Drama Vacuum

Today, while waiting for my patient to be roomed, I thought I heard my grandfather down the hall.

For those of you who don't know, this would be impossible. My grandfather died in April.

But as I entered the exam room, I was struck by the similarities between this stranger and my late grandfather -- from his chunky old-school frames down to the raspy timbre of his voice -- all that was missing was the spicy smell of my grandpa's pomade.

I remarked on the resemblance to my preceptor after the visit and told a few of my favorite stories about grandpa. There was the time where he was diagnosed with a benign fatty tumor of the liver, after which he called all the long-lost relatives in mainland China, whom he hadn't talked to since he fled from the Communists to Taiwan, to tell them of his imminent demise. We had no idea until we started receiving calls from sobbing cousins and distant relatives. That was grandpa.

My preceptor chuckled at the story and said, "I don't envy your grandpa's doctors. I wouldn't want to be them, that's for sure."

Me, being me: "He died. In April."

I savored the awkward silence before I had mercy and uttered all the qualifiers to placate the unexpecting receiver of someone else's bad news -- "he was in his 90's", "it was his time",  "it was peaceful" yadda yadda yadda.

But then I was struck by a thought.

"He's probably the reason I went into medicine."

And it's true. The story about his liver tumor and his hypochondriac tendencies was the central theme of my personal statement for both undergrad and medical school. I remember thinking, "Well someone's gotta take care of him." Saving on his hospital bills would probably have financed my entire medical school education. Out of all of my family members, I know he would probably have been the most likely to abuse my medical knowledge. Reflecting on this made me feel a twinge of regret that he never got to see me graduate and become a doctor. I never got the opportunity to slap unnecessary medications out of his hand or head off needless specialist visits....now I'll never get the satisfaction. I never had the chance to sit down and explain his various symptoms and syndromes to him and soothe his hypochondriac mind.

For a man who feared death so much and did everything he could to prolong his life, in the end, his passing was as billions before him. Uneventful. Unremarkable. Quiet.

He checked into a hospital because he wasn't feeling well. He died in his sleep.

I guess if grandpa had to choose a way to go, that would have been it. (Well...he probably would have exhausted every loophole to avoid death first.)

I learned a lot of things from grandpa -- both in life and in death. Many were lessons in what NOT to do, but I feel like these lessons are almost more valuable:

He taught me to be generous and to give freely with no strings attached and no expectation of return.
He taught me to invest wisely and to plan for the future.
He taught me the strength of the pen and that the value of education comes in opportunity.
He taught me not to hide behind anybody else and to take responsibility for my actions. In that same vein...he also taught me how useful it can be to delegate. heh.
He taught me to place family first -- to seek to unify rather than divide, to love my children unconditionally and equally.
He taught me to marry well -- to find someone who will love and cherish me despite my many faults, someone who I will honor and respect until the end of my days.

I miss watching him and my dad play Tank on the old-school Nintendo. I miss the cultured ancient Chinese proverb insults they would exchange while playing billiards. I miss those random moments where I run into him in random cities, crossing the street with his heavy overcoat on and his communist-looking felt cap.

Most of all, I miss the stories. Every day of grandpa's life was fodder for an amazing anecdote. That time he ate so much that his intestines stuck together and he had to have them surgically repaired. (Saying "that time" is inaccurate, as I'm fairly certain this happened more than once.) That time he administered an injection to uncle's buttock and accidentally paralyzed him temporarily. That time he took too many of his hypertension pills and passed out at the Thanksgiving table and Dad got to slap him across the face to rouse him before the paramedics arrived.

Grandpa's life was theatre. Without him, there is a drama vacuum that the universe has wasted no time in filling. But alas, those are stories for another time.

RIP Grandpa. Don't worry, you'll live on forever in the stories you've left behind. Love you.