The end of December 2012..
I admit something not so new,
They hate me, and I hate them. It's a mutual feeling.
10 Dec 2012
The conversation is so bright, the master, his patient, and us.
The master kidding, smiling, and sharing.
Things I love…
-Please, can you sit upright for us?
His skin looks light brown, except for the areas of palms and soles, which are frankly pale.
Things I notice…
-would you mind if we check you for a while?
-not at all.
A student starts to examine him, his hands, his face, earthy face, his sights, pretending to be comfortable , he doesn’t seem to frighten us, he is so ready to help us.
-let's check for his breathing from the back of his chest. He's a good patient, and so cooperative.
-Nowadays, within the full bank of patients we have, almost rarely to find a patient willing talk to us or let us examine him/her. Everybody is wailing for their destiny, everybody just wants to leave, and only leave, with no more question!-
The latter two lines are both engaged between the new young master and me. His English language is so close to my heart, and my words seem so close to his.
The tears in my eyes, I so hard can protect.
The master starts telling us how to examine the chest, from inspection to auscultation , passing over palpation and percussion. The master asks everyone to do it and I get to feel so confused.
-Please, I want you to hug this pillow as if you never hugged a pillow before! – so that his chest gets fully extended from the back- The master asks him with a kind of humor.
And he hugs it, so strong, he wants to obey, wants to help.
I so calmly approach him, the earthy-colored skin man, I so want to ask him, if I may hurt him or not , but something prevents me; it is the very thing protecting my tears.
I put my hand over his back, I try to do percussion, my hands all tremble, from the little to the middle finger, my thumbs feel so stony stiffed.
The master helps me firmly press my hand over the earthy colored back, and I percuss. He also asks me, like the others, to listen to the bruit within a lump over his left arm. I put the stethoscope with big worries inside me over it, and the earthy man drag it closer, so that the diaphragm is fixed on the right position, and I don’t know how to thank him.
My master also talks about my voice, "a very very high pitched voice you've got!! And I thing next time I should ask someone if you ever have a key specific for raising your voice a little!! Just a little!!" he laughs further.
His words and the surroundings are so blurred, more tears I have to shed. I do shed.