Observation

I have never lost anyone close to me. My entire family is alive and well. It is something -I am ashamed to admit- I always took for granted. In living a happy life I always ignored the subject of death, away from my thoughts and dreams. I was naïve to do so. In the summer of 2011, when my aspirations called me into the world of medicine I chose to intern at the Children’s Hospital of Fudan University in Shanghai. As a high school student I did not do any work but rather observe and learn. I was fascinated by what I saw. The human body in full display. Its seducing complexity I stopped seeing a human being and began recognizing a work of art. I soon realized my ignorance. I had forgotten about the daily complications in this field. As I walked out of the hospital after a long day I came across a woman weeping. I usually left through another exit and seldom walked through the hospital lobby. This was not the only woman to have mourned a loss here. She was young. She had, on her feet, worn-down bright pink flip-flops; her legs covered with black Capri pants and a wrinkled shirt with Chinese letters that were unrecognizable to me. Had I known to speak the language and what to say I would have, but the language barrier prevented this. Without a word I walked out of the hospital and hailed a cab. The entire way to my apartment I thought about the woman. I would never know the reason for her sadness and it bothered me. The next day at the hospital, a new perspective was born inside me. Every time a kid came into the O.R. crying, I comforted him, played with him. I heard something irregular on the heart monitor, I became the concerned sibling. There was nothing I could do of course to prevent the outcome of the operation, but my previous image of the human body as a work of art was quickly erased. I now saw someone’s brother or sister. Someone’s kid, someone’s everything. Once you see someone at the brink of death, you realize how fragile human life is.