GOOD INTENTIONS LOST AND FOUND

I was sitting up in a bed, recovering from pneumonia, some distance from the stroke management ward. A small (5 foot in the OCD measurement) dark haired girl approached. She was dressed in a nurse’s dress, too big for her and without a belt to pull it up to stop it dragging on the floor.

“Hi Angus, I’m here to help you”. She extended her hand with a smile, I took it and said “what is your name? I’m not very good at remembering but I do my best!” “It’s Mineh (not her real name) but thousands of girls share it in the country I come from.” Said with vigor which I took as a mark of her intelligence.

Comment I know of the custom in some eastern countries where, by decree, all girls born in a certain year must be given the same name, but I have no published studies to support this.

“Goodbye Angus, I’ll join your team now” and off she went to the nurses station. No more contact. My physios soon came to improve my mobility, a technical term for walking. As I gained strength they decided to take me up to the gym, one story up a ramp using a simple patient frame. When we reached the gym they took the frame away and walked me with their support. Soon I was gasping for breath and my legs were like jelly, the alarm was rung and I the subject to code blue resuscitation. One by one the doctors were greeting me and said how they were going to help me. I toyed with the idea of recording then as doctors Tom, Dick and Harry but no! A semi-circle of lookers on formed a few meters from the resuscitation.

As I recovered a little I thought I could use my painting skills to record the scene – in my mind of course. A sweep with a thin black brush for hair, a thin off white brush for faces and a broad black brush for clothing. All this thinking led to me looking closer at the semi-circle. There was a gap directly facing me. It was little Mineh with her face screwed up and then crying uncontrollably, oblivious to all around her. This scene is burned into my mind and I am crying gently as a write this. At the time I resolved to take her hand and thank her for her concern and assure her I was o.k. The opportunity did not arise. I was whisked downstairs to a private recovery room in preparation for discharge.

Now to the present. I thought a hug would be more appropriate but to my shame dropped this because her face would be about just above my belly button. What a crass way of describing someone who had been so compassionate to me. So I have been humbled, look at the word not just the person. So, from now on, it is not little Mineh but kind hearted, compassionate, self-sacrificing, cheerful, helpful when needed, and humble Mineh. Thank you for making me a better person, there was plenty of space for improvement.

Good night.

Angus.