Open and Closure

Today, I had to go to the hospital in order to get a liver biopsy. The nurses at the hosptial made the time much more enjoyable. They were warm, friendly, and humorously sarcastic. The doctors did their job adequately, and given the quick nature of the procedure (we're going to stick you with a needle into your liver 3 times), I suppose I shouldn't expect much more. Whenever possible, I like watching the needle, whether for a shot, IV or something else, as it's stuck into me. Perhaps it's a personal challenge to increase my pain tolerance. The actual procedure did hurt a bit. I suppose when they take samples of your liver it'll do that. In terms of intensity, the pain wasn't as sharp as when I got my in-grown toenail ripped out by the podiatrist but, it still hurt enough to warrant attention.

I also got to see an old friend in the supply department where I volunteered in high school. Back then, I had purposely chosen the supply department because I wasn't interested in getting "medical exposure" just for the sake of college applications but still "needed" (as my mom put it) volunteer experience. I was able to get pretty close to two of the workers there, Leo and Luke. I saw Leo today, and I wrote this about Luke. Reflections on time, growing up, friendship are all applicable here (Concerning these things, I don't mean to be trite but I'd rather not go into too much more detail about such themes).. One thing that Leo said struck me. He made a comment about how volunteers they get now aren't like they used to be in the past. It made me wonder if this wasn't a reflection of the self-serving nature of volunteering these days.

I wasn't able to see Luke today. He passed away a couple years ago, found dead in his apartment (complications of his diabetes?). If you refer back to that entry I wrote about Luke on my Xanga, you'll know why he meant so much to me. Praise God he is in a better place now. Till we meet again, my friend.


In case the link doesn't work, I've included the entry that I wrote on Luke below

Back in high school, I remember one of the last things that my mom "made" me do. Like everything else that I found myself coerced in (and what a blessing they were), I came away with much more than hours to record on college resume. My junior and senior years of high school I volunteered at Hinsdale Hospital in the SPD (supply department). The SPD was in the basement of the hospital and, really, wasn't exactly the most happening place. Back then, I didn't worry about having "engaging" experiences or complained about doing menial tasks. I was there to deliver supplies to the different floors--everything from long tubes to IV pumps. Sometimes I took the elevator, and other times, when I was bored and anxious, I would sprint up the stairs and time myself. Back in those days, things seemed much more carefree. My biggest anxiety was inviting my supervisors to a praise night at my church even though one was Catholic and the other was also a believer. The two supervisors I worked under were Leo and Luke. Tonight, I reflect on Luke. Luke Guralski was a middle-aged man of medium build. He liked to bike, which resulted in him getting into a pretty bad wreck, but he was, nonetheless, a rather robust and yet he struck me as a simple man. He was usually quite clean shaven and yet you knew, should he allow it, he could grow a pasture of a beard. He had a fiancee who suffered from bi-polar depression. There seemed to be an endless number of futile consults and medications in her history but to no avail. Luke himself had mental disorders of the type which would cause him to suddenly forget recent issues. He never completely described his full-fledged condition but I know that whatever it was, it caused neurological abnormalities and deep depression in a life that, for all intensive purposes, really didn't need any more. Because of his girlfriend's medical condition, marriage never materialized and even Luke realized the futility of the situation. Still, he wanted to stay committed to her even though she would try to push him away, and no doubt this took its toll emotionally on Luke even when he let go. The last time I talked with Luke was after my freshman year. I called his house and shared with him that I was going to China and that I wanted to give him a support letter. I remember talking that night and catching up on the how the last year had brought such new and unexpected things in our lives. That was the last time I talked with him. When I tried to call again, his number had been disconnected. Yet one thing that made Luke such an encouraging man was his faith in Christ. I saw his care and concern for those around him in the hospital. He was one who voiced his opinions and yet refrained from gossip. He spoke openly about truth and its importance in life, and though at the time, I might have considered his perspective rather naive, I look back at it an see it as refreshing. The last contact I had with him was a letter he sent to me with support for my trip to China. I knew that he did not make that much and yet he gave cheerfully. Yet his words in the letter, though I cannot recount them specifically, spoke even louder of God's faithfulness through his life to me. I came to the hospital to "do" community service, but I left it with an experience and glimpse of the divine work of which, as I sit here contemplating the future, I want nothing more than to be a part. There is always a part of me that would like to know where Luke is now, a part of me that wants to recapture the past for the sake of delaying the present and future. And yet, I suppose that I, too, must learn to let go.