i am back where i started.
a few months ago i was in the same hospital room sitting on a sofa which doubles as a makeshift bed. taking care of a sick partner. routinely questioned awkwardly of my relation with the patient by medical staff.
friends say its my karma. when they're feeling generous they tone that down to a role i was born to play.
they say: i am mother theresa tending the sick. i am florence nightingale bringing comfort to the infirm. i am juliet binoche-character in the 'english patient'. (i'm partial to the last one since it makes me a french actress that made it to hollywood which, let's face it, better than a saint or a glorified nurse.)
i don't mind. really i don't.
born into a family with siblings with epilepsy and another one with cerebral palsy and autism plus a chain-smoking father with alcohol problems, i am no stranger to people being unwell. it has surrounded me all my life. no wonder my earliest memories include depressive moments of pondering on death as a toddler. i suppose i that made me weird.
everytime someone close gets sick, i feel irrational guilt. why not me?
and when i touch them i say a quiet prayer (and i don't even pray), please take it away. give it to me. i am stronger.
i guess i'm back to where i started even before the time i endured keeping a relationship alive with a man who keeps on getting sick because he drank too much. even after he has left, back to the wife he told me he has divorced, i am back.
i wonder if i have been a virus or some bacteria in a previous life to justify this payback.
this is a new man in my life. and now he's not well and i'm back to the hospital. thinking if i should succumb to thinking the more things change the more they stay the same.
but somehow things are different. now i have to deal with a more demanding patient and i actually like it. and when he says he will try to be well, i actually believe it.
am sick of being scared by my own ghosts. thing is, from the outside, i am healthier than ever. my infirmities are not manifest. maybe somebody needs to 'english patient' me to unravel the bandages that hide the damages.
a few months ago i was in the same hospital room sitting on a sofa which doubles as a makeshift bed. taking care of a sick partner. routinely questioned awkwardly of my relation with the patient by medical staff.
friends say its my karma. when they're feeling generous they tone that down to a role i was born to play.
they say: i am mother theresa tending the sick. i am florence nightingale bringing comfort to the infirm. i am juliet binoche-character in the 'english patient'. (i'm partial to the last one since it makes me a french actress that made it to hollywood which, let's face it, better than a saint or a glorified nurse.)
i don't mind. really i don't.
born into a family with siblings with epilepsy and another one with cerebral palsy and autism plus a chain-smoking father with alcohol problems, i am no stranger to people being unwell. it has surrounded me all my life. no wonder my earliest memories include depressive moments of pondering on death as a toddler. i suppose i that made me weird.
everytime someone close gets sick, i feel irrational guilt. why not me?
and when i touch them i say a quiet prayer (and i don't even pray), please take it away. give it to me. i am stronger.
i guess i'm back to where i started even before the time i endured keeping a relationship alive with a man who keeps on getting sick because he drank too much. even after he has left, back to the wife he told me he has divorced, i am back.
i wonder if i have been a virus or some bacteria in a previous life to justify this payback.
this is a new man in my life. and now he's not well and i'm back to the hospital. thinking if i should succumb to thinking the more things change the more they stay the same.
but somehow things are different. now i have to deal with a more demanding patient and i actually like it. and when he says he will try to be well, i actually believe it.
am sick of being scared by my own ghosts. thing is, from the outside, i am healthier than ever. my infirmities are not manifest. maybe somebody needs to 'english patient' me to unravel the bandages that hide the damages.
