My Special Teacher (Part 2)

On the way to Long's house in Hao Nam. I bought a bouquet of red roses to give to him.

Arriving at his house on a late summer afternoon, his mother opened the door and said, "Long, Dr. Nga is here to visit you." I felt a bit ashamed of myself and before him, realizing that over the past 10 years I had forgotten him and had no idea whether he was dead or alive.

I stepped into the room, and what struck my eyes was him lying in the middle of the room on a special bed. His bed was very modern, capable of being tilted, turned, raised, or lowered according to the patient's wishes. Beneath it was a cutout hole with a removable stopper for when he needed to use the toilet. A self-made catheter was rigged to collect urine. But the most striking feature was a system of stainless steel bars connected by overhead ropes and pulleys, allowing the patient to place his hands inside to hold a pen for drawing. Above were wheel axles to help mobilize his paralyzed arms.

I looked at Long, thin and pale. He smiled and greeted me. The house was quite gloomy, with a faint odor of someone who had been bedridden for a long time. A chill ran down my spine, making me shudder and bringing tears to my eyes. Did he live like this? With such a tormented life, how could he possibly have an art exhibition? It was truly extraordinary and hard to imagine. I lowered my head to avoid letting him see the tears rolling down my cheeks. Composing myself after a moment, I talked to him and asked about his life.

The family hired a caregiver to look after him. As it turned out, upon returning home, he had developed a sacral pressure ulcer, which required a skin flap transfer surgery to treat the pressure ulcer, and two admissions to Thanh Nhan Hospital for the treatment of retrograde urinary tract infections. Throughout our conversation, he kept smiling. It was a resolute smile, as if accepting the harsh fate of the past 10 years and fiercely determined to keep living no matter what happened. I still felt overwhelmed with emotion inside. I am usually someone who looks people straight in the eye, but that day I did not dare meet his gaze. I felt deeply heartbroken for his fate. I scolded him for not calling me for help when he went for surgery and hospital admissions. He replied, "I am this disabled, so I have to follow the public healthcare system to use my insurance. The past 10 years have financially devastated my family because of me. I am not allowed to waste my parents' money." I truly felt at fault toward him and his family.

Afterward, he said, "I have a recurrence of my sacral pressure ulcer; do you think I can make it to the exhibition opening?" I agreed and examined him. Good heavens! I couldn't believe my eyes. The ulcer was deeply recessed, eating all the way down to the sacrum, with bright red, inflamed surrounding tissue. It emitted a foul odor. I cleaned and dressed his wound properly and asked, "Does it hurt very much? Sitting up must be difficult. You need a specialized pressure-relieving bed, otherwise making it to the exhibition will be a long shot." I instructed him on hygiene, dressing changes, and wound care, telling him to call me if needed. He gave a bitter smile and said, "I figured I wouldn't be able to attend the opening of my art exhibition, so I made a video clip to be shown at the exhibition instead of an introductory speech, doctor."

He had guessed right. August 5, 2009. He could not attend his own art exhibition because his sacral pressure ulcer was swollen and painful, making sitting impossible and forcing him to lie down.

I sat and talked with him about the years after his discharge, how he had to struggle with life. From eating and personal hygiene to mobility, he had to rely entirely on his mother and the caregiver. He was also fortunate that his mother's students (who were foreigners) pooled money to buy him a multifunctional bed so he could lie and sit on it to pursue his unfinished dream.

The conversation eventually came to an end. I gave him the bouquet of flowers and wished him success. I had 3.2 million VND left in my wallet. I earnestly offered his mother 3 million VND, but she adamantly refused. She wept, tears streaming down her elderly eyes. All her sorrows, anguish, and love for her disabled, unfortunate son seemed to pour out into her cries and lamenting tears. She blurted out, "Why is he so miserable?" I had to plead repeatedly before she accepted, and she did not forget to remind me, "Remember to come to the exhibition, okay?" I thanked her and promised to attend her son's exhibition. My daughter, who had accompanied me in silence from beginning to end, said in the car, "That man is so pitiful yet so resilient, Mom."

His art exhibition was organized by his friends for him when he turned 39 years old.

On the afternoon of August 5, 2009.

After work, I went to Yet Kieu Street to attend the opening of Long's art exhibition. There were a lot of attendees, mostly fine arts school painters, Long's family, friends, and journalists. Surely, only Dr. Nghia (the surgeon) and I were outsiders. From afar, Long's mother spotted me and stepped out to the door to invite me into the exhibition room. She was wearing a purple ao dai, and her face was radiant. For the first time since I had known her, I saw her with such a joyful, glowing expression. She introduced me to a female journalist, then warmly shook hands and greeted others. I joyfully walked in to look for him...

However, just as he had said, he could not be present at the exhibition opening because his ulcer was inflamed, red, and so painfully agonizing that even sitting in a wheelchair was out of the question.

The exhibition opening, titled "Life - Sự sống," took place in a solemn atmosphere. Everyone was choked with emotion when the organizers announced he could not attend due to health reasons. The video clip showcased how he began drawing using an arm-mounted brace system and the hardships he had to endure to conquer himself. Many sniffling sounds of sympathy echoed through the ceremony. Then, portraits of friends, siblings, and nephews appeared sequentially on the screen, along with rural landscape paintings that he could now only paint from his imagination.

The young female journalist from earlier came over to interview me about his time in the hospital. Finally, she said she would publish an article in Lao Dong newspaper. But I declined. I said, "I cannot let you put me in the newspapers. Saving Long was my job. As for Long being where he is today, that is entirely his own resilience. I cannot become famous off the back of a disabled person's resilience." Afterward, Lao Dong newspaper did not run this interview.

At the end of the event, I gave flowers to his mother and told her to take care of her health.

Leaving, my mind was tangled with thoughts about life. I could not be certain what lay ahead for him or how he would continue to live. But I believed he would try his utmost to keep living through the paintings into which he had poured all his strength and intellect over 10 years!

Please view three of his paintings to truly feel everything I have recounted.

To be continued.

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