So I used to have this patient that I loved to death. His name was Mr. Lawrence. Mr. Lawrence was about 63 although he looked much older from years and years of alcohol and drug abuse. He came to see me for enrollment in a clinical trial. He was a little out there... tall and skinny and always wore butterfly collar 70's polyester shirts, had large wide frame black glasses which made his eyes look bigger than they were... and his hair was grey and wiry, sticking up Einstein style. All in all he was adorable. He always asked me to repeat myself and not talk too fast because his "noives" (nerves) weren't good.
After months of his visits I truly loved him. He was a total doll. He lived in an assisted living low income project for the elderly, and I gathered he was pretty lonely. Plus his health was so bad he rarely left his room. He did manage to continue his favorite hobby, wood carving, and he presented me with one of my most treasured possessions. He gave me a wood plaque in which he had carved a young woman sitting in lotus position meditating on a cloud... with the sun, moon, and stars carved around her. My name was on the plaque. I love this plaque not only because it was from him... but because I felt that he knew me as the person that I truly wanted to be. I wanted to be a cool, calming, peaceful influence on people... even if in my own head I'm an ADD maniac. At any rate, he explained to me that he felt calm and happy when he visited me... and I felt wonderful beyond belief. Eventually Mr. Lawrence confessed to me his entire history of alcohol and drug abuse, along with the most heart wrenching story I'd heard from Hurricane Katrina. Essentially he'd been rushed by rising water. His sister and a friend were trying to escape with him through a hole cut in the roof, but were unable to escape and died in the waters. His eyes poured with tears as he talked about his subsequent suicide attempts. He cried. I cried. and I cried some more later. A lot more later.
When Hurricane Gustav came a few weeks later, I couldn't stop thinking about him. I couldn't get him out of my mind. I was so worried, knowing he was in a home.. without anyone to help him and knowing his past experience with hurricanes. I called him. When he told me the home was requiring everyone to evacuate on their own... and then whoever couldn't would be evacuated later by bus, I knew he was terrified. I knew I shouldn't, (patient/doctor...researcher...relationship violated?) but I did. I offered to pick him up and drive him out of town to his sisters home. The relief in his voice was immeasurable and he broke down in tears. I ended up not having to pick him up... another family member sent a friend to get him... but the question is did I do something wrong? Did I get too involved? Or is this simply common decency? Love for fellow humanity? Would it have been different if I was already a physician? I hope I never let those fears get in the way of compassion.
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