Entula En'

Yesterday, around this time or later, I got to meet my old professor at his home. He had helped my colleagues and I through out the whole course of our clinical rotations. I had heard he wasn’t feeling well but I did not expect it was this bad.

We asked if we could see him, not knowing truly how bad a condition he was in.

He was brought out by two young boys, walking ever so slowing, pausing for a bit and starting again. The moment we saw the sight of his frail, delicate profile, held up and being assisted to walk, we got up and helped him to his chair; the guilt of having made him go through all the trouble weighing heavily down on our hearts.

He looked at us, through those patient eyes, just as he had four years ago when he first met us; therein lay the evidence of the youth that was still him, despite the fact that the disease had weakened most of his body. When asked how he was doing, he smiled a shaky smile saying, “I’m living. A little painfully, but living just the same.”

It was heart-breaking.

We didn’t stay long, it was obvious he wasn’t at ease in the chair. We wished him well and thanked him for everything. As we were leaving, he turned to me, eyes glistening and smiled his shaky smile. “Good.”

I smiled back at him, knowing the significance of just that one word and knowing that it was enough to last a very long time.