laugh.

“A joyful heart is a good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up the bones.” —Proverbs 17:22

My first patient on neurology department was a sixty-year-old man with tetanus. He was on his 21^st day of medication when I first saw him. I read his medical record, this man came with a general seizure and fever, has spent weeks at the ICU, went through an operation, having a tube placed on his trachea—we call it tracheostomy, and I held my breath as I turned the page after page, imagining what kind of days this man has been going through. Those were days of torture I bet.

This is the first patient I saw on neurology department. A dark-skinned-thin man lying on his bed, with both of his hands fixated to the bed. His eyes were shut. He barely can’t talk because of his jaw spasm and the tracheostomy tube placed on his throat. All I could hear was the sound of his heavy-uneven breath due to the thick sputum on his tube. He coughed a heavy cough occasionally—kind of cough that makes you feel sorry for him.

He was progressing when I was on my sixth days at the hospital. He started to talk though his voice was still unclear. He didn’t have seizures anymore and his medicine was tapered off. He began to take his food via nasogastric tube instead of I.V line. Everything was better, and I felt happy for him. Until one night.

A friend of mine was going to help me to do the sputum suction for this man. We did it regularly to clear his airway so he could breathe easily. But that night, my friend came to me with a terror on her face; she told me that my patient took his tracheostomy tube off by himself.

We freaked out. The tube was his only airway, without the tube it meant that nothing held his trachea and it got a direct exposure to the outer world. Both of us panicked, and suddenly it became a long and sleepless night. We have to observe his respiratory rate, temperature, and oxygen saturation every hour, plus took a good care of his opened wound, and do the suction whenever his sputum blocked the airway.

It supposed to be a quiet night, I kept telling myself. I am tired. And now I have to sacrifice my sleeping hours for this patient. I was mad. I want to blame the patient, I want to blame his family for not accompanying him and let him do this stupid thing. I was exhausted. But on that suffering and cruel night I was stunt.

My friend and I was taking care of this man, when he tried to speak to us. His voice was hoarse, it was mere a whisper and unclear. We couldn’t understand what he told us. He tried. Again and again. And we desperately want to understand him, until my friend said to him that we were sorry, but we couldn’t get it. Then the man gave up, but he laughed. He laughed at us for trying so hard to be able to understand. In the middle of his pain and heavy breath he laughed. He smiled a faint-smile. And for a second my exhaustion washed away. And I laughed.

We laughed.

In the middle of sufferings.

We still can laugh.

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the creed

I am here because there is no refuge,

finally from myself.

Until I confront myself in the eyes

and hearts of others, I am running.

Until I suffer them to know my secrets,

I have no safety from them.

Afraid to be known,

I can know neither myself nor any other,

I will be alone.

Where else but in our common ground,

can I find such a mirror?

Here, together, I can at last appear clearly to myself,

not as a giant of my dreams, nor the dwarf of my fears,

but as a person, part of the whole,

with my share in its purpose.

In this ground I can take root and grow,

not alone any more, as in death,

but alive to myself and to others

—Richard Beauvais

It was one day at a therapeutic community when I found this. They call it the creed and all of the patients—the alcoholic, the drug abusers, say it out loud everyday. Isn’t it remind us a little bit of ourselves? 

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marry a man who climbs

Don’t marry someone who goes on a movie date with you.

Don’t marry someone who treats you a fancy dinner.

Don’t marry someone who pays on your dress.

Instead…

Marry a man who can climb a mountain with you.

Marry a man who can build a tent and don’t whine to spend an entire night in the woods.

Marry a man who knows how to sail through the storm.

Because you can ask anyone to watch a movie with you on Saturday night. Anyone can give you a treat or buy you a brand new dress. But you won’t just choose any random guy to climb a mountain with you. It’s a big thing. You need a real man to do the job.  Because this kind of man knows how to survive. He knows how to outlast the hardships. He knows how to endure things. Because this kind of man won’t leave you in the middle of turmoil. Because this kind of man understands life beyond the superficial, he knows how to live. He knows how to hang on and he knows when to take a move.

Then, marry this kind of man.

picturetakenfrom:pinterest.com

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breathe.

You are a tiny existence.

With those tiny hands. And that tiny body. And those tiny feet. Holding on a tiny crack of soil.

And every drop of pouring rain is aching aching aching your whole body and you are gasping for air trying to breathe just breathe just breathe breathe that only word you keep remind your lungs not to forget. Breathe.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Breathe no matter what. Breathe though you are shivering cold. Breathe though you don’t know how to keep yourself together. Breathe though it hurts so much you want to shriek.

Breathe.

Stay alive.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Breathe through the agonizing pain.

Just breathe.

Hold on.

Hold on.

A little more. A little more. Hold on. Hold on. Just hold on. Just hold on a little more.

You can do it.

You can do it.

You can do it.

You can do it.

You can do it.

You can do it.

You can do it.

You can do it.

Yes.

You can do it.

You will do it.

Cause it is just another storm to go through. Another sleepless and awful night to stand.

And you’ll win it.

Restored and refreshed.

Stronger than before.

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salju musim panas

Suhu udara siang itu sanggup memanggang siapa pun yang berani berdiri di bawahnya. Tapi, tentu saja bukan Saski namanya kalau mau kalah dengan matahari. Pukul tiga, dan ia sudah siap di lapangan softball, mendahului teman satu timnya yang lain.

‘TAK!’

“Awww!”

Siapa sangka, satu pukulan salah sasaran hari itu sanggup membawanya duduk bersisian dengan Hans hari ini.

“What if I didn’t hit you that day?” Saski menyeruput kuah baksonya.

“Kita masih tetap akan ketemu di pestanya Emilia Aditirta,” Hans membetulkan posisi duduknya. Duduk di emperan kompleks sambil menikmati semangkuk bakso seperti ini adalah kegiatan yang menyebalkan bagi Hans, tapi toh ia lakukan juga demi Saski, gadis yang—diam-diam, sudah berhasil mencuri hatinya beberapa bulan terakhir.

Saski mengangguk. Ia nggak pernah menyangka orang asing yang nggak sengaja terkena pukulan bolanya, adalah orang yang sama dengan laki-laki yang menumpahkan cocktail ke dress putih gadingnya di tengah pesta. Tapi berkat kejadian itu, pesta yang dihadiri Saski karena dipaksa Ibu jadi nggak semembosankan perkiraannya. Ia jadi bisa berkenalan dengan Hans—seorang ekspat keturunan Belanda-Indonesia yang kebetulan sedang berlibur di Jakarta.

“Lo harus banget balik ke Belanda?” Ada nada kecewa yang gagal disembunyikan Saski dalam pertanyaannya.

“Kan gue udah bilang, gue emang nggak lama di sini,” Hans mencoba menikmati semangkuk bakso terakhirnya sebelum meninggalkan Jakarta—meninggalkan Saski. Namun setiap suapan yang masuk ke mulutnya terasa tawar, sehambar suasana hatinya.

Saski tidak menanggapi—yang justru membuat Hans semakin tidak tahu harus bicara apa. Kalau berbicara soal kepergiannya, Saski bisa mendadak jadi pendiam, berbeda 180 derajat dengan kepribadiannya yang sehangat musim panas.

“Di Belanda ada salju, kan ya?” Saski tiba-tiba menoleh ke arah Hans. Tersenyum dengan mata yang berbinar, berusaha mengenyahkan kesedihannya. Seperti yang dilakukannya ketika gadis itu gagal masuk ke pertandingan final softball dan Hans harus menghiburnya seharian. Hans ingat Saski juga tersenyum seperti itu saat akhirnya mereka memilih duduk menonton marathon serial Grey’s Anatomy di penghujung hari.

“Gue pengen deh ke sana,” Saski menopangkan dagu di atas kedua lututnya.

“Nanti ya, gue ajak lo ke sana kalau gue udah jadi eksmud,” Hans tertawa kecil sambil mengacak-acak rambut Saski, membuat gadis itu jadi semakin berat menahan air mata yang hampir menggelincir melalui sudut matanya.

“Nggak ah,” Di luar dugaan, Saski malah menggeleng. “Sebelum lo bisa bawa gue ke sana, gue pasti udah bisa nyusul lo. Pake duit gue sendiri”.

Hans terdiam sejenak, tapi kemudian tersenyum simpul. Satu lagi yang ia suka dari Saski adalah semangatnya yang selalu ’45. Seperti saat gadis itu mengajak teman-temannya untuk mengadakan pasar kaget demi menggalang dana untuk Pak Tjipto—tukang sapu sekolah mereka yang sakit keras. Iya, Saski selalu punya energi ekstra untuk hal-hal yang menurut ‘Hans’ ajaib.

“Kita liat aja siapa yang duluan sukses,” Tantang Hans.

Saski mengangguk mantap. “Gue nggak akan kalah”.

“Gue juga,”Balas Hans.

Saski berharap mereka dapat terus seperti ini. Duduk bersisian. Menghabiskan waktu bersama, membicarakan apa saja yang bermain dalam benak mereka. Hari-hari yang dihabiskannya bersama Hans terasa terlalu singkat.

“It was a great summer vac, Sas. Really. Thanks to you,”  Hans menatap semburat jingga yang mewarnai langit. Kedua sudut bibirnya tertarik ke atas.

“And it’s kinda magical for me, Hans.”

“Until we meet again”.

“Yeah. Until we meet again”.

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