One day, I woke up and glanced at myself in the mirror. I
have no complaints, despite of my untamed hair ready to be nested by birds. As I
closely neared my face to my image, I noticed some pimples on my already
mole-content face it looked like a replica of big dipper. My chinita eyes
slowly widened just like in anime, the bathroom walls twisted I feel like I’m
in Milky Way as my tonsil is visible uttering the word “Nooooooo!”. Well of
course, that’s an explicit over rated reaction. I prayed to God that if my
moles are impossible to be removed by an eraser, He can just stop telling my
pimples to go away. I won’t complain if it looks like a Big Dipper.
The Heavy Cross.
I’ve been working as a nurse for years. When I left home, I
took the big risks. My mom used to think that I was crazy. Crazy enough to
leave my US application just like that after passing all the Foreign Exams that
cost her much. Crazy enough to leave my family, my friends, and the comfort of
home. I took the biggest detour of my life. Three months after I left, my
grandmother died. I was in reverie if I did the right decision. For I will
never see her again. Never to hug and kiss her the day I had those last
embrace. I felt like it was a heavy cross too much for me to bear. My being
rebellious, I thought, was taking its toll on me. I wanted to stop being a
nurse.
Days unfolded, yet, every day is a struggle to recuperate.
Until I learned to forgive myself. And managed to dance with the thought that I
cannot undo the time, so I will make the best out of those decisions I made. I
wanted to be a nurse again. Be the best nurse for my patients. I’ll make my grandma
proud.
I don’t know how to elaborate the nature of my job. It knows
no holidays. It knows no seconds, minutes, or hours. Because every moment
counts. It doesn’t care if your tummy is growling, especially if your patient
is deciding to which it will bind: life or death. It’s not oblivious of the
sunrise, or sunset, or raindrops. When your patient is off from the ventilator,
when he starts to mumble words, or even just a slight movement of his finger,
then he becomes your sunrise, your sunset, your drizzle. More beautiful than
the one you can ever paint. You forget the many aching muscles and the emotional
upsets. You forget how heavy your cross is. Because you learned to embrace it.
The Lighter Cross.
I do not handle patients lately. No more night shifts for
almost a year. No more adrenaline rush when the patient goes on flat line. No
more bed baths and smell of sh*t. I have a lighter cross to carry. The ironic
thing is, I missed my days of patient’s contact. That feeling of relief when
you wipe your forehead and say, “whew, that was close”. That feeling of relief
when your doctor says, “we have a pulse”.
So in one cold afternoon,
while the 31-bed new ICU is basking in solitude, I sat down in desolation and conversed with
the Lord.
“How’s your Cross
lately?” He smiled.
Errr, lighter, I
squint. Can I ask You a question? But don’t get mad.
“I’m listening.”
Why did you gave me
those pimples? You know, in the bathroom, front of the mirror.
“Ahh. Those pimples.
You always complain of those moles in your face. Big Dipper, right?”
Errr, yeahhhh. I bit my
lip.
“I heard you bargaining
to keep those moles and that I take those pimples away, instead. Well, your
moles might be a heavy cross for you. So I gave you a lighter one. Your pimples. They are just temporary, it’s an
easy, "lighter" cross. But you wanted me to keep that “heavy cross” instead of
the lighter one.
Kim, I designed you in
a way that you may be able to carry the right cross for you. Not too heavy, not
too light. I gave you paths that are fitting in your journey while you are
carrying that cross. Not so rocky, not so smooth. Just enough so you can pass through it. I gave you people to help you carry it through. Not so many, not so
few. Just good enough so they can bear your pains and joys.
That one day, you’ll
knock at My doorstep, giving back the Cross I gave you. I wanted to see those eyes, those smiles that glitter in pure surrender while I am listening to you saying, “God, thank you for the size of my Cross. It fits so well.”
