I am a wounded healer. I have ghosts that live with me now......
DEAR DIARY
I am a wounded healer. I have ghosts that live with me now.
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It’s a winter night. It’s raining. The first shower of this winter. It’s cold. My hands are freezing. My nose is red and congested. I have a hot cup of tea in my hand. With every sip, I think about you. All of you. All the ghosts that live with me now.
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You were 10 years younger than me. I am a tiny person but I could still fit you in my arms, you were so emaciated. I remember every equipment here being too big for you. I remember your mother talking to your cold, limp dead body.
Asking you to not be so stubborn.
Asking you to come back.
I hated that I had to make her sign stupid forms instead of hugging her till she had cried her eyes out.
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I remember you, too. I remember how everyone around was interested in your shaved head. A woman with no hair on her head, how fascinating. “Does she have cancer?” everyone would ask me. “I do not know. We shall do some tests tomorrow to find out.” I would say.
I remember how I worried I was because you wouldn’t let me check your blood pressure. Your pulse was running low but you wouldn’t let me keep a track of it. You had your son’s wedding in a day. I hated that you missed it.
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I never got the chance to apologize to you, though I know it wouldn’t matter. I was annoyed at you for being so rude with your sister. I thought all you needed was hydration. But it turned out that you were having a heart attack. You were in anguish. You were in pain. Neither did you know nor did I. I am sorry you had to go so soon.
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I listened to your story while you were on the operating table. You told me every thing. From your accident to your broken family. I cried a lot that day. I thought I had forgotten you. But you came back. You came back to my ward to haunt me. I prayed for you to die. I couldn’t see you in this much pain. I knew nothing would help you other than dying. I am still sorry for wanting that for you.
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Yes, I remember you, too. You were my first one. I was young and naive and so were you. I never thought someone my age would leave this world infront of me. You need an artificial tube through your neck to breath. I saw the light in your eyes go out right during the surgical procedure. I am sorry I still had to violate your body with tubes even when I knew you were gone.
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You all are with me. You all shall always be with me. I am a wounded healer. I live with the ghosts of the patients who died infront of me. Do I want them to leave? Maybe. But I am too scared to ask them to do so.
