“He collapsed? You mean they did CPR on him? That means he had no pulse, right?”
He was a familiar sight outside the hospital. And it was his voice which characterized him, which made him a regular feature of the place. So permanent and felt was his presence that I often thought of him as an extension of the building I walked past daily.
I supposed few who passed by him long enough liked him. He simply could not and would not be ignored. I remember a few friends telling me before, “ That’s really not the way he should be doing things.”
Doing what? Sitting on his wheelchair selling tissue paper, trinkets, sweets, pens with a delibrately unbuttoned shirt to showcase his permanent catheter at his right shoulder which he needs for dialysis, he would shout incessantly, “UNCLE! AUNTIE! BRUDDER! SISTER! HELP ME WITH MY DIALYSIS! PLISS!”
It had become so repetitive that the chant adopted its own robust rhythm, each time gaining momentum according to the waves of people who passed him.
“UNCLE! AUNTIE! BRUDDER! SISTER! HELP ME WITH MY DIALYSIS! PLISS!”
I used to buy tissue paper from him. But even then, I remember feeling irritated and ambivalent. Somehow, charity feels better when one feels empathy and compassion instead of compulsion. A good friend whom I admired a lot told me one day, “Well, I would support him if only he didn’t do it this way. I mean, he’s blatantly flaunting his perm cath and announcing his medical condition to everyone.”
I don’t know why or when but my heart hardened towards him. Maybe my friends were right-perhaps his loud grating voice, his neediness bordering on petulance and shameless exhibition of his medical condition really were extreme and a turn-off. I walked past him often, allowing his pleas to form an old, flaking crust over my heart. He has been there for years. He is almost a landmark.
A few weeks ago, on my way home from work with a senior I’d recently met in the Eye department, we heard those familiar chants again.
“UNCLE! AUNTIE! BRUDDER! SISTER! HELP ME WITH MY DIALYSIS! PLISS!”
She turned to me,” I used to think he was very irritating, but you know, he has a good heart.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. “How do you know? What makes you say that?”
Suddenly I became defensive, as if I was trying to justify and hide my repulsion toward him.
“ Do you know, he’s a patient in our Eye clinic. His vision is so poor he can only count fingers. I saw his medical social worker’s report- he has a few kids and he gives his hard-earned money to them. He’s a very nice man, but he’s so misunderstood. He can’t see our faces as we walk past him, you know. That’s how bad his vision is.”
Which explained his faraway look and his too-loud voice, perhaps, since he could not quite see.
She cut across me to buy some tissue from him, and I immediately felt like a fish out of water, because I was usually in her position. Was she right? Could I trust her story? It then struck me, how judgemental I had been, and how contrived and conditional my compassion was.
Why did I choose to walk by him? Did I think he was irritating, coy or greedy? Did I think he didn’t deserve to beg? Or did his presence challenge my love and generosity so much that I chose to blot him out? He did have a permanent catheter, he did have to undergo the pains and suffer the financial burdens of dialysis, he did have amputated legs, what was it about his brazen honesty that made me turn my cheek away from him? Why do we choose who we wish to love?
For years, I walked past him, stopping to chat with Michael, Terence, Dennis and Stamford, the four other buskers or gentlemen selling tissue around that train station outside the hospital which I work in. I never stopped to chat with him though.
Last week, on my way home, I stopped to buy a tube of mints from him.
“ How much does this cost?” I asked, fishing out the only coin from my wallet.
“One fifty,” he said.
“Oh dear,” I replied, “ I don’t have enough. Can I buy the tissue instead? That’s a dollar right?”
“NO NO SISTER! TAKE THE SWEET! IT’S OKAY! DON’T WORRY ABOUT THE MONEY! YOU TAKE THIS, YOU TAKE THIS!”
Momentarily, I was stunned. I wanted to extend generosity to him, but he was scooping it out to me instead. Far from the villainy, mercenary, greedy impression that had formed in my mind about him, he was extending kindness to me.
“Don’t worry. I really do need a tissue instead,” I said, before giving him the dollar.
“THANK YOU SO MUCH SISTER!!”
Yesterday, he collapsed.
On the way home from the train station, my colleague (the same one who told me about the hidden goodness of this man) told me she saw paramedics doing chest compressions on him in the train station. Because I was on my thirty-hour shift overnight call yesterday at the Emergency Department, she asked me to check if he was okay. I did not see him there.
On my way home today, I met Terence instead. Terence is another feature at the train station outside my hospital, though a silent one. Since he suffered a spinal cord injury while falling off a roof at work in his thirties, he has been selling tissue paper on a motorized wheelchair. A few years ago, I referred him to a community help service to see if he could receive some help for maintaining his wheelchair. Each time he sees me, he laments at how he wish he had a new wheelchair, instead of this one breaking down all the time.
“It has lousy batteries, the tyres are spoilt, and I am too heavy for this. I need a new one. More than three thousand dollars, you know.” He was always downcast, always complaining about his wheelchair. “The place you refer me to, only change my tyres. Nothing else.” But I want a new wheelchair. This one, so lousy.”
At times I was appalled by his complaining nature, but I remember the man on dialysis and was reminded of how fortunate we are. Had we been in their shoes, could we have coped any better?
Last week, Cliff and I went to pray with him, and he was so grateful. It was the only time he showed peace and a sense of gratitude. There he was today again.
“Do you know what happened to the dialysis man?” I asked.
“He passed away yesterday.”
“How do you know?”
“I called him up. A few days ago, he was so kind. He said he was willing to lend me $300 for me to buy new batteries for my wheelchair, so I don’t have to keep recharging them. His daughter picked up the phone, said he died yesterday from a heart attack.”
“What was his name?”
“Low. I called him Mr. Low.”
In that moment of loss and grief, I thanked God for the opportunity of saying hi to him one last time so recently, and thanked Him all the more for giving me the chance to see past my assumptions. Even in his last days, he was willing to help a friend in need.
It was sobering moment for me today. I learnt that though our thoughts towards others may be hidden, they matter to God, and have an eternal impact on our souls and characters. The thoughts we have about people, can also cause us deep regret. Had my final thought about Mr. Low been evil and had I wasted the opportunity to overcome my biasedness, I would have suffered great remorse. Life, really is so fragile. Now we shall never hear his voice ever again.
I learnt, that our thoughts about other people, kept pure, matter to God. Our thoughts toward goodness keep our hearts soft and tender, humble and pure. Mr. Low reminded me, that only God, and not us, have the right to judge. He reminded me, not to think the worst of those whom we feel embittered against, including those who hurt us. We just never know what it feels like to be in their shoes. Did it ever hurt anyone, to show a bit of extra kindness?
So I stopped for Terence today, and prayed with him about his getting new batteries for his motorized wheelchair which cost $380. A part of me disliked his persistent and outright request for something that is seemingly non-essential, but I grew to see that I have no right to judge his needs. We have so much going in our lives: $380 in our context would easily be spent on a holiday, a perm or a conference course. What would $380 do for this man? Would it make him greedier and more demanding, or would it help him see and feel the love and compassion of God upon his life?
I am learning, to judge less and to love more.
Mr. Low, given your plethora of medical conditions, you would have died sometime sooner or later. I just hope you know that some of us will miss you and your voice and your trinkets, and we were glad to have contributed in some small way to your dialysis.
“Finally, brothers,
whatever is true, whatever is honorable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is commendable,
if there is any excellence, if there is anything worthy of praise,
think about these things. “
-Phil 4:8