Everlasting Love
Mr Y was in his nineties, one of my oldest patients. He was thin, bent, and wrinkled but still had a head full of grey hair. A quiet man, he impressed me with his unending devotion to his elderly wife with Parkinson’s Disease and his forty-plus son with Down’s syndrome.
One day, Mr Y’s middle-aged son came to see me. ‘Can you come to my house to see my mother? She is bedridden.’ It was 11 am. I went after work instead.
Mrs Y stayed in a terrace house in the middle of town. When I reached the house, I saw a friendly old man who welcomed me after tying up his dog. The front of the house was cultivated with sweet potato. The nutritious green leaves were crawling all over his front garden.
Mr Y was fit and slim. He used to stay on a bigger farm. Now, their children are old and unable to farm, so their children have bought the couple this comfortable place to stay. Mrs Y was sitting in a wheelchair with her head bent forward. She had Parkinson’s disease. Her wheelchair was modified with a wooden seat. She could barely hear when I spoke. However, she gave a very slight nod and inclined her head. I saw some tears rolling down her cheeks when I gave her a vitamin injection at her family’s request.
She had bed sores from the prolonged immobility. A rattan mat replaced the mattress for easier cleaning. To better view her sores, she was wheeled into her bedroom, a sparsely furnished room with a wooden double bed with four poles. ‘I changed her dressings twice a day,’ said Mr Y quietly, unobtrusively.
What else could I do but salute this humble old man for having looked after his invalid wife for the past eight years, feeding, nursing, and talking to her. I am sure that his children would have been inspired by his devotion. Mr Y came to Sarawak at 16 and became a vegetable farmer. His faithful wife toiled beside him to raise a family of six children doing well in society.
‘Can you have a look at my son too? He has a sore on his leg.’ Mr Y asked me as I came out of the room. Ah Ming was mild-mannered, forty-plus, slightly on the heavier side. He had Down Syndrome, the youngest child. Mr Y said,’ I clean his sore twice a day.’ Indeed, Mr Y lived to care for his disabled wife and son.
One day, a visitor came. It was his eldest daughter who stayed in Guangzhou. She was a bubbly person who fussed over her mother. She told me about the beautiful part of China she stayed, near Yellow Mountain. ‘I have been to see my mother a few times since she became ill.’, she said as she dutifully fed her porridge. It was to be her last contact with her mother.
Mrs Y died two months later. It was Christmas day. I received a phone call. ‘This is Mr Y’s son. My mother stopped breathing just now. Can you come to see her?’ I did. Mrs Y had indeed breathed her last.
Mr Y still comes to see me for minor illnesses. He still drives his old boneshaker. He is still his quiet self. Life goes on.
Loh Yunn Hua
Yunn Hua is still practising in Primary Care and Occupational Health and Safety in Miri, Sarawak, when not travelling. Her interests are exploring, reading, writing, and music. Her favourite quotation is, ‘Life is not measured by the number of breaths we take, but by the moments that take our breath away."
