In February 2002 we conducted a
workshop on what we called ‘Whole Person Care (WPC)’ for the WPC teams from 8
of our hospitals. We taught that we should not treat people who come to our
hospitals as statistical numbers but treat them as people who are just like us
‘made in the image of God’. We spent hours on how to ‘listen’ to them by being
sensitive to the language of their emotions. Similarly we also taught how we
ought to convey to them our love, concern and acceptance to them through all
channels of communication. I took the morning devotion one day and we meditated
on how Jesus dealt with the sick and suffering who came to him from the plains
and hills of Galilee and Judea. We meditated on how Jesus ‘was filled with
compassion’, ‘took pity’, go to the patients’ homes, touched individual
patients, touched lepers and the unclean, called them by their names, even
touched ‘the coffin of a young person who died’ before he brought him back to
life, went to the tomb of Lazarus and wept with Mary and Martha. Here was the
Great Physician reaching out to people and communicating with them through
extensive use of body language, the language of emotions, of sympathy and
empathy, of love and concern and acceptance. I myself was greatly moved and challenged
even as I delivered the message that morning. My attitude matters, a few kind
words, a small exercise of the facial muscles as we grinned – all these matter
so much. It can make a great great difference in the world for a person
especially one who is rejected and despised as one who has an infection with
HIV and doubly so if he has a background of being an injecting drug user.
About two months later I stood
face to face with the test of what all I had ‘sermonized’ on that memorable
morning. MM is my brother in law. He has been a drug addict since he was in
his late teen and even today twenty years later he is still a drug addict. He
had been a junior football player representing the state of Manipur in his
school days. He has been through many of the drug rehabilitation programs
during the past 15 years or so. He had been through tough programs like jails
and jail like situations. Delhi Sahara House has been like his ‘second home’ or
more correctly his first home since the past 7/8 years. He is a tough one or
perhaps a lucky one as he had nearly died by overdose at least three times and
every time he was revived with the magic ‘Nalorphine’ that was available only
in black market at an exorbitant rate of Rs1000/- or more. He was lucky I must
say because one time it was so while he was in a Jail and he was brought to us
at the nick of time by the panic-stricken jail authorities. He was also lucky
not to acquire HIV for a pretty long time unlike his contemporary
drug-injecting friends. He and I tested our blood prior to donating our blood
to his father when the latter was operated upon in 1994. We were then very
pleased to know he was still free of the infection and advised and admonished
him to be extremely careful to avoid getting infected with HIV. But he could
not hold it off for very long. He could not stop using drug and as a family we
could not condone his drug use and his habit of battering away family
belongings everyday. He took his injection surreptitiously and could not avoid
sharing needles and syringes. Of course he stopped drug use many times in
between and then relapsed back again and again and again. When he is sober, he
is really a nice guy, lovable and loved by all. With his salary he would buy us
gifts that would bring us to tears. So good, only regret is that it never
lasts. When he is under pressure of the need to procure drugs urgently he could
become extremely rude and called us names and gave us threats of all kinds.
During the past few years our routine has been something like this – a vicious
cycle of relapse, running way from the rehab centre, days in the street that
finally ended in our doorsteps. Without exchanging many words we would
co-exist, then gradually fall into small talks and laughs, then again relapsing
from home, then an ultimatum for him to make a choice of three or four rehab
options whence he invariably would choose to go back to Sahara House where he
knew somehow because his and also perhaps my good relationships with the house
leaders he would somehow be given yet another chance. The vicious cycle gets
repeated every now and then much to the chagrin of my own children who could
not understand why we had such a soft corner for him.
This summer in 2002 when he
landed up in our house, it was somehow different. He came from the street
looking haggard, tired and malnourished. I knew tough love was called for, so I
spoke very little to him. However I was in a fix. I asked myself ‘what would
Jesus do’? What kind of expression would he convey to him? My children asked me
how long was he going to stay with us, as our house was pretty full with two
other relatives staying with us. I did not say anything to any one except
telling my wife quietly that she should not send him away unless he himself
chooses to leave. I just could not imagine myself packing him off to the street
in the summer heat of 40+ degrees Celsius. As he stayed on, I asked myself –
how about the body language of love, what about a small smile in my face, how
about a nudge if not a touch to show I care and I love and most importantly
that my God cares for him. I just could not bring myself to do any of these
somehow. I knew I failed in all the ‘body languages’ that I was passionately
speaking about. Everyday I felt defeated. Three days back he went to Delhi Positive
Network Plus (DPN +) Office where he found out that his ‘abstract’ (“Coping HIV
without antiretroviral”) has been accepted for poster presentation at Barcelona
International AIDS Conference. I got him a scholarship application form from
the Internet and he was quick to fill them up furiously. I never knew that he
has a good command of English. He did not even need to ‘draft’ but completed
the form in just one attempt. Later I typed them up for him so that it would
look even more neat. Unfortunately we
found out later that the last date for applying scholarship was already over. I
frantically sent out an SOS to some Positive Network people I knew abroad
knowing too well that it is most likely to be of no avail really.
He could never give up smoking
and I suspected that most probably he was also taking a combination of some
hard drugs. He frequently asked money especially to his nephews and nieces.
Sometimes some money mysteriously disappeared from ‘purses’ and I would be
informed about it later. I knew I needed to confront him and pull him up. I
knew I could not allow this to go on, as it would send the wrong signal. Today
it had happened again. Rs.500 earmarked and kept for a small machine part to be
sent home to Manipur was lost and I had to cover it. That was like the last
straw that broke the camel’s back. I knew I would have to confront him now and
inform him that unless he mends and changes his way, I could not allow him to
stay with us any longer. Before I could speak those words, may be he read my
mind and understood my body language. He quietly started packing his
belongings. He had told me earlier that once Director of Sahara House returns
back to Delhi he would go back to there and we knew the Director was expected
back yesterday. I thought, may be, he was preparing to go there. He quietly
picked up his backpack – a small one that can hold all his earthly possessions
I believe – and started to open the door. As he was leaving I asked him where
he was heading for – he replied that some of his friends are going home and he
is also going to go home with them!
The sense of failure I felt
brought me close to tears. In 1994 I left my job in the government with a sense
of call to serve people like him, the recurring motivational theme being ‘beauty
for ashes’, ‘oil of gladness instead of mourning’. As he walks away I was
overwhelmed with a sense of emptiness, helplessness, defeat and failure. “Lord
I cannot love. I cannot change him. I cannot do it. Lord you alone love. You
alone can change. You alone can do it.” Will he ever change? Or will he
continue to use drugs till he is too weak to look for them? “Sovereign God, you
alone can make the difference”.
Today we ended the day with his
nephew reading the Daily Bread for 20th May 2002. It talked about
the songwriter Thomas A. Dorsey who in 1932 was overtaken with grief by the
demise of his pregnant wife with the child during childbirth while he was away
ministering God’s word. In grief, he composed the famous song:
Precious Lord,
take my hand, Lead me on, let me stand;
I
am tired, I am weak, I am worn;
Through the
storm, through the night, lead me on to the light;
Take my hand,
precious Lord, lead me home.
And through the darkness of the
night, I recalled the powerful voice of the famous singer Jim Reeves who
immortalized this song or who this song immortalized and I clung to the words
of the hymn for comfort and for peace.
As I reflected back, I realized
that ‘caring’ as a one of encounter or bedside caring as we make hospital
rounds is easier. However a consistent and sustained caring is almost humanely
impossible. An example of sustained ‘caring’ such as was reportedly done by a
retired missionary doctor for his wife with Alzheimer’s disease for 15 long
years was perhaps an exceptional one. My experience with MM also reminded me
how many many times I myself had been unfaithful to God and yet for umpteen
times how he allowed me to come back to him again and again. In the Bible
Israel had prostituted against Jehovah as many as 300 times and yet divine love
still accepts them again and again. To be able to love ‘even as I (Jesus) love
you’, we need Him to do it through us. Meanwhile even a ‘cup of cold water
given in his name’ is however never missed. As we suffer with those who suffer,
may be we perhaps are completing the suffering of Christ as St Paul said in his
pastoral letter.
LK 25/05/02 9 PM
No comments:
Post a Comment