A ‘Yattch’ (a Yacht) A Pretty Girl, and a Million Dollars.” (Hold on to Hope)
I got sidelined today with a stomach bug that’s been going around. Don’t worry; it’s already on the mend. I did manage to get in a half day at work, catch up on the paper work, and see a few folks sicker than me. Then it was on to the house.
I don’t like being sick any more than the next guy, but I guess if a man never was sick he wouldn’t know what is means to be well. For a doc it is a good time to reflect on the plight of your patients. Some of them are sick with terminal illness, and they feel bad every day. Most of them handle it with a quiet dignity you can’t help but admire.
I recall one old fellow who spent many of his last days in the hospital. (This was before Hospice). When I made rounds, I’d usually close with the question, “Is there anything else you need?”
This man was frail, and all alone; his wife long since deceased. He’d struggle to pull himself up in the bed and sit up a bit. “Yeah Doc, if you would, I’d like a ‘yattch,’ (a yacht) a pretty girl, and a million dollars.”
I’d reply, “I’m afraid I ain’t got that.”
He’d look up, smile, and say, “Okay. You come back tomorrow anyway,” then curl up under the sheets.
I’d straighten up his covers and say, “Well, I tell you brother, as soon as come across all that, I’m gonna let you know.”
Really all I had to offer the man was morphine and kind words, but you just can’t take dreams away from anyone. Every day till he died I think he held out hope tomorrow would be a better day. I admire that simple grace.
I’ve got the pretty girl, but the yattch and the million bucks are a ways off. Maybe tomorrow, who knows?
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