Theirs was a simple story. It didn’t make you laugh, it didn’t make you cry. It made you gasp in wonder. It made your heart beat loudly. It strangled your breath and it made you wonder if such a story even existed, if two such individuals were even possible? And because they were, it made the Optimistic You laugh at the Pessimist You.
They were old, conservative doctors. And you walk into their clinic to witness the most incredible of all sights. Why, you ask?
A middle-aged man sat behind the doctor’s table, listening attentively to the patient seated before him. You can see his forehead wrinkled with the exhaustion of empathy and professionalism and the awareness of the sacred trust that a patient places upon his doctor. He is sitting up straight, his posture dignifying his confidence, but his eyes are compassionate; and that is exactly why he is always busy.
But there is something strange, something unusual about him. His left arm is missing, and the right hand is missing some fingers. You look at him and you ask yourself, “How can he examine his patients?” But you see, he absolutely can.
On his right hand, is seated with grace the companion of his life. His wife.
What can be better than putting all those years of medical school to some excellent use by living your dream and by ensuring that your husband gets to live his? Why not? Isn’t that companionship? Isn’t that what men and women have been running after? Time was the sole witness to that.
And that was their story.
She examined the patients – felt their pulse, palpated the tender areas of hyperalgesia that kept them awake at night, and bandaged their wounds. He looked at their patients, careful to not miss out on any detail. Had they been eating properly? Was their cough dry? How often did they experience those headaches?
She felt. He understood. They diagnosed and treated together with a trust that was holy magic and could never go wrong because lives mattered. Together, they evaluated. Their minds worked in sync.They were not two doctors, they were one. There was no competition, how could there be? A biochemist and a pathologist work together for the greater good, and they knew that happily. Sheets of prescriptions became proof of them, of the unbelievable bond that they shared. Diseases were cured, and satisfied patients became their family. Trust thrived and love bloomed.
And this, dear reader, was their simple story.
Now, does that not make you wonder? Does that not make your heart thump loudly? Does it not strangle your breath with the uniqueness of its existence? You see, miracles do happen. Wabi-Sabi does exist. Life is beautiful…with worthy people.
“Don’t be satisfied with stories, how things have gone with others. Unfold your own myth.” – Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, ‘The Essential Rumi’.