Perceptions
" . . . And I Love Her"
A touching story from the Caribbean.
BY JEEVAK LAL, M.D., ALBION, MICH.
The curtain parted. He stood in the passageway. There was a time when he was taller, broader of shoulder -- sturdier. Now he was worn, haggard. His hair, braided, hung at ear level. He sat down, head bowed.
"I haven't slept in three months," he said.
"How come?" I asked.
"My eye." He pointed to his left eye. "Plenty pain." The lids were puffy. Where once was an eye, now sat a mash of disfigured tissue and blood.
"What happened?" I asked.
"The doctor in town took a cataract out. I never see again. The pain is terrible. The doctor says I have an infection, and he can do nothing."
"Where did he operate?"
"In his office," he said.
"How is the other eye?"
"Not so good. Last year another doctor operated for a cataract. It did not do good. That is why I changed doctors."
A cataract had been removed, but the doctor positioned the implant badly. A veil was clouding vision, and glaucoma was doing its dastardly work.
"I can't save the left eye," I said. "It's lost."
He sagged. "Can you help the pain?"
"The eye should come out."
"No. Don't take it out, don't take it out!"
"We could inject alcohol behind the eye. That might kill the nerves and ease the pain." His bowed head nodded.
And this is what we set about.
During the procedure, he gripped my wrist with great strength. His clenched jaws ground, sweat beaded his forehead and his pulse raced. He groaned. While his groan wasn't loud, it was mournful. The groaning eventually ended.
After the procedure, I pulled down my mask and muttered some inane words of comfort, about the worst being over.
"But you almost went into shock," I said. "We can't let you go home today. You'll have to spend the night in the hospital."
He shook his head. "No, Doc, I cannot stay."
"Why?"
"Because of my lady."
"Your lady?"
"Yes. You see, ever since this happened, she has not left me. She has been with me all the time. Even now, she is waiting outside." He pointed to the operating room's swing door. "She will want to look after me."
"But surely she would understand you need to spend the night here?"
"Yes, Doc, but I cannot let her go home alone."
"Why not?"
"You see, we live in a small house at the top of a hill. It is a steep climb along a narrow path."
"But why can't she go alone? It's still early."
"There are snakes along the path. Fer-de-lance, Doc."
"Well," I said, "suppose one of the nurses and I were to take her home. Would you stay?" I looked up at a nurse. She laughed approvingly behind her mask.
"You would do that?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, then I will have to stay!"
"Good. Now, with your permission, I'd like to meet your wonderful lady."
Smiling, I started for the door. He grabbed my wrist again, gently this time. He tugged me toward him, beckoning me to bend closer so no one else might hear. He said softly, "Doc, she not pretty and beautiful. She is a simple girl. And like me, she don't have much schooling. But God give her to me, and I love her."
Want to tell your story? CALL Desiree Ifft at (215) 643-8136, E-MAIL to ifftda@boucher1.com, FAX to (215) 643-3902, or WRITE to 1300 Virginia Dr., Suite 400, Ft. Washington, PA. 19034. Offer a few thoughts, and we will take care of the rest.