The Bench by Dr. Mitzi Aportadera

This article was written by my best friend, Dr. Mitzi Aportadera in her column in ADZUNLIMITED.
VITAL SIGNS

The Bench

I was in my second year of medical school when I saw the lowly decrepit bench at the nurses’ station. Its wooden surface pockmarked and darkened with age. I could hardly muster the nerve to sit on it for fear of the microorganisms and whatever fauna it housed in its cracks. It was an ecosystem by itself. This was my first day of clinical exposure and armed with my new-found knowledge of microbiology and parasitology; I feared the possibility of hospital-acquired infections.
In my third year; this lowly and humble bench and I met again. We wore white skirts in those days and the nurses warned us to watch were we sat lest we fall prey to the numerous blood-sucking insects we would find lurking in old furniture. (No wonder the nurses preferred trousers to skirts). I ran the risk of varicose veins from standing with all the endurance my feet and legs could muster. I couldn’t stand the thought of being a of these insect’s buffet for fear of any blood borne parasites they could transfer into me.
In my last year of medical school; we took 36 hour shifts at the hospital. The rite of passage into entering the world of the physician was filled with obstacles- like tons of scut work; ward calls and referrals; charts to fill out; blood extractions to be made. I would be so exhausted from running around the hospital trying to get all the scut work done. Scut work , in a layman’s definition, meant all the menial tasks that we medical students do. It comprised following up all laboratory results; inserting iv fluids; measuring patients’ input and output; taking a patient’s vital signs and inserting a variety of tubes into the different orifices of the human anatomy. By midday; I was worn out. And forgetting my morbid fear of the little brown bench; I plopped down on it and took my break. In less than hour; I became brunch for the tiny creatures that emerged from its fissures. I looked down on my legs and I found the evidence to prove it. Notwithstanding the itching from their tiny bite marks; I marveled at how efficient they were at blood extraction. They were better at it than I was.
My foray into residency; brought me face to face with sleepless nights. I would be awake for 48 hours with more than 50 patients under my care for my shift in the wards. I had to do surgeries and intensive monitoring of the critically ill. Life was certainly not the least bit easy. I learned to catnap at every chance I got. I caught a few winks while waiting in line at the x-ray department with my patient or in the lull of the early morning hours when most patients were asleep. Sleep was indeed a luxury and I would have paid a king’s ransom to have the comforts of my bed; a clean blanket with the lights turned off. I longed for a leisurely hot shower without the sound of my beeper calling my attention to some task that needed to be done.
It was on one of these so-called “toxic” nights that brought me closer to my friend- the little brown bench. Toxic is hospital slang for shifts wherein work loads are tremendously heavy and when there are a lot of patients to take care of. I had just finished assisting three (3) major surgeries early that evening and I was groping my way up the stairs to check on the wards. Dragging my exhausted feet along the hallway; I looked and assessed each referral brought to my attention by the nurse on duty. It looked like there was no end in sight. To compound to my woes; I had to study for a surgical conference the very next morning.
So when the ward quieted down; I managed some “alone” time at three in the morning. I grabbed my 5 inch thick Schwartz’s Textbook of Surgery and leafed through its pages. Nothing was registering in my tired brain. All the words just swam around before my eyes and I simply couldn’t make sense of any of it. It was at that moment; when the room spun around in circles, that I saw the little brown bench. It looked as inviting as an eiderdown mattress. I could not resist it calling to me to lie down and catch a few minutes of luxurious sleep. I almost succumb to the temptation; when I remembered that I would be fodder for the little creatures that would probably be wanting for a midnight snack. Yet , fatigue got the best of me. I gave in. But not before dousing its surfaces with alcohol. Using my book as a pillow (I subtly hoped for the impossible- that knowledge would diffuse into my brain); I plopped right on the little brown bench. And for that night; the little brown bench was my little piece of heaven, my five-star hotel accommodation. And I wouldn’t have traded that little bench for all the goose-feather mattresses in the world.

Sincere Forgiveness

When you hold resentment toward another, you are bound to that person or condition by an emotional link that is stronger than steel. Forgiveness is the only way to dissolve that link and get free. – Catherine Ponder

I need a garbage bin to accommodate my idiosyncrasies and resentments which I decided to throw away few days ago. No more litanies of excuses this time. If I desire to make my life peaceful and happy, then I must learn to forgive sincerely. The process is evidently not easy as I perceived. Each day I combat with my pride and temper, so overpowering that I need to pray hard not to yield to this imminent peril. I realize that the more determined I become, my will is equally met with potent temptations.

I told myself many times that I’m a forgiving person. I thought I was because some of my good friends said so. I claimed humility as my virtue. I was so comfortable of my alleged forgiving character thinking that it was my edge against those who treat me as their enemy and those who refuse to see my good heart. I reasoned out that there would always be a time for redemption - a day of realization for my detractors. I was hoping for a day of realization but at the back of my mind, I was really yearning for a day of regret for those who mistreated me particularly those whom I have forgiven but continued to treat me unfairly, treacherously and unreasonably. For many years, this was my travesty of forgiveness and humility. I slowly gave up my trusting nature which I used to cultivate when I was younger and less vulnerable from emotional abuse. I armed myself a pretentious heart caught in the incongruity of goodness and deceit. It was easy for me to say, “I forgive you” even more easier in pretending that I forgot all about the pain and miseries dumped into my life. I laughed, hugged, cried and comforted my detractors but deep inside, my conscience dictated for more true and sincere forgiveness from my heart. Believe me, there was no hypocrisy when I shared my concern and emotions to those who have wronged me. My feelings were indeed genuine as they were rooted from my human sentiments, an offshoot of man’s compassionate nature. If so, what then is my problem?

The question merely evolves on my ability to give back my full trust and sincere affection to those whom I claimed I have forgiven. I gave my forgiveness easily, re-established good relations instantly but the fulfilment and satisfaction I experienced were however short-lived. From time to time, I found myself reassessing the once severed relationships equating my forgiveness with reciprocity and good faith. My forgiveness was conditional and qualified. It has no flexibility as it existed like a contract imposed with onerous terms and conditions. It worked only on circumstances when reciprocity and good faith were evenly shown to me. Absent of these conditions, I remained suspicious, untrue and sometimes vindictive. I saw my bleeding heart condoning each selfish, manipulative and exploitative act done against me conceiving beforehand that this incident is repetitive and so bound to happen again.

God is a healing God. He is perfect as he heals not only the sick but also those who hold a wounded heart. The turning point of my realization began when God instantly responded to my prayer – my prayer to save someone very dear to my heart from risks of illness. I was praying very hard this time not for myself or for my personal benefits or convenience but for somebody who is closely attached to my life. This was also the moment God slowly explained and manifested to me unconditional forgiveness. How? I asked his forgiveness for my hypocrisy and he right away answered my prayers. His message was so profound. His forgiveness was unconditional for me to enjoy ultimately the fulfilment of the decision I made – my decision to ask for His forgiveness!

The overwhelming lesson I learned recently, there can be no contentment if forgiveness is conditional because it is wanting of God’s intervention. When one forgives, his forgiveness must bear God’s unconditional love. There must be an unwavering promise to forget and heal the wound. Just think about the many times we have hurt God and still he remains forgiving and patient to our imperfections. So there is no reason not to forgive those who constantly hurt us. True forgiveness will bring so many unexpected blessings. It will allow you to experience tranquillity and God like humility. It is also a worthwhile discovery that realization will come unmonitored or unscripted, as it operates by itself in moving the hearts of those who wronged others. Sarah Paddsion quoted, “sincere forgiveness is not colored with expectations that the other person apologizes or changes. Don’t worry whether or not they understand you. Love them and release them. Life feeds back truth to people in its own way and time.

It is so inspiring to hold and cherish Robert Muller’s insight on forgiveness. He said, “to forgive is the highest, most beautiful form of love. In return, you will receive untold peace and happiness.