My Special Mentor (Part 1)

That is the artist Trinh Long. He was not my art teacher, but a patient I once treated.

Figure 1: Artist Trinh Long

He is an artist and a fine arts lecturer. He was talented in drawing and very dedicated to sports. In 1999, he was only 29 years old, healthy, full of dreams and ambitions. It seemed a bright future was waiting ahead for him.

However, life is not always as beautiful as we dream; it carries unexpected elements, often pushing us into dead ends, or even death.

He could not know that a gloomy future was waiting for him at the very prime of his life.

On an autumn day, while practicing on the horizontal bar, his hands slipped and he fell, flexing his neck. He sustained a transverse fracture of the C7 vertebra with spinal cord paralysis. He fell into severe shock with dropped blood pressure and acute respiratory distress, and was rushed to the emergency department.

I received him and performed endotracheal intubation for mechanical ventilation because he had complete quadriplegia and paralysis of the respiratory muscles, making spontaneous breathing impossible. He was indicated for emergency surgery to stabilize the cervical spine. The surgeon was the Head of the Department of Orthopedic Surgery (a student of Associate Professor Binh).

Once again, we had to struggle to drag him back to life. The tug-of-war between us and the Grim Reaper was sometimes evenly matched. We always felt as if we were standing on a cliff edge; a moment of losing balance would cause us to fall into the abyss, and he would lie down permanently at the prime of his life.

Finally, we won and snatched his life back with the help of a deity... That was his extraordinary willpower and his wonderful mother. We won his life back.

Drawing on the experience of many previous cases, despite countless difficulties, we tried our best to save him because he was so young and full of youthfulness.

He was mechanically ventilated for a whole month via a tracheostomy. Mucus rattled as it was suctioned because his cough reflex was also gone; the nurses had to work very hard to suction his secretions, followed by secondary pneumonia, hospital-acquired infections, and persistent fevers... Weaning him off the ventilator was extremely difficult. One night at 2 AM, the staff called me to the hospital to replace the tracheostomy tube due to an obstruction.

I repeatedly encountered his eyes, which wanted to reject life, full of pathetic entreaty. He signaled to his mother, "Tell Sister Nga to let me die." Despair with water-filled eyes fueled my determination to save him at all costs, even though I had nothing except a standard modern ventilator and two faulty back-up machines used only for temporary patient stabilization.

His elderly mother was gentle, working as a Vietnamese language teacher for foreigners. For a whole month, she never left her son's side for a single step. On days when he refused to eat and wanted to end his fate, she sat beside him and whispered softly. I could not hear what she said, only seeing the bitterness in her eyes, but every time she cared for him, I witnessed in her an extraordinary, persistent resilience and boundless love for her son—a strong, robust young man who was now bedridden and paralyzed, not to mention the constant threat of death looming at any moment.

She remained steadfast even as she watched her son waste away day by day, feeling utterly helpless. The surgeon explained that the spinal column had been stabilized, but we had to wait for the spinal cord to recover over 10 days, 20 days, a month, or even longer. Therefore, both he and his mother were filled with hope. Until nearly a month on mechanical ventilation, his hands and feet showed no signs of movement, making him increasingly despairing.

But his mother did not; she always hoped and looked forward. Under her meticulous care, not a single pressure ulcer developed. She mastered tube feeding, dry bathing, repositioning, and massaging her son as skillfully as a true nurse.

When I kept the patient on prolonged mechanical ventilation, there was no shortage of gossip about reserving the ventilator for this patient instead of another with a higher chance of survival. Often, I felt immense pressure, not knowing what to do or how to decide, because removing the ventilator meant ending his life.

I resorted to assigning staff to perform intermittent bag-mask ventilation and instructed the patient on breathing exercises. After many days of despair, Long seemed to reconsider and became more determined.

His mother's love for him and his love for life made him stronger day by day. An artist of extraordinary willpower. After more than two months of persistent intensive care by the department team, the patient, and his family, Long was able to come off the ventilator and breathe spontaneously: from 1 hour... 2 hours... 3 hours... half a day... 1 day... 10 days, and then 1 month. During those months of struggling with illness, Long rarely smiled. He communicated proficiently through gestures because of his tracheostomy; he spoke in signs rather than vocally.

Finally, Long was discharged. He had a very distinctive breathing pattern typical of someone with respiratory muscle paralysis, which I do not know how to describe.

On the day of discharge, Long's mother cried even more than on the day of his admission. She was joyful and full of hope that her son would recover through years of physical therapy. Surely heaven would not fail her. The farewell for Long's discharge was very brief, but I still remember. I held Long's hand—his hands were emaciated, with complete atrophy of the interosseous muscles, constantly drooping due to paralysis. I said, "Thank you. You are the one who gave us more resilience and helped us realize the true value of our work. Wishing you the best of luck in your recovery!!!"

With tear-filled eyes, his mother handed us an envelope containing 2 million VND. I accepted it and gave it to Ms. Nhung to treat the entire department to a beef noodle soup party, putting the remaining 1 million VND into the fund (guilty of accepting a bribe).

Time passed quickly, and 10 years later I no longer remembered Long. I had a mountain of work, with countless patients waiting for us.

Suddenly one day, I was surprised to receive an invitation: "Cordially invite Dr. Nga to attend the art exhibition of Artist Trinh Long at... Yet Kieu."

Figure 2: Invitation to the art exhibition of Artist Trinh Long

I stood stunned. My eyes blurred with emotion. All memories of Long rushed back. I could not imagine how he could paint with such quadriplegia. Even the most basic tasks like eating and personal hygiene required assistance—things that seemingly everyone could do simply, yet he could not do them. (He still had a urinary catheter for drainage).

블릿 I decided to visit him before the exhibition took place. I brought my young daughter along so she could meet Long and witness the extraordinary willpower of a man who had persevered over the past 10 years.

Some other images of Artist Trinh Long:

P.s. I just want to write about the fates of the people I have met as a tribute to them.

To be continued (because it's too long). Haha

Article source: Vo Thi Tuyet Nga (https://www.facebook.com/share/1ChoeaP4kB/)