Money is Many Things, But Not All
The eternal cycle of love, pain, duty and loss
Dr. Santiago was walking here and there in his room.
He had caught a piece of paper in his hand. It was late at night, but he was still awake and tense.
Slow but constant rain outside made the atmosphere gloomier. His facial expression was invisible in the bulb’s dim light. Perhaps some thoughts were troubling him.
He had been practicing in that village for the past six years. He had moved away from his family and was living independently. Now he looked at the clock. It was around 2:00 a.m. He sat down on the sofa.
The piece of paper was still in his hand. He was lost in his own thoughts. Around ten minutes later, he heard someone knocking on his door. So he went on to open the door.
He was not surprised by an untimely call, because it was a regular part of his profession. It must have been an emergency, he thought while opening the door. He found an anxious old man covered in a plastic sheet to avoid the rain.
Soon the old man pleaded, “Doctor! My son is not feeling well and is almost unconscious. Please come to my house and help him.”
The doctor was not mentally prepared at all to go anywhere at that time. So, he tried to give some reasons. But the old man started begging and crying. Seeing the poor man begging and crying, Dr. Santiago again looked at the piece of paper thoughtfully and finally decided to go with him.
He went inside to bring his first-aid briefcase and umbrella. He locked the gate, and both of them set out on the journey. After a walk of around two and a half miles, the old man finally stopped in front of a small cottage and invited the doctor inside.
There was a woman sitting near a wooden cot where a young man was lying down. The house’s belongings told the story of their poverty. Dr. Santiago quickly checked the patient’s condition. His body was high on fever. Following a thorough examination, he administered an analgesic injection to provide him with some relief. While giving some medicines, he assured and consoled the old man that his son would get better soon.
As the doctor asked for permission to leave, the poor man was very grateful and offered whatever money he had, but the doctor refused to take any.
When the old man insisted, the doctor said, “Do you see this piece of paper in my hand? This is the telegram my wife has sent. It tells me that my eight-year-old son died today. I am waiting for the first morning train to get back home. Money is many things, but at this point in time, it cannot reduce my pain.”
He walked out of the house. The old man was at a loss for words. On that rainy, dark night, he just kept looking at the doctor’s moving shadow.
So what would you choose between love and duty in such circumstances?
Thanks Mil for the lovely challenge. Enjoyed the creative process of writing a story.
