Beauty To Me


It was in a little town called Gargue, off North of the Atlantic. I remember the rains had graced the earth that morning, and a sickly moist had found its way into the air. I was sitting upright on my bed, waiting for the nurses to come take me over to the x-ray room to run some tests. To kill time, I had watched as the rains fell lazily onto the grounds, from the little window beside my bed. I recall sighing in frustration and trying to focus my attention somewhere else instead. I hated the rain.


That was when I noticed him. He was wrapped up in a thick duvet with a foot sticking out. He made a weird sound while breathing, like he was whistling to the tune of a song. The oxygen mask placed over his face hadn’t permitted me to know what he looked like. But I could tell he must have been good looking at one point in his life.


Suddenly, his chest jerked, like in response to my thoughts. I remember I was about laughing at how absurd that would have been, only to get halted by the abrupt rush of medical personnel to his side of the ward. I watched with utmost attention as he was connected to a heart monitor, as  cardiopulmonary resuscitation was performed, as the doctors shouted codes upon codes, as the lines became so straight, as the machine became so quiet. I had watched like my life depended on remembering every second.


That was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen, no matter how weird it may sound. It was the thrill I felt deep within me from the halt of a life before my very eyes, the thought of creating the rest of the deceased’s life in my head, the thought of having the power to stop breaths. At that moment, I knew I just had to become a doctor.


Now, ten years and fifty witnessed deaths later, I know this couldn’t get any better.


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