed is as fragile as a drawing on sand. But even if it is a picture on sand, there are new pictures that will not exist without it. Our life, our sacrifice and love will always be of someone's support, and it's encouraging to think that just because we will never escape oblivion will never change that fact -- something we might call the meaning of life.
I should now call my mom and tell her how much I've appreciated her 'sacrifice'. Because that is why I also want to live to love and give.
2014年3月14日金曜日
aging
Spending a lot of time with my mother and grandmother during spring break, I have realized little by little what aging means: my mother is facing her mid life crisis and my grandmother is almost on the verge of becoming senile -- both my future self if I live long enough.
This morning during breakfast, my mom talked about a conversation between a woman who lives in the same apartment building. My mom and her are both housewives, but when my mom used to work as a language teacher, the woman used to ask her why she worked so hard. She asked how much she made with one lesson, and saw no value in keeping oneself busy for so little money. "We can't do anything much. We shouldn't expect too much from ourselves" she used to say. Every time, my mother thought: I'm different.
But now, she is having difficulties accepting the reality, that she was no different in the end. She was just one of the many housewives and the realization kills her with regret, shame and bitter feelings. I can say very little to her that makes her feel better.
On the other hand, my grandma had a very fulfilling life career-wise. But since she is not used to doing the housework (my mother always helped her with that since she was a child) she finds it difficult to do it now. She has also become increasingly forgetful. She still enjoys dressing up and cares a great deal about how she looks, and she also notices small stuff like the small pimple on my forehead (which she insisted was growing: "Are you just going to let it get fatter?") and whatnot, but spending time with her really teaches me what it means to get close to death. I guess it's a process of losing -- losing memories and skills/abilities and precious people you could share your memories with.
I felt slightly emotional as I watched her practice putting on her pearl necklace she had to wear for a funeral. Although we discovered that she could do it when she brought the clasp in front of her, she insisted she could do it with the clasp at the back and kept trying.
Looking at it from the other side though, it's the process of learning again, which rewards her (and those around her) with the joy of reaching a small goal every time she finds a way to overcome her new difficulties.
Life is maybe an endless learning process until the very moment death picks you up.
This morning during breakfast, my mom talked about a conversation between a woman who lives in the same apartment building. My mom and her are both housewives, but when my mom used to work as a language teacher, the woman used to ask her why she worked so hard. She asked how much she made with one lesson, and saw no value in keeping oneself busy for so little money. "We can't do anything much. We shouldn't expect too much from ourselves" she used to say. Every time, my mother thought: I'm different.
But now, she is having difficulties accepting the reality, that she was no different in the end. She was just one of the many housewives and the realization kills her with regret, shame and bitter feelings. I can say very little to her that makes her feel better.
On the other hand, my grandma had a very fulfilling life career-wise. But since she is not used to doing the housework (my mother always helped her with that since she was a child) she finds it difficult to do it now. She has also become increasingly forgetful. She still enjoys dressing up and cares a great deal about how she looks, and she also notices small stuff like the small pimple on my forehead (which she insisted was growing: "Are you just going to let it get fatter?") and whatnot, but spending time with her really teaches me what it means to get close to death. I guess it's a process of losing -- losing memories and skills/abilities and precious people you could share your memories with.
I felt slightly emotional as I watched her practice putting on her pearl necklace she had to wear for a funeral. Although we discovered that she could do it when she brought the clasp in front of her, she insisted she could do it with the clasp at the back and kept trying.
Looking at it from the other side though, it's the process of learning again, which rewards her (and those around her) with the joy of reaching a small goal every time she finds a way to overcome her new difficulties.
Life is maybe an endless learning process until the very moment death picks you up.
2014年3月8日土曜日
on death and dying
Death is just a moment when dying ends
-Montaigne
Finished reading On Death and Dying by Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. It's a study on death and dying -- how each individual patient copes with his last yet greatest ordeal in life. It contains many dialogues between the interviewers (the author with the hospital chaplain) and the patient who found the interviews as a chance to let out their suppressed concerns and emotions as well as to teach the medical professionals and pass something on.
Several things I want to remember (mostly from the last two chapters):
1. Terminally ill patients are aware of the seriousness of their illness whether they are told or not. Those who are not told explicitly know it anyway from the implicit messages or altered behavior of relatives and staff. Those who are told explicitly appreciate it unless they are told coldly and without preparation or follow-up, or in a manner that leaves no hope.
2. Leave hope when telling the truth. No matter the stage of illness or coping mechanisms used, all patients maintain some form of hope until the last moment.
3. We have to take a good hard look at our own attitude towards death and dying before we can sit quietly and without anxiety next to a terminally ill patient. The most important thing is to let him know that we are ready and willing to share some of his concerns.
4. For the patient death itself is not the problem, but dying is feared because of the accompanying sense of hopelessness, helplessness, and isolation.
5. Dying patients has the need ro leave something behind. They want something that will continue to live perhaps after their death and become immortal in a little way.
On a side note, the Japanese translation of the title is 死ぬ瞬間 which literally means "the moment of death". I haven't read the translation so I'm not sure what the translator meant but this book is not about the moment of death; it's about the suffering and eventual acceptance that comes before that moment in life; it's more about dying - the last process of living - than about death itself. But then again, I think there's no such word as "dying" in Japanese. Interesting.
-Montaigne
Finished reading On Death and Dying by Dr. Elisabeth Kubler-Ross. It's a study on death and dying -- how each individual patient copes with his last yet greatest ordeal in life. It contains many dialogues between the interviewers (the author with the hospital chaplain) and the patient who found the interviews as a chance to let out their suppressed concerns and emotions as well as to teach the medical professionals and pass something on.
Several things I want to remember (mostly from the last two chapters):
1. Terminally ill patients are aware of the seriousness of their illness whether they are told or not. Those who are not told explicitly know it anyway from the implicit messages or altered behavior of relatives and staff. Those who are told explicitly appreciate it unless they are told coldly and without preparation or follow-up, or in a manner that leaves no hope.
2. Leave hope when telling the truth. No matter the stage of illness or coping mechanisms used, all patients maintain some form of hope until the last moment.
3. We have to take a good hard look at our own attitude towards death and dying before we can sit quietly and without anxiety next to a terminally ill patient. The most important thing is to let him know that we are ready and willing to share some of his concerns.
4. For the patient death itself is not the problem, but dying is feared because of the accompanying sense of hopelessness, helplessness, and isolation.
5. Dying patients has the need ro leave something behind. They want something that will continue to live perhaps after their death and become immortal in a little way.
On a side note, the Japanese translation of the title is 死ぬ瞬間 which literally means "the moment of death". I haven't read the translation so I'm not sure what the translator meant but this book is not about the moment of death; it's about the suffering and eventual acceptance that comes before that moment in life; it's more about dying - the last process of living - than about death itself. But then again, I think there's no such word as "dying" in Japanese. Interesting.
2014年2月8日土曜日
recycling
Human recycling. I think that's what organ transplant is in the end. The concept of brain death only emerged when human recycling started. Before that, no one was dead unless their heart stopped beating. Human recycling is wonderful as it saves many lives, but at the same time, it is not the most natural phenomenon on earth and I totally understand that there are many families who have difficulties accepting the fact that a patient's brain death means their death. And if that is why Japan has such a low transplant rate, I think we just have to accept it. But maybe I'm wrong.
Japan is said to have the best skill when it comes to organ transplant and yet we have the worst transplant rate among developed countries. The US still provides 5% of their transplant organs to foreign patients, and the majority goes to Japanese patients who come with hundreds and millions of dollars.
Today, a brain surgeon came to talk to us about organ transplant. It was his 123rd time to give the talk, and he said he was here to give us some "correct knowledge". He seemed to have some very strong feelings towards doctors who didn't present the option of organ transplant to the patients' families, and towards journalists who critisized that families were often unfairly "urged" to consent under some kind of pressure. These people were being the obstacles in preventing the growth of transplant industry in Japan.
According to him, doctors never "urged" families. A doctor's job is to tell the family that the patient will soon be dead and ask if they would consent to organ donation. I think the point the surgeon wanted to make was that we should all accept that it was natural to be asked about organ donation at times of death -- it is out-of-date to regard this type of "request" as insensitive "exploitation". After all, we're living the age of human recycling.
I do understand at a very logical level, but I was not convinced at all on an emotional level (maybe because he spoke so fast and came on pretty strong). I personally think many families will more or less feel that they are "urged", as some journalists (and lawyers) point out. If you dissent, it's literally the same as being asked if you would save someone's life and saying no. The surgeon said doctors were the same as waiters at Mc Donalds -- they offer cheese burgers and chicken nuggets for customers to choose, while we offer the chance of saving a life or not saving a life, for families to choose. I don't think it's the same at all.
He also said the Japanese were too emotional when it came to the definition of death. Being brain dead means being dead in the context of organ transplant, just like red means stop in the context of traffic lights. I don't think it's the same at all. It's easy to accept the latter; it's much much harder to accept death.
A doctor's job is to save patients -- not only those who are right in front of them, but also those who they haven't met. As the surgeon insisted strongly, Japanese doctors do need to learn to bring this subject up in front of families. However, I think it's also important to realize that some families will, in fact, feel urged or even forced to consent. We have to know that it's not the same as offering burgers and nuggets. And we should acknowledge that we are asking families to think about saving someone they don't even know, when all they can think about is the fact that they are about to lose someone they love. It's obviously important we reassure that families who decide not to consent will not be blamed for "killing" anyone.
Japan is said to have the best skill when it comes to organ transplant and yet we have the worst transplant rate among developed countries. The US still provides 5% of their transplant organs to foreign patients, and the majority goes to Japanese patients who come with hundreds and millions of dollars.
Today, a brain surgeon came to talk to us about organ transplant. It was his 123rd time to give the talk, and he said he was here to give us some "correct knowledge". He seemed to have some very strong feelings towards doctors who didn't present the option of organ transplant to the patients' families, and towards journalists who critisized that families were often unfairly "urged" to consent under some kind of pressure. These people were being the obstacles in preventing the growth of transplant industry in Japan.
According to him, doctors never "urged" families. A doctor's job is to tell the family that the patient will soon be dead and ask if they would consent to organ donation. I think the point the surgeon wanted to make was that we should all accept that it was natural to be asked about organ donation at times of death -- it is out-of-date to regard this type of "request" as insensitive "exploitation". After all, we're living the age of human recycling.
I do understand at a very logical level, but I was not convinced at all on an emotional level (maybe because he spoke so fast and came on pretty strong). I personally think many families will more or less feel that they are "urged", as some journalists (and lawyers) point out. If you dissent, it's literally the same as being asked if you would save someone's life and saying no. The surgeon said doctors were the same as waiters at Mc Donalds -- they offer cheese burgers and chicken nuggets for customers to choose, while we offer the chance of saving a life or not saving a life, for families to choose. I don't think it's the same at all.
He also said the Japanese were too emotional when it came to the definition of death. Being brain dead means being dead in the context of organ transplant, just like red means stop in the context of traffic lights. I don't think it's the same at all. It's easy to accept the latter; it's much much harder to accept death.
A doctor's job is to save patients -- not only those who are right in front of them, but also those who they haven't met. As the surgeon insisted strongly, Japanese doctors do need to learn to bring this subject up in front of families. However, I think it's also important to realize that some families will, in fact, feel urged or even forced to consent. We have to know that it's not the same as offering burgers and nuggets. And we should acknowledge that we are asking families to think about saving someone they don't even know, when all they can think about is the fact that they are about to lose someone they love. It's obviously important we reassure that families who decide not to consent will not be blamed for "killing" anyone.
2014年1月12日日曜日
komachi
Last Tuesday, I was talking with my father on the phone when he excitedly told me that he had found an interesting post on Online Yomiuri. It was about a sixteen year old female Shiba dog named Komachi. She had died this year on New Year's Day, and the post was written by the adult son of the owner family, showing his thanks to Komachi (you can read the original post here).
Now we have a very close family friend (the H family) who has a female Shiba dog named Komachi who happens to be around fifteen. Last time my mother met Mrs. H, she had told my mother that Komachi had become very old and weak.
"What do you think?" My father asked from the other end. I said it must be one of the sons in the family that had written the post. "But it can't be M; H is too busy; it must be Y!" We talked over how we should comfort them and discussed what would be the best way to inform the poster that we knew him. "Maybe we could post a response by the name Y!"
In the end, my mother decided to call Mrs. H. My father told my mother that she should be careful with her words since Mrs. H must be in deep grief. They talked about how to start the conversation and how to bring the topic up. "You shouldn't have to bring it up; she would be bursting into tears the moment she hears your voice."
When my mother finally called Mrs. H, she answered with her usual cheery voice. My mother instantly knew it wasn't their Komachi that had died. And this was the message we got:
Broccoli家の皆様
To the Broccoli Family
あけましておめでとうございます。
昨年は家族がお世話になりました。
私こまちはヨボヨボしながらもこのように元気にしています。
今年は百歳目指してがんばりますのでよろしくお願いします。
素敵な一年になりますように。
こまち
Komachi
So we wrote back:
こまち様
Dear Komachi
あけましておめでとうございます。
今朝はとんでもない犬違いをしてすみませんでした。
お元気そうで何よりです。あなたの穏やかな表情を見て安心しました。
ご家族にたくさんの愛情を注がれて素敵なおばあちゃんになられたのですね。
百歳までお元気で長生きしてください。
Happy New Year!
We're sorry to have awfully mistaken you for another dog.
We're glad you're doing well. It's very nice to see the peaceful look on your face.
Your family must have loved you a lot; you seem to have grown to be a very charming grandma.
Please be well and live until 100 (and hopefully longer).
Broccoli家
The Broccoli Family
Now we have a very close family friend (the H family) who has a female Shiba dog named Komachi who happens to be around fifteen. Last time my mother met Mrs. H, she had told my mother that Komachi had become very old and weak.
"What do you think?" My father asked from the other end. I said it must be one of the sons in the family that had written the post. "But it can't be M; H is too busy; it must be Y!" We talked over how we should comfort them and discussed what would be the best way to inform the poster that we knew him. "Maybe we could post a response by the name Y!"
In the end, my mother decided to call Mrs. H. My father told my mother that she should be careful with her words since Mrs. H must be in deep grief. They talked about how to start the conversation and how to bring the topic up. "You shouldn't have to bring it up; she would be bursting into tears the moment she hears your voice."
When my mother finally called Mrs. H, she answered with her usual cheery voice. My mother instantly knew it wasn't their Komachi that had died. And this was the message we got:
Broccoli家の皆様
To the Broccoli Family
あけましておめでとうございます。
昨年は家族がお世話になりました。
私こまちはヨボヨボしながらもこのように元気にしています。
今年は百歳目指してがんばりますのでよろしくお願いします。
素敵な一年になりますように。
Happy New Year!
I always really appreciate your kindness for my family.
I've been doddering but am still doing well.
I'm looking forward to becoming 100 years old this year.
I wish you a wonderful New Year.
Komachi
So we wrote back:
こまち様
Dear Komachi
あけましておめでとうございます。
今朝はとんでもない犬違いをしてすみませんでした。
お元気そうで何よりです。あなたの穏やかな表情を見て安心しました。
ご家族にたくさんの愛情を注がれて素敵なおばあちゃんになられたのですね。
百歳までお元気で長生きしてください。
Happy New Year!
We're sorry to have awfully mistaken you for another dog.
We're glad you're doing well. It's very nice to see the peaceful look on your face.
Your family must have loved you a lot; you seem to have grown to be a very charming grandma.
Please be well and live until 100 (and hopefully longer).
Broccoli家
The Broccoli Family
2014年1月6日月曜日
rhythm
In my previous entry, I wrote that returning to where you belong is one way of obtaining peace. It reminded me of what another woman had said about "returning".
She had lost her husband to cancer and had been suffering from negative emotions that gave her sudden attacks and every time, she could only wait for them to pass. But one spring day, she found a cherry bud while she was taking a walk in the park. For some reason, she liked the bud, and went again and again to check the cherry tree. And one day, as she looked at the bud, she suddenly realized that her fear, anger, and sorrow had lifted.
Despite the fact that her husband had died, and no matter how much she sank in sorrow, time passed, spring always came and flowers started blooming one by one. Regardless of what happened to her, and no matter how much the society changed, there was this accurate rhythm that ticked away continuously -- it was always there, and it was going to be that way.
It wasn't resignation like when people say seasons come and go regardless of how much our lives change. "I knew that I could return as long as I could feel this stable rhythm（ぶれないリズム）. Maybe it's something like a metronome. It encourages me and it makes me feel secure. I can count on it where ever I go."
"Maybe there's no such thing as a stable mind. We always live with an unstable mind. But it's important to know that we can always come back from the instability. When my heart suffers, I take a walk in the park until I can feel the rhythm and surrender myself to it."
-Wakako Kaneko（金子稚子）
She had lost her husband to cancer and had been suffering from negative emotions that gave her sudden attacks and every time, she could only wait for them to pass. But one spring day, she found a cherry bud while she was taking a walk in the park. For some reason, she liked the bud, and went again and again to check the cherry tree. And one day, as she looked at the bud, she suddenly realized that her fear, anger, and sorrow had lifted.
Despite the fact that her husband had died, and no matter how much she sank in sorrow, time passed, spring always came and flowers started blooming one by one. Regardless of what happened to her, and no matter how much the society changed, there was this accurate rhythm that ticked away continuously -- it was always there, and it was going to be that way.
It wasn't resignation like when people say seasons come and go regardless of how much our lives change. "I knew that I could return as long as I could feel this stable rhythm（ぶれないリズム）. Maybe it's something like a metronome. It encourages me and it makes me feel secure. I can count on it where ever I go."
"Maybe there's no such thing as a stable mind. We always live with an unstable mind. But it's important to know that we can always come back from the instability. When my heart suffers, I take a walk in the park until I can feel the rhythm and surrender myself to it."
-Wakako Kaneko（金子稚子）
2013年5月12日日曜日
waste of money
Last night, I talked with a friend and at one point, we were talking about how we often say we don't want to die alone. Literally speaking though, the friend said he didn't want anyone to watch him die. He wanted to be alone when the time came. He added how much he thought a funeral would be a waste of money. "People put too much emphasis on death, and respecting the dead. They're dead, they can't enjoy what we do for them anymore." I said I would want to hold a funeral for my parents anyway. "For myself, mainly. Seeing them off to heaven would make a difference to my own life. I want to be able to convince myself when I look back, that I did all I could for them."
Friend: Right. But I think it's better to spend that money while they're alive, and do things for them while they can still enjoy.
Me: Okay, so funerals are for people who couldn't do anything for their parents when they were alive. It's their last chance to do something for them. They hold funerals to make themselves feel better.
Friend: Yeah, it's all about them. They just *feel* like they did something for their parents when in fact they haven't. It's a huge amount of money to pay to make yourself feel better. Though I guess people should do it if it does make them feel better. I'd personally have some trouble illusioning myself.
Me: Then what about weddings?
Friend: I have similar feelings about weddings too, though the ones I've been to have been great.
Me: I actually agree it's a waste of money but I still want to have a wedding for my grandma, because she's really looking forward to it. And I really liked looking at my parent's wedding pictures when I was little. It's kind of nice to have those kind of stuff.
Friend: Yeah, I understand. It's nice. But say I have three kids, I split the $30,000 I would've used for my wedding and make three bank accounts. One of the kids ask me why there isn't any wedding pictures of mom and dad. I'll show them a picture of the bank accounts instead and tell them they're for their education and whatnot. I know it sounds pretty cynical, but... it's not.
Me: Maybe you're right. And some pictures can be more interesting than wedding pictures.
Friend: Don't tell me you found your parent's naughty pictures.
Me: Well, I never thought they were that type.
Friend: Everyone's that type when they're young.
Friend: Right. But I think it's better to spend that money while they're alive, and do things for them while they can still enjoy.
Me: Okay, so funerals are for people who couldn't do anything for their parents when they were alive. It's their last chance to do something for them. They hold funerals to make themselves feel better.
Friend: Yeah, it's all about them. They just *feel* like they did something for their parents when in fact they haven't. It's a huge amount of money to pay to make yourself feel better. Though I guess people should do it if it does make them feel better. I'd personally have some trouble illusioning myself.
Me: Then what about weddings?
Friend: I have similar feelings about weddings too, though the ones I've been to have been great.
Me: I actually agree it's a waste of money but I still want to have a wedding for my grandma, because she's really looking forward to it. And I really liked looking at my parent's wedding pictures when I was little. It's kind of nice to have those kind of stuff.
Friend: Yeah, I understand. It's nice. But say I have three kids, I split the $30,000 I would've used for my wedding and make three bank accounts. One of the kids ask me why there isn't any wedding pictures of mom and dad. I'll show them a picture of the bank accounts instead and tell them they're for their education and whatnot. I know it sounds pretty cynical, but... it's not.
Me: Maybe you're right. And some pictures can be more interesting than wedding pictures.
Friend: Don't tell me you found your parent's naughty pictures.
Me: Well, I never thought they were that type.
Friend: Everyone's that type when they're young.
2013年4月3日水曜日
to surrender
It's not "giving up" if one reaches a point in the illness where the higher good is to surrender to it. This can bring peace to the soul and a happier exit from life, rather than to resist death all the way to the bitter end and everyone suffers and focuses on nothing but loss.
when the time comes
No matter how much medicine advances, people are going to die in the end. I think it's pretty important how you're going to die, or rather how you're going to live your last days. So what if you're unconscious when the time comes?
There are more and more people in Japan who write their will down in some form to tell their family and the medical staff how they want to die. Many people say they don't want to go through life-prolonging treatment, but still, it is difficult for them to die the way they want. It's not always easy to figure if it was their true will; maybe they were worried they would only cause trouble if they asked for treatment. And even if it were the patient's true will, family members may feel obliged to ask for treatment once they actually face the possibility of the patient's death. Life-prolonging treatment, apparently, gives many families a sense of satisfaction.
An interviewed doctor said he wanted to be confident that natural aging and natural death （人間らしい最期）were things to be valued. But he had asked for life-prolonging treatment when his own father had had a stroke. He didn't know what his father wanted. He still wonders if his decision had been right. This incident made him realize how important it was for family members to ask the patient (or future patient) how he wanted to die, and for them to be mentally prepared for the death of the patient.
Another doctor had asked his patients to fill in a form but had noticed that some of them transferred to different hospitals and died there. His new idea was to make a digital data so all hospitals in the area could share the patients' wills and work together to fulfill each patient's wishes. After having a couple of meetings with other doctors, he improved his original form so that it included parts where the patient could write down what he valued and how he viewed life in general. Family members can read it and decide what to do when/if the patient became unconscious. He said it was indeed the way the patient lived his life （生き方） that counted most when they had to decide for the patient.
"It's difficult to figure what the best ending is for each person, but we should always remember that death is an option - it can be the best ending in some scenarios."
Maybe we somtimes place too much emphasis on the state of being alive （生）; I want to say death isn't the end of the world - it's just another part of life. Still, it's the final part and it is the end of the world. A world disappears when a person dies. There's no rehearsing death. But then again, since when could we rehearse life? I guess there's only one thing we can do: live like there's no tomorrow. Then maybe death (either other's or our own) wouldn't be so frightening.
There are more and more people in Japan who write their will down in some form to tell their family and the medical staff how they want to die. Many people say they don't want to go through life-prolonging treatment, but still, it is difficult for them to die the way they want. It's not always easy to figure if it was their true will; maybe they were worried they would only cause trouble if they asked for treatment. And even if it were the patient's true will, family members may feel obliged to ask for treatment once they actually face the possibility of the patient's death. Life-prolonging treatment, apparently, gives many families a sense of satisfaction.
An interviewed doctor said he wanted to be confident that natural aging and natural death （人間らしい最期）were things to be valued. But he had asked for life-prolonging treatment when his own father had had a stroke. He didn't know what his father wanted. He still wonders if his decision had been right. This incident made him realize how important it was for family members to ask the patient (or future patient) how he wanted to die, and for them to be mentally prepared for the death of the patient.
Another doctor had asked his patients to fill in a form but had noticed that some of them transferred to different hospitals and died there. His new idea was to make a digital data so all hospitals in the area could share the patients' wills and work together to fulfill each patient's wishes. After having a couple of meetings with other doctors, he improved his original form so that it included parts where the patient could write down what he valued and how he viewed life in general. Family members can read it and decide what to do when/if the patient became unconscious. He said it was indeed the way the patient lived his life （生き方） that counted most when they had to decide for the patient.
"It's difficult to figure what the best ending is for each person, but we should always remember that death is an option - it can be the best ending in some scenarios."
Maybe we somtimes place too much emphasis on the state of being alive （生）; I want to say death isn't the end of the world - it's just another part of life. Still, it's the final part and it is the end of the world. A world disappears when a person dies. There's no rehearsing death. But then again, since when could we rehearse life? I guess there's only one thing we can do: live like there's no tomorrow. Then maybe death (either other's or our own) wouldn't be so frightening.
2013年4月1日月曜日
to my sons
Last night, I saw a TV show about an old woman dying of cancer (I forget her name so let's just call her Machiko) and her two sons, Takashi and Taku.
When she finds out that she only has a couple of months left, she decides to escape from the hospital to search for Taku, her younger son who has been MIA after not being able to pay off his debt. Takashi, the older son who has been taking care of her, has always felt that his mother liked Taku better, and is slightly emotional about the fact that it is going to be that way until the end.
When they finally find Taku, Machiko says she wants to go on a trip to Matsushima where they visited with their father (her husband) before he died young in an accident. But the trip is actually for Taku -- so he wouldn't have to suffer and regret about not having done anything for his mother before she dies.
On the way to Matsushima, they end up picking up a random girl who Taku decides to marry later on during the trip, and Machiko insists that they should also drop by Takashi's wife's home where she is staying with her son - she had asked for divorce.
The whole story and the conversations were pretty cheesy until the very end when Takashi gets a text after his mother's death. He's shocked to see that it's from his mother:
Dear Takashi,
By the time you read this, I am not there anymore.
This world filled with hope and warmth may be harsh at times. But please remember to appreciate every small encounter in your life. Your "now" is supported by many many people that you encounter every day.
As you know, Taku has always had a lot of troubles. I know you felt lonely because I was always busy taking care of him. So this last message is only for you - my first special treat for you （あなたへの最初のえこひいきです）.
I'm proud to have had two amazing sons.
Your mother
I admit I'm a sucker for epilogues like this and letters from dead people. It's so sad and heartwarming at the same time. I stopped what I was doing and just cried with Takashi. He now finds that his mother is calling - Machiko had given her cell phone to her daughter in law on the way to Matsushima. Takashi's wife comes to see him and he realizes that the the trip was not only for Taku but also for him. She had wanted to go to Matsushima, but more than that, she had wanted to give Takashi and his wife a chance to reconcile.
I realize I wrote a lot during my break. It was fun and a great stress relief, but school is starting tomorrow. I don't know how frequently I would be able to write. I'll miss writing!
When she finds out that she only has a couple of months left, she decides to escape from the hospital to search for Taku, her younger son who has been MIA after not being able to pay off his debt. Takashi, the older son who has been taking care of her, has always felt that his mother liked Taku better, and is slightly emotional about the fact that it is going to be that way until the end.
When they finally find Taku, Machiko says she wants to go on a trip to Matsushima where they visited with their father (her husband) before he died young in an accident. But the trip is actually for Taku -- so he wouldn't have to suffer and regret about not having done anything for his mother before she dies.
On the way to Matsushima, they end up picking up a random girl who Taku decides to marry later on during the trip, and Machiko insists that they should also drop by Takashi's wife's home where she is staying with her son - she had asked for divorce.
The whole story and the conversations were pretty cheesy until the very end when Takashi gets a text after his mother's death. He's shocked to see that it's from his mother:
Dear Takashi,
By the time you read this, I am not there anymore.
This world filled with hope and warmth may be harsh at times. But please remember to appreciate every small encounter in your life. Your "now" is supported by many many people that you encounter every day.
As you know, Taku has always had a lot of troubles. I know you felt lonely because I was always busy taking care of him. So this last message is only for you - my first special treat for you （あなたへの最初のえこひいきです）.
I'm proud to have had two amazing sons.
Your mother
I admit I'm a sucker for epilogues like this and letters from dead people. It's so sad and heartwarming at the same time. I stopped what I was doing and just cried with Takashi. He now finds that his mother is calling - Machiko had given her cell phone to her daughter in law on the way to Matsushima. Takashi's wife comes to see him and he realizes that the the trip was not only for Taku but also for him. She had wanted to go to Matsushima, but more than that, she had wanted to give Takashi and his wife a chance to reconcile.
I realize I wrote a lot during my break. It was fun and a great stress relief, but school is starting tomorrow. I don't know how frequently I would be able to write. I'll miss writing!
2013年3月30日土曜日
saying goodbye
Last semester, during one of our last classes, a nurse (Mrs. N) told us an episode about when her father passed away. He said he wanted to die at home, so she and her family took care of him during the last couple of months. When she knew that his life was almost coming to an end (I think her father had gone into a coma), she asked her mother if she wanted to put him on a drip to prolong his life. Her mother asked how long it was going to extend his life, and when she heard it was only for a couple of days (or that in the worst case, it may shorten his life), she decided not to do any sort of life-prolonging treatment.
It was a difficult decision for Mrs. N to obey because she had seen many families ask to put the patient on a drip; it was their last hope - a hope they "should" hold on to. But Mrs. N respected her mother's decision, and she was glad when her father finally passed away. She had never seen a death so natural and beautiful. Without life-prolonging treatment, a person could actually look beautiful at the last moment of his life.
Her brother had missed the moment but when he finally arrived, Mrs. N nor her mother told him that he was too late. Soon, the doctor came to confirm the death. He felt the pulse and looked at the eyes. He glanced at his watch and told the family that their father/husband had died. Mrs. N looked over at her brother and saw him nod. He had managed to say goodbye.
Mrs. N told us that no matter what happened, the patient was still alive to the family until the doctor told them that the patient was dead. It was very important for her brother to have had the chance to say goodbye. It was a moment that changed his life - a life he might have had to live with regret turned into something positive when he managed to see his father off.
On a side note, two major kabuki actors died pretty recently, and I was surprised and a bit impressed about what the sons (who were kabuki actors themsleves) said when they were interviewed about their feelings on not having been there when their father passed away. "He had always told us that if we were able to see him on his deathbed, that meant we were inadequate as actors." They had been on stage when their father passed away.
The comment made me think that the last moment may not be as important as we usually regard it to be. We get sensitive when it comes to firsts and lasts; I would definitely want to hear my parents' last words and would want to do whatever I can if they have any last wishes, but that's maybe because I don't pay enough attention to them in everyday life. And it's that again - the importance to live life as if there's no tomorrow.
It was a difficult decision for Mrs. N to obey because she had seen many families ask to put the patient on a drip; it was their last hope - a hope they "should" hold on to. But Mrs. N respected her mother's decision, and she was glad when her father finally passed away. She had never seen a death so natural and beautiful. Without life-prolonging treatment, a person could actually look beautiful at the last moment of his life.
Her brother had missed the moment but when he finally arrived, Mrs. N nor her mother told him that he was too late. Soon, the doctor came to confirm the death. He felt the pulse and looked at the eyes. He glanced at his watch and told the family that their father/husband had died. Mrs. N looked over at her brother and saw him nod. He had managed to say goodbye.
Mrs. N told us that no matter what happened, the patient was still alive to the family until the doctor told them that the patient was dead. It was very important for her brother to have had the chance to say goodbye. It was a moment that changed his life - a life he might have had to live with regret turned into something positive when he managed to see his father off.
On a side note, two major kabuki actors died pretty recently, and I was surprised and a bit impressed about what the sons (who were kabuki actors themsleves) said when they were interviewed about their feelings on not having been there when their father passed away. "He had always told us that if we were able to see him on his deathbed, that meant we were inadequate as actors." They had been on stage when their father passed away.
The comment made me think that the last moment may not be as important as we usually regard it to be. We get sensitive when it comes to firsts and lasts; I would definitely want to hear my parents' last words and would want to do whatever I can if they have any last wishes, but that's maybe because I don't pay enough attention to them in everyday life. And it's that again - the importance to live life as if there's no tomorrow.
2013年3月22日金曜日
the power to be happy
私、春嫌いなんだ I don't like spring
なんで？ Why?
聞かない方がいいと思うよ I don't think you want to know
なんで？ Why?
私がどんなに根暗かわかっちゃうから Because it shows how much of a gloomy person I am
分かった。春になるとみんなうきうきしてるからでしょ I think I know the answer. You don't like spring because everyone's excited? Everyone but you
あたり Bingo
I think I inherited this spring-disliking from my mom. She says people who like spring must be super positive and strong. Apparently, there's even a song that says so. She sang it to me while we were taking a quick walk this morning. The more beautifully the cherry blossoms bloom, the more her heart sinks because it makes her feel somewhat left behind.
Anyway, we (dad, mom and I) were talking about writing a living will while we were having breakfast. I said that it wouldn't be totally useless but that it wouldn't be enough for me to decide not to give them a life-prolonging treatment, because a living will is what they write based on their imagination. They imagine what they would feel like if they could no longer move/speak/eat/etc. and decide whether they want to live longer or not. While they're healthy, they might think it's not worth living in certain situations, but once they actually face those situations, their will might change.
I forget where I read it - it was maybe something written by Adam Smith - but it said that every human had the power to be happy in any condition. People get depressed and suffer in despair when they lose certain abilities, but once they go through the initial shock, they adapt to their situation or their new selves and find peace. They can still feel happiness. Some people can only move their eyelids, but they can still communicate by blinking - one blink means yes, two means no etc. And they tell us they're happy.
Dad suggested we all train as many muscles as we can so we'll have more chance of communicating in desperate situations. "You know how some people can move their ears too? I wonder if I can train myself to do that." He said to Mom that she would still have her nostrils if she couldn't move anywhere else in her body. "I know you can move them - they flare when you're mad."
Apparently, when the time comes, he's going to make a rule for her to follow so she can tell us whether she wants to live or not. I really hope it'll work - that both my parents would be able to tell me what they want when the time comes.
なんで？ Why?
聞かない方がいいと思うよ I don't think you want to know
なんで？ Why?
私がどんなに根暗かわかっちゃうから Because it shows how much of a gloomy person I am
分かった。春になるとみんなうきうきしてるからでしょ I think I know the answer. You don't like spring because everyone's excited? Everyone but you
あたり Bingo
I think I inherited this spring-disliking from my mom. She says people who like spring must be super positive and strong. Apparently, there's even a song that says so. She sang it to me while we were taking a quick walk this morning. The more beautifully the cherry blossoms bloom, the more her heart sinks because it makes her feel somewhat left behind.
Anyway, we (dad, mom and I) were talking about writing a living will while we were having breakfast. I said that it wouldn't be totally useless but that it wouldn't be enough for me to decide not to give them a life-prolonging treatment, because a living will is what they write based on their imagination. They imagine what they would feel like if they could no longer move/speak/eat/etc. and decide whether they want to live longer or not. While they're healthy, they might think it's not worth living in certain situations, but once they actually face those situations, their will might change.
I forget where I read it - it was maybe something written by Adam Smith - but it said that every human had the power to be happy in any condition. People get depressed and suffer in despair when they lose certain abilities, but once they go through the initial shock, they adapt to their situation or their new selves and find peace. They can still feel happiness. Some people can only move their eyelids, but they can still communicate by blinking - one blink means yes, two means no etc. And they tell us they're happy.
Dad suggested we all train as many muscles as we can so we'll have more chance of communicating in desperate situations. "You know how some people can move their ears too? I wonder if I can train myself to do that." He said to Mom that she would still have her nostrils if she couldn't move anywhere else in her body. "I know you can move them - they flare when you're mad."
Apparently, when the time comes, he's going to make a rule for her to follow so she can tell us whether she wants to live or not. I really hope it'll work - that both my parents would be able to tell me what they want when the time comes.
2013年2月16日土曜日
leaving your body to science?
Just a month ago when my anatomy class ended, I took a brief note about some of the incidents I remembered. I found it today and saw things in a slightly different light - some of our insensitive comments made me wince - but it was a very fresh and honest account so I thought I might as well share it in case some people who stumble upon this blog are wondering how their bodies are going to be treated if they leave it to science, or more specifically, medical students. (But the below only describes a part of what we did; I'll probably skip some of the process and there were parts of the body I hardly got involved in in the first place.)
1. Meeting the corpse
I just started studying medicine two weeks ago. It's been a few days since I started peeling human skin. The first thing I noticed when we saw him come out of the refrigerator was that he was an old man. He was wrapped up in a plastic bag but I could sort of tell from the silhouette. He was stiff and heavy. His legs lay apart around his knee and he had eight toes - five on the left, three on the right. I couldn't look at his face at first; it was more shocking than I had expected to touch a dead man. We will probably never know why or when he died. His cranium was cut open and sewn, and there was something - most likely the remnant of his brain - coming out. It got onto my hand when we carried him to our table... I could feel it right through my gloves. The smell of formalin was pretty strong but there was a slightly fishy, fatty smell that made me feel sick for the first few hours.
2. Shaving and peeling
But as we shaved his body (he had some hair left on his head too!) and went on to peel his skin on the posterior side, I got used to it eventually, and could look at his face too. His whole body sort of resembled that of my grandpa who died this month 12 years ago. But when I said it aloud, everyone else said they didn't want to relate the corpse with anyone they knew. My friend N (outside school) said he couldn't see why we would be able to not give him a name when we were going to work with him almost every day for more than three months, but right now, I can't imagine anyone giving him a name.
After class though, we went to a nearby steakhouse and ate as we talked about the corpse. The dessert sort of tasted like formalin.
As for the peeling, the area around the neck was especially difficult since the skin was stiff and thick. It's also tiring to peel the arms and hands because they've become stiff in a funny position - you sort of have to twist your body to peel. Tip: use the back of the knife - skin comes off neatly.
By the way, we kept the skin and sort of dressed the corpse with it every time the class was over.
3. Finding nerve fibers / Dissecting the brain and muscles
The guy still hasn't been given a name. In fact, the more I work with him, the less I feel emotional about him - it seems like he's just a dead body. Of course it was once someone's body. It was someone's son, and someone's dad. But now... it's just an empty capsule.
Since we didn't have enough time, we started dissecting muscles when we weren't quite finished with nerves; but that seemed like a good idea because we could see fibers coming out of muscles and we knew those were nerves and not collagen fibers. Our grandpa (we (or I) started calling the corpse grandpa around this time) had large beautiful red muscles.
We tried to treat each body part as gently as possible but we sort of ended up grabbing and pulling at the skin and muscles since we were so desperate to get things done in time. I once had my fingers digging under the gluteus muscle all day; we had to find four muscles beneath it.
Cutting the cerebrum felt like cutting ...mushroom. Since it's a clump of fibers, it almost sort of tears when you dig the right way. The famous parts such as the hypothalamus, pituitary gland, and brain stem were all so small - unbelievably small if you think about what they are doing in your body.
No one used to touch their instruction papers while touching the corpse but everyone got used to it in the end; no one cared much about the paper getting soaked in "brain juice" at this point. It's just formalin anyway.
4. Dissecting the organs
I was mainly in charge of the digestive organs - they were packed in the abdominal cavity with barely any space left. We cut the blood vessels and took them all out. The intestine was very long; when I cut it open it went on forever. And the blood vessels at the jejunum/ilium - they were almost like a spider's web; picking the mesentery off was pretty exhausting (it's totally monkey task - you learn so little). Tip: have someone hold the rest of the group of organs when you're washing off what's inside the intestine; that way you can avoid having everything getting covered in green poop (with little pieces of carrots and corns).
Other members cut the rib and took out the heart and lungs. Some people got pretty attached to the organs they were in charge of - some enjoyed "bathing" their heart in formalin.
5. Spending Christmas with the corpse
Most people went away for winter vacation but we decided to spend our Christmas with our grandpa. We dissected the kidneys and the ureters, and started taking off the head (tip: find the dens), while some people "picked" the anus and peeled the skin off the genital.
6. Cutting the spine
We used a saw. It's like cutting hard wood. The neck part was pretty easy but the lumbar area was tough - it wouldn't move at all and it took three sweating students (the lab was freezing cold) to take the last bit of spine off. We cut the ganglion and took out the spinal cord; it was sort of like a miniature of what I'd imagined.
7. Dissecting the rest of the organs / putting things back
The last part of the body I dissected was the genital which made me feel a bit sentimental - for a moment, it reminded me of his children and it sort of made me wonder about his whole life for some reason.
When we were done with our exam, we put things back inside the body. I felt a bit nostalgic when I put the brain back into his skull, but everyone else was just tired so we did it in a hurry.
8. Saying goodbye
The sky was an amazing blue and the weather was great.Some of the members of the group came in with an awful hangover. We put the corpse (wrapped in white cloth) into the coffin and cleaned the lab.
I heard some families didn't come to pick up the corpse even after a week, which I thought was sad, but I guess it's not only people who're loved that die. Everyone dies in the end.
In short, we might've not been the greatest students. But we had a great experience and I'm sure every student is grateful of it. The students around me were never particularly emotional or sentimental about the corpse; it was just a corpse after all, but we definitely learned a lot (I didn't really write about the technical stuff but for example, right before we put the heart back in for the last time, I had a chance to touch it again and stick my finger inside the aorta. I felt a dead end (the aortic valve) right away, but when I stuck my finger from the other side of the valve, my finger went through - which shows that the valve works to prevent backward flow).
My mom used to say she would leave her body to medicine if I ever got into med school. Now she says she definitely will. I joked that she would only cause trouble to the students considering all the fat they would have to remove.
Either way, I know the students will not always be respectful of her body; to them, it's going to be just a corpse of an unknown woman. I know that when I pick her up, I wouldn't be able to recognize her face (NOT because the students will be too cruel but because the dissection of the face is part of the program). But if she really wants to donate her body, I would accept her will. Because I also know the students will gain a lot, and maybe one of them would take the time to think about her life and write about the great dissecting experience on his/her blog.
1. Meeting the corpse
I just started studying medicine two weeks ago. It's been a few days since I started peeling human skin. The first thing I noticed when we saw him come out of the refrigerator was that he was an old man. He was wrapped up in a plastic bag but I could sort of tell from the silhouette. He was stiff and heavy. His legs lay apart around his knee and he had eight toes - five on the left, three on the right. I couldn't look at his face at first; it was more shocking than I had expected to touch a dead man. We will probably never know why or when he died. His cranium was cut open and sewn, and there was something - most likely the remnant of his brain - coming out. It got onto my hand when we carried him to our table... I could feel it right through my gloves. The smell of formalin was pretty strong but there was a slightly fishy, fatty smell that made me feel sick for the first few hours.
2. Shaving and peeling
But as we shaved his body (he had some hair left on his head too!) and went on to peel his skin on the posterior side, I got used to it eventually, and could look at his face too. His whole body sort of resembled that of my grandpa who died this month 12 years ago. But when I said it aloud, everyone else said they didn't want to relate the corpse with anyone they knew. My friend N (outside school) said he couldn't see why we would be able to not give him a name when we were going to work with him almost every day for more than three months, but right now, I can't imagine anyone giving him a name.
After class though, we went to a nearby steakhouse and ate as we talked about the corpse. The dessert sort of tasted like formalin.
As for the peeling, the area around the neck was especially difficult since the skin was stiff and thick. It's also tiring to peel the arms and hands because they've become stiff in a funny position - you sort of have to twist your body to peel. Tip: use the back of the knife - skin comes off neatly.
By the way, we kept the skin and sort of dressed the corpse with it every time the class was over.
3. Finding nerve fibers / Dissecting the brain and muscles
So... I haven't written in a while, but
we're done with the peeling now. We're
working on the brain and muscles. We cut
the brain into pieces last week. Cutting
the cerebellum felt like cutting cheese - sort of. We're also doing veins and arteries and
nerves too. Nerves look like collagen
fibers and collagen fibers look like nerves so it's really confusing and
frustrating. The femur is probably the least complex part of the body. The
veins are large and you can find a lot of things around the inguinal area. N asked if I was happy when I found the
spermatic cord but I actually was because I had been looking for it for an
hour. I'd never seen a spermatic cord in
my life but when I followed the two veins (which I initially thought were
arteries leading to the cord) and finally saw it, I knew it was what I was
looking for. It's sort of like a never ending treasure
hunting. You dig with tweezers and you
sometimes find nothing after hours...
The guy still hasn't been given a name. In fact, the more I work with him, the less I feel emotional about him - it seems like he's just a dead body. Of course it was once someone's body. It was someone's son, and someone's dad. But now... it's just an empty capsule.
Since we didn't have enough time, we started dissecting muscles when we weren't quite finished with nerves; but that seemed like a good idea because we could see fibers coming out of muscles and we knew those were nerves and not collagen fibers. Our grandpa (we (or I) started calling the corpse grandpa around this time) had large beautiful red muscles.
We tried to treat each body part as gently as possible but we sort of ended up grabbing and pulling at the skin and muscles since we were so desperate to get things done in time. I once had my fingers digging under the gluteus muscle all day; we had to find four muscles beneath it.
Cutting the cerebrum felt like cutting ...mushroom. Since it's a clump of fibers, it almost sort of tears when you dig the right way. The famous parts such as the hypothalamus, pituitary gland, and brain stem were all so small - unbelievably small if you think about what they are doing in your body.
No one used to touch their instruction papers while touching the corpse but everyone got used to it in the end; no one cared much about the paper getting soaked in "brain juice" at this point. It's just formalin anyway.
I was mainly in charge of the digestive organs - they were packed in the abdominal cavity with barely any space left. We cut the blood vessels and took them all out. The intestine was very long; when I cut it open it went on forever. And the blood vessels at the jejunum/ilium - they were almost like a spider's web; picking the mesentery off was pretty exhausting (it's totally monkey task - you learn so little). Tip: have someone hold the rest of the group of organs when you're washing off what's inside the intestine; that way you can avoid having everything getting covered in green poop (with little pieces of carrots and corns).
Other members cut the rib and took out the heart and lungs. Some people got pretty attached to the organs they were in charge of - some enjoyed "bathing" their heart in formalin.
The sky was an amazing blue and the weather was great.
2013年2月15日金曜日
departures
I told my mom about how I felt when anatomy was finally over and we put the corpse in the coffin - some of the other groups had special coffins prepared by the family but ours was a plain box prepared by the school which was a bit too small for our grandpa, and that made me sad etc. etc. She told me I had to see this movie now and sent it to me the other day.
It's a Japanese film about a cellist who ends up working as a "noukanshi" - a person who helps the dead prepare for their departure. They're in charge of a ritual in which they wipe the corpse, dress them in nice kimonos and put them in a coffin - all done in front of the family during the funeral.
While the protagonist starts to like his job after the initial shock, everyone around him thinks it's a disgusting job. They, however, eventually change their mind when they face the death of their loved ones. The protagonist comes over for the funeral, and as they see him help the dead prepare for their final departure - with all the make up and dressing up - they start to have a new feeling about the job, and probably about death itself.
This incident reminded me of a specific incident during anatomy. When I first found myself being scared and shocked to see the corpse, I told myself that it was someone's husband/dad/granddad instead of just a creepy dead body, and that really helped me calm down.
I guess we usually think of death as something unpleasant and creepy - something that has little to do with this side of the world we live in, but when someone close dies, we realize the obvious - that everyone dies in the end.
Some people might say the whole ritual is a waste of money and time since the dead is, after all, dead, but I got the impression that it was for the people left behind. They probably find the time and chance to say their final goodbyes when they see the dead prepare for their departure.
In case anyone's interested, the original title "Okuri-bito" means "a person(=bito=hito)" who "sends / says goodbye(=okuru)".
オーケストラのチェロ奏者としての職を失った主人公が納棺師になる話。解剖実習後の納棺で思ったことを母に話したところ、「おくりびと」を見るべきだといって送ってくれた。
生理学のレポートをわきに置いてやっと見終わらせた。
ホルマリン漬けにされたご遺体との初対面の時はぞっとした。だから、初仕事で主人公が思わず吐き散らすシーンも、その後、銭湯で神経質に体を洗うシーンも、夕飯時に生の鶏肉を見て再び吐くのも、なんとなくリアルだった。私たちは、解剖実習初日の夕飯でさえがっつりハンバーグを食べに行ったけれど、さすがに生肉は見たくないよね、と話しながら食べたのを思い出した。
そしてもう一つ思い出したのは、実習初日、ご遺体を見て、つい気味が悪い、怖いと思ってしまったときに、目の前のご遺体が、自分が知らない誰かの父親、あるいは祖父、あるいは夫であったことを思うことで、何となく安心できたこと。
映画の中で、当初、納棺師という職業に対して、主人公の妻や友人をはじめ、多くの人が偏見を抱いている。でも、銭湯のおばあちゃん（友人の母親で、主人公の妻も会話を交わしたことがある人物）の死に際して、主人公が納棺の儀式を行うことを機に、友人も妻も、主人公を偏見の目で見なくなる。そもそも、主人公が、納棺という仕事への警戒心を解くきっかけになったのも、涙を流す家族の前で行われる納棺の儀式に立ち会った時だった。
つまりそういうことなのだ、と思った。
フツウ、私たちは、死を、死人を、私たちが生きる生の世界とは反対側にある「気味が悪いもの」であると認識しているけれど、自分に近い人間や、生前の姿を知る人物の死に接すると、いつもは他人事の「死」が自分が生きる日常の一部として見えてくるのだ。
いつかはこうして自分も死ぬ。死体になって、腐って、土にかえる。当たり前の生命のサイクルだけれど、悲しみとともに突きつけられて初めて少し理解できるのかもしれない、と思った。
ところで、故人を「おくる」という儀式、これは故人本人のため、というより、残された者のための儀式なのだな、と思った。父が亡くなった時には、自ら棺を選んで気持ちのいい布団に寝かせてやりたいと、一週間たった今でも思うけれど、結局のところ、それはもはや父にとっては、もしかしたらまったく意味のないことで、ただ送る側の私がそうしたい、というだけのことなのだ。
でも、それはとても重要なことで、残された者が、悔いのないお別れができるように納棺師がお手伝いするように、医師も旅立つ患者さんだけでなく、その家族へも当然配慮しなければならないのだ、と思った。だからこそ、１時間を超す心臓マッサージが必要なこともあるのだろう。（今日はBLSの授業で心臓マッサージの方法を学び、ご家族の意思によっては、無駄だとわかっていても心臓マッサージを続けなければならない場合があると聞いた。）
「おくりびと」は、死を描く作品にはありがちなラストで、最後は主人公夫婦が新たな生命を授かる一方で、主人公は自らの父親をおくる、という筋書きになっている。しかも、３０年ぶりの再会で、手に強く握られていた石を介して父親の最後の心境を知るという設定も手伝ってずいぶん感動的な仕上がりになっている。
ここでも強く意識させられるのは、死は生の反対ではなく、その一部なのだ、ということ。
たびたび映る、ハクチョウが湖から飛び立つシーンが印象的だった。将来、多くの人を見送ることになるかもしれないけれど、より多くの人たちが、あのハクチョウたちのように青空に向かって気持ちよく旅立てるようにお手伝いできればいいなと思った。
It's a Japanese film about a cellist who ends up working as a "noukanshi" - a person who helps the dead prepare for their departure. They're in charge of a ritual in which they wipe the corpse, dress them in nice kimonos and put them in a coffin - all done in front of the family during the funeral.
While the protagonist starts to like his job after the initial shock, everyone around him thinks it's a disgusting job. They, however, eventually change their mind when they face the death of their loved ones. The protagonist comes over for the funeral, and as they see him help the dead prepare for their final departure - with all the make up and dressing up - they start to have a new feeling about the job, and probably about death itself.
This incident reminded me of a specific incident during anatomy. When I first found myself being scared and shocked to see the corpse, I told myself that it was someone's husband/dad/granddad instead of just a creepy dead body, and that really helped me calm down.
I guess we usually think of death as something unpleasant and creepy - something that has little to do with this side of the world we live in, but when someone close dies, we realize the obvious - that everyone dies in the end.
Some people might say the whole ritual is a waste of money and time since the dead is, after all, dead, but I got the impression that it was for the people left behind. They probably find the time and chance to say their final goodbyes when they see the dead prepare for their departure.
In case anyone's interested, the original title "Okuri-bito" means "a person(=bito=hito)" who "sends / says goodbye(=okuru)".
オーケストラのチェロ奏者としての職を失った主人公が納棺師になる話。解剖実習後の納棺で思ったことを母に話したところ、「おくりびと」を見るべきだといって送ってくれた。
生理学のレポートをわきに置いてやっと見終わらせた。
ホルマリン漬けにされたご遺体との初対面の時はぞっとした。だから、初仕事で主人公が思わず吐き散らすシーンも、その後、銭湯で神経質に体を洗うシーンも、夕飯時に生の鶏肉を見て再び吐くのも、なんとなくリアルだった。私たちは、解剖実習初日の夕飯でさえがっつりハンバーグを食べに行ったけれど、さすがに生肉は見たくないよね、と話しながら食べたのを思い出した。
そしてもう一つ思い出したのは、実習初日、ご遺体を見て、つい気味が悪い、怖いと思ってしまったときに、目の前のご遺体が、自分が知らない誰かの父親、あるいは祖父、あるいは夫であったことを思うことで、何となく安心できたこと。
映画の中で、当初、納棺師という職業に対して、主人公の妻や友人をはじめ、多くの人が偏見を抱いている。でも、銭湯のおばあちゃん（友人の母親で、主人公の妻も会話を交わしたことがある人物）の死に際して、主人公が納棺の儀式を行うことを機に、友人も妻も、主人公を偏見の目で見なくなる。そもそも、主人公が、納棺という仕事への警戒心を解くきっかけになったのも、涙を流す家族の前で行われる納棺の儀式に立ち会った時だった。
つまりそういうことなのだ、と思った。
フツウ、私たちは、死を、死人を、私たちが生きる生の世界とは反対側にある「気味が悪いもの」であると認識しているけれど、自分に近い人間や、生前の姿を知る人物の死に接すると、いつもは他人事の「死」が自分が生きる日常の一部として見えてくるのだ。
いつかはこうして自分も死ぬ。死体になって、腐って、土にかえる。当たり前の生命のサイクルだけれど、悲しみとともに突きつけられて初めて少し理解できるのかもしれない、と思った。
ところで、故人を「おくる」という儀式、これは故人本人のため、というより、残された者のための儀式なのだな、と思った。父が亡くなった時には、自ら棺を選んで気持ちのいい布団に寝かせてやりたいと、一週間たった今でも思うけれど、結局のところ、それはもはや父にとっては、もしかしたらまったく意味のないことで、ただ送る側の私がそうしたい、というだけのことなのだ。
でも、それはとても重要なことで、残された者が、悔いのないお別れができるように納棺師がお手伝いするように、医師も旅立つ患者さんだけでなく、その家族へも当然配慮しなければならないのだ、と思った。だからこそ、１時間を超す心臓マッサージが必要なこともあるのだろう。（今日はBLSの授業で心臓マッサージの方法を学び、ご家族の意思によっては、無駄だとわかっていても心臓マッサージを続けなければならない場合があると聞いた。）
「おくりびと」は、死を描く作品にはありがちなラストで、最後は主人公夫婦が新たな生命を授かる一方で、主人公は自らの父親をおくる、という筋書きになっている。しかも、３０年ぶりの再会で、手に強く握られていた石を介して父親の最後の心境を知るという設定も手伝ってずいぶん感動的な仕上がりになっている。
ここでも強く意識させられるのは、死は生の反対ではなく、その一部なのだ、ということ。
たびたび映る、ハクチョウが湖から飛び立つシーンが印象的だった。将来、多くの人を見送ることになるかもしれないけれど、より多くの人たちが、あのハクチョウたちのように青空に向かって気持ちよく旅立てるようにお手伝いできればいいなと思った。
2013年1月30日水曜日
when the time comes
解剖、単位は取れた模様。昨日打ち上げでN先生が、今年は大盤振舞だから楽しみにしててくださいと言っていた通り。
ちなみに最後の先生の言葉：
医学は100点を取る必要はない。60点を目指してがんばれ。
医者がいい人生を送れるか否かは、医者になってからどれだけ勉強するかにかかっている。学生時代の成績は関係ない。自分もテストはいつも6，7割だった。（生徒にはあんなに厳しかったのに…）
これからの人生、ストレスがたまるから、その解消方法を身に着けること。
いつまでも自分は未熟者だという意識を忘れないこと。謙虚でいること。
一次会で帰るつもりだったのに、どういうわけか二次会まで行くことになった。そこで、どう死にたいか、という話題に。
「やっぱりぽっくり行きたいよね」
「うん」
「いや、俺はがんか脳梗塞かって言われたらがんがいいな」
「わたしも。死ぬ準備をする時間がほしい」
「ああ、臓器提供の意思表示とかね」
「え？そういうこと？」
「周りの人に感謝の気持ちとか伝えたいじゃん」
「そっか。じゃあBroccoliは？毎日悔いなく生きてそうだね。いつ死んでもいいって感じじゃない？」
「いや、今日死ぬのはちょっとダメ。洗ってないパンツが洗濯機に2枚ぐらいあるから」
「ええ？おれパンツは気にしないわ」
「あ、でも私ちょっと気になるかも。今日の下着大丈夫かな、とか」
「そんなこと言ったら素っ裸で脳梗塞になるしかないじゃん」
「勝負下着とかね」
「赤いパンツとか」
「Tバックとか」
「俺は今死んでも見られてやましいものは・・・」
「エロビデオぐらい？」
「まあ、そうだね。友達にみられるのはいいけど、親にみられるのは嫌だ」
「大丈夫。おれたちが形見ってことで分けるから」
「ははは。死んだ後に、あいつこんな趣味だったんだって…」
「でも、解剖したら性的興奮の閾値が上がった気がする」
「そう？乳腺科で毎日おばちゃんの胸見てたら胸では興奮しなくなるけど」
「女の子はどうなの？」
「うーん」
「じゃあ、例えば向井理に尿管カテーテル入れないといけないとかってなったらどう？」
「ちょっとドキドキすると思う」
「そうかなあ」
「やっぱ女の子は見慣れてないからドキドキするんじゃない」
「いや、局部がどうとかってわけじゃなくて向井理が来たらうれしい！」
どうしようもない会話だけれど、なんだか医学生になったことを改めて感じさせられる会話だった。入学してまだ4か月。もうずいぶん経つ気がする。追い立てられるようにノルマをこなす日々。今はレポートに追われてひーひー言ってるけれど、去年の今頃を思えば、ずいぶんぜいたくな悩み。もっと感謝の気持ちを持とう。
So after the 打ち上げ (finally done with anatomy!) we went to a bar and at one point, we were talking about how we wanted to die.
I don't want to suffer; I want it to come suddenly and be done.
Me too.
Really? I'd rather die of cancer than a stroke.
Me too. I want some time to do some preparing.
Like leaving a note about organ donations and stuff?
Well... it's more about wanting the opportunity to say thanks to my family and friends.
I see, what about you Broccoli? Seems like you're always living life to the fullest. You wouldn't mind dying any day, would you?
I don't know... I don't think today is a good idea. I have a couple of unwashed undies in the washing machine.
Who cares?
I can sort of relate though; I actually wonder if what I'm wearing today is okay.
But then you'll have to walk around naked so you can have a stroke anytime.
Or in a red T-back.
I don't know about my boxers but I honestly have nothing I'd be ashamed of to have people find when I die.
Except for your porn videos?
...Maybe. I wouldn't mind my friends seeing them but I don't want my parents to see them.
You'll be fine; we'll distribute them as keepsakes. It would be fun finding out your preferences.
We'll remember you and shed tears while watching your S&M collection.
You're the one who likes S&M.
Yeah, so?
I know this conversation was only funny because none of us are actually facing death. At the moment, I think I want some time to prepare, but I don't know what I would feel when/if I have to suffer. Anyway, I should probably start showing more gratitude to people around me before it's too late - especially my parents.
ちなみに最後の先生の言葉：
医学は100点を取る必要はない。60点を目指してがんばれ。
医者がいい人生を送れるか否かは、医者になってからどれだけ勉強するかにかかっている。学生時代の成績は関係ない。自分もテストはいつも6，7割だった。（生徒にはあんなに厳しかったのに…）
これからの人生、ストレスがたまるから、その解消方法を身に着けること。
いつまでも自分は未熟者だという意識を忘れないこと。謙虚でいること。
一次会で帰るつもりだったのに、どういうわけか二次会まで行くことになった。そこで、どう死にたいか、という話題に。
「やっぱりぽっくり行きたいよね」
「うん」
「いや、俺はがんか脳梗塞かって言われたらがんがいいな」
「わたしも。死ぬ準備をする時間がほしい」
「ああ、臓器提供の意思表示とかね」
「え？そういうこと？」
「周りの人に感謝の気持ちとか伝えたいじゃん」
「そっか。じゃあBroccoliは？毎日悔いなく生きてそうだね。いつ死んでもいいって感じじゃない？」
「いや、今日死ぬのはちょっとダメ。洗ってないパンツが洗濯機に2枚ぐらいあるから」
「ええ？おれパンツは気にしないわ」
「あ、でも私ちょっと気になるかも。今日の下着大丈夫かな、とか」
「そんなこと言ったら素っ裸で脳梗塞になるしかないじゃん」
「勝負下着とかね」
「赤いパンツとか」
「Tバックとか」
「俺は今死んでも見られてやましいものは・・・」
「エロビデオぐらい？」
「まあ、そうだね。友達にみられるのはいいけど、親にみられるのは嫌だ」
「大丈夫。おれたちが形見ってことで分けるから」
「ははは。死んだ後に、あいつこんな趣味だったんだって…」
「でも、解剖したら性的興奮の閾値が上がった気がする」
「そう？乳腺科で毎日おばちゃんの胸見てたら胸では興奮しなくなるけど」
「女の子はどうなの？」
「うーん」
「じゃあ、例えば向井理に尿管カテーテル入れないといけないとかってなったらどう？」
「ちょっとドキドキすると思う」
「そうかなあ」
「やっぱ女の子は見慣れてないからドキドキするんじゃない」
「いや、局部がどうとかってわけじゃなくて向井理が来たらうれしい！」
どうしようもない会話だけれど、なんだか医学生になったことを改めて感じさせられる会話だった。入学してまだ4か月。もうずいぶん経つ気がする。追い立てられるようにノルマをこなす日々。今はレポートに追われてひーひー言ってるけれど、去年の今頃を思えば、ずいぶんぜいたくな悩み。もっと感謝の気持ちを持とう。
So after the 打ち上げ (finally done with anatomy!) we went to a bar and at one point, we were talking about how we wanted to die.
I don't want to suffer; I want it to come suddenly and be done.
Me too.
Really? I'd rather die of cancer than a stroke.
Me too. I want some time to do some preparing.
Like leaving a note about organ donations and stuff?
Well... it's more about wanting the opportunity to say thanks to my family and friends.
I see, what about you Broccoli? Seems like you're always living life to the fullest. You wouldn't mind dying any day, would you?
I don't know... I don't think today is a good idea. I have a couple of unwashed undies in the washing machine.
Who cares?
I can sort of relate though; I actually wonder if what I'm wearing today is okay.
But then you'll have to walk around naked so you can have a stroke anytime.
Or in a red T-back.
I don't know about my boxers but I honestly have nothing I'd be ashamed of to have people find when I die.
Except for your porn videos?
...Maybe. I wouldn't mind my friends seeing them but I don't want my parents to see them.
You'll be fine; we'll distribute them as keepsakes. It would be fun finding out your preferences.
We'll remember you and shed tears while watching your S&M collection.
You're the one who likes S&M.
Yeah, so?
I know this conversation was only funny because none of us are actually facing death. At the moment, I think I want some time to prepare, but I don't know what I would feel when/if I have to suffer. Anyway, I should probably start showing more gratitude to people around me before it's too late - especially my parents.
登録:
投稿 (Atom)