[fsug-calicut] WE MAKE A LIVING BY WHAT WE GET; WE MAKE A LIFE BY WHAT WE GIVE
- From: Shabjahan Paramba <SParamba@xxxxxxxxx>
- To:
- Date: Sun, 13 Jul 2003 10:20:29 +0400
Dears, a story from Duane which may enlighten you to do something for the
society !!
We share because we care
WE MAKE A LIVING BY WHAT WE GET; WE MAKE A LIFE BY WHAT WE GIVE."
An article by : Duane Hulse
It was the night before Christmas, and all through the evening I
reminisced, fondly reliving past Christmases spent with my family. As a
second year nursing student, just nineteen, this was to be the first
time I wouldn't be home on Christmas. Although I knew I would someday be
working on Christmas, I never expected to feel this lonely.
Secluded in my room, I yearned for the mouth-watering aromas of mom's
freshly baked cookies, hot chocolate and love. The absence of the usual
giggling, slamming doors and ringing telephones made the dormitory seem
cold and empty.
The unappetizing smell of disinfectant replaced my visions of cookies
and cocoa.
Standing in front of the mirror, I conversed with my reflection. "You
wanted to be a nurse didn't you? Well, you're almost a nurse. Now is
your chance to find out what Christmas spirit really means." Determined
to make the best of it, I turned in early.
"I'll be home for Christmas. You can count on me..." My faithful
clock-radio announced reveille as I slowly dragged myself out of a
toasty-warm bed trudged across the snow-filled street and grabbed a
quick breakfast in the cafeteria before reporting for duty on the
medical-surgical unit.
As I prepared to take vital signs on my first patient, I was startled by
a robust voice that came from behind. "Merry Christmas to you. Want
anything from the cafeteria? I'm headed that way Missy."
As I took the stethoscope out of my ears and turned around, from the
dimly lit room I could see a gigantic, roly-poly elderly gentleman with
long, curly hair, all decked out in a bright red, plaid shirt tucked
haphazardly into baggy red trousers. The trousers appeared to be held up
by only two, wide, fire-engine-red suspenders that had long since
outlived their elasticity. This Santa Claus facsimile was standing in
the doorway waiting patiently for an answer to his query. The only thing
missing was the beard.
As I looked toward the bright hallway lights from the darkened room, I
thought for a moment that I was dreaming. "No thanks," I responded. "I
just came on duty. I'll grab something at lunch."
Before disappearing down the hall he added, "My name is George. Just let
me know what I can do for you, Missy. I'll be right back."
As I cared for my patients, George was right alongside. I watched him
spread holiday cheer as he became a guest to the patients who had no
visitors that day. When trays arrived he knew who needed assistance and
who needed to be fed. He read letters and cards to those whose eyes
could no longer see the letters on a printed page. George's powerful
body and tender hands were always ready to help hold, turn, pull-up or
lift a patient. He was a "gopher" who made countless trips to the supply
room for the "needs of the moment."
George also knew when to call for help. While reading a letter to Mr.
Jenkins, George noticed that the patient suddenly started to "look
funny" and instantly ran to the nurse's station to summon aid. Thanks to
George's swift action, we managed to reverse the effects of an impending
diabetic coma.
Jovial George clearly enjoyed helping others while he spread cheer and
told jokes-the same jokes, over and over again, all day long, one
patient at a time. We all enjoyed his presence that Christmas day.
When I finally took my lunch break, I was surprised to find the
cafeteria elaborately decorated for the season. I sat down next to one
of the staff nurses from the unit. During lunch with Andrea, I had the
chance to ask a burning question. "Who is this George fellow? And why is
he here on Christmas Day?"
"About ten years ago, George's wife became seriously ill. He spent
almost every waking moment by her side. Those two lovebirds were so
devoted to one another. There was nothing he wouldn't do for her."
Andrea stopped for a few moments, sipping her coffee in silence, before
continuing.
"George started to visit other patients while his wife was sleeping or
having treatments. He was here so much that he seemed to take naturally
to helping out wherever he could."
My natural curiosity made me ask, "Does he have any family?"
A serious look came over Andrea's face as she continued. "They never had
children, and as far as I know, there are no relatives. But you see,
George watched his wife suffer for a very long time. He shared every
second of her pain and anguish. On Christmas Eve night, after I prepared
his wife for sleep, they prayed together. During the prayer, George
promised his wife that if God would take away her misery that night, by
taking her 'home,' he would spend the rest of his life as a Christmas
volunteer."
Andrea and I finished our lunch in silence.
Shabjahan Paramba
Engineering Dept.
CCC - KMWC Project, Kazakstan.
Mobile : 007333-5586373
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