22 February 2015

I spent the last three days of my life in a hospital in Monterrey, Mexico. A close family member (let's call him George) had a major surgery. Even though the probabilities of having a good outcome were high, there were still risks involved, like in any major surgery.

I spent my first day talking to him and his wife, trying to make the anticipation less stressful. We talked about music, family and other topics not related to his illness. Then, in the early morning of the next day, he went into the pre-operation room where I, his wife and one of his sons were.

I saw that he was tense, waiting for the doctor to arrive, so I gave him my headphones and I played for him a few opera pieces that he loves. I saw his face transform; he was taken by the beauty of the voices. I was glad he was a little more peaceful before he went into surgery.

As we waited in the waiting area there was a moment when his wife broke into tears; the tension was too much. She couldn’t think of losing him; she wanted not to even think about the possibility. George’s sister grabbed her hand and comforted her for a few minutes.

I was there; I saw this beautiful moment where two people bonded over a shared pain. I looked around and I saw that we were not the only ones. There were small clusters of people, between 3 and 8 persons in each. All were waiting for news, present to give emotional and physical support to the ill person and to those close to the ill patient.

I saw people burst into tears; I heard their sobbing. I saw others being happy and even laughing. The waiting area was a place for families to get together. Some were waiting seriously, some laughed as they waited, while others were happy and even celebrated a birthday right there. They offered us cake.

It was beautiful and painful at the same time. Some got “good” news and others didn’t. Five hours after the surgery started, George's doctor came out and said the surgery had gone very well. We waited a few hours until we could see him.

Once we entered the intensive care unit to go see him, I saw six rooms housing people in a delicate condition. One person was working intensely to breath; I could hear his intense effort to do so. In another room, there was a woman who, I was later told, didn’t want to live. In the other rooms there were people that looked very vulnerable.

I was very moved by the pain of the human condition, by our physical vulnerability and emotional psychological fragility. I walked the hospital corridors at times to clear my mind and I pondered, thought and reflected. I felt sadness, caring and love.

I saw how our physical ailments are often treated with physical means, while the

non-physical sicknesses are often overlooked. I wondered how many of the people in the hospital were there because of a broken heart, or loneliness or because they wanted to be loved but could not feel it.

How many were there because they denied and abused their bodies, trying to feel good with all the food they ate and all the drinks they drank. I wondered how many ended up there because of the stress caused by fear, or because of weaknesses created by resentment, anger, hate and envy. I wondered, and I was sad.

I saw how there are hospitals that treat physical illnesses, but not many that treat the ailments of the soul. Ailments of the soul are related to how we see and feel about life and living. I saw how there is so much poverty, not only material poverty but also a dearth of joy, love, peace and caring; there is little wealth of humanity and passion for life.

I was sad and I was glad to have an opportunity to develop my love and awareness for the state of our world; I had a dream, an idea.

What if our hospitals were less mechanistic? What if our hospitals had an approach to help people feel loved, and also focused on helping people develop a reason to live, even as they help each patient become better physically? What if these hospitals could help people feel valuable for existing, while they treated the body?

What if their walls were painted with murals that reflected the joy of living? What if there were treatments that teach people to laugh and to smile? What if there was happiness and celebration, not only for the living but also for those who are about to leave?

And I thought about the movie “Patch Adams”. I liked the approach presented in this movie; his hospital was humanitarian, where each patient was treated as a person and not as a case, and where each patient was seen as “someone” and not as a broken thing.

But what I’m dreaming is beyond that. I see places where people can come and rest, and be at peace to reconnect with their core, their soul. I see places where beauty is as much a cure as many of our medicines, and where a caring touch is known to heal wounds that no other drug could.

I think then people would be happier and healthier. I think then people would be glad to be alive. I know there are places and people that do this all over the world. I praise them and thank them. We need more! We need many more!

Materialism is taking many victims; many are becoming more and more empty. We need more caring and more ambassadors of love, because more and more people are depressed, having quit on living.

We need food for the soul, as we need food for the body. Let's feed them both, if we have the needed resources. So I feel, so I believe.

Unless there are major technological discoveries that make us physically immortal, we are all going to die one day. Between now and then, what can we do to be healthy and strong, full of joy and passion? What can we do to better those around us? What can we do to change the focus of our world?

I say that wealth can be increased for all. The richer we become materially and in love, compassion and knowledge, the more we can give. And the more we can give, the more giving will be done. The richer a few become, the richer we all are, if we all spread our wealth.

Please become richer, please share your wealth as you see fit to create a better you, a better family and a better world.

Hospitals For The Body & Soul