Mindfulness

A relative warned me about the person sharing the semi-private hospital room with my father-in-law. He looks like a gang member, a young Chinese guy with body jewellery, I was told. Did you talk to him?, I asked. No, was the reply, he was too scary-looking.

We went down to VGH later that evening. The roommate was asleep, the mouth of his foreign face agape, and shirtless, his slight brown upper body showing. I told Shaula and Matthew to keep it down. As Betty's father recounted his day, he mentioned that his roommate was scheduled for some scans and exploratory tests. Betty's dad took in much of what the doctors and nurses said because his roommate spoke only Cantonese and required the services of a translator.

My father-in-law has since returned home. Before his discharge, he overheard the results of his neighbour's tests—there was little anyone could do to save him. The patient asked the doctors whether going to the US could result in a different outcome, and was told no, his liver cancer was too advanced.

The "gang member", the "scary-looking" tough guy, I would learn, spent much of the time during my father-in-law's two-night stay in agony, sobbing, in tears—crying.