TODAY we began our rounds with a sweep of the obituaries - the very borders of our medical arts. Skirting from woe to woe, our eyes gave pause on the countenance of a familiar stranger:

Francis Ayamm Pillay Chelliah
passed away peacefully on 12 June 2005.
Fear not, for I have redeemed You;
I have called You by name: You are mine.

Who was Chelliah? A man of many contradictions.

We remember striding vainly into Ward 44 on what was probably our 5th day at Changi General, in search of a patient, any patient at all, for our first clerking. We decided on the lonely bespectacled Chelliah - if we recall, due to his copy of Cleo (a testament to his conversability, no more) - and promptly began our neurologic examination. What ensued was a friendship of sorts that was to last a large majority of our time at Changi.

Chelliah was managed as a discharge issue when we first knew him. This meant that all pathology was given pause, the overridding priority being to empty bed 12A by any means. He claimed to have made many, many mistakes in his life - taking back his wife after she left him, choosing to be admitted into the ward to escape his family, estranging himself from his children. Every day, we would pop by for a chat, hand him a copy of whatever periodical happened to be handy at the visitor's lounge, and he would repeat his wish to be discharged directly into an elderly care facility. And each time we would tell him not to hope for comfort in the arms of strangers when there is comfort in the arms of his family. Trust that time heals all wounds, we would say.

"Time, I have no time."

We remember his jubilation the day his wife and daughter visited well, for the very next day he greeted us with rancor - "YOU - always only know how to talk - why can't you do get me out of this shithole?" We've been taught repeatedly that when confronted with an angry patient, the worst thing you can do is to lose your own temper as well. His insistence that we be personally reponsible for his discharge led to frustrations on both sides, and ended with him yelling slurs.

We later learnt from V-- that his case file was replete with similar rages - he could stay at void decks drinking beer, refusing to go home. Even his medical condition gave us pause - RS3PE?? We, however, did have a word with our ward resident regarding Chelliah's discharge. Within two days, his bed was empty; slot 12A on the ward sheet which he had occupied for the last four weeks was a blank.

We never had a chance to see him after that, except for our chance meeting today in the obituary pages - we sometimes wonder if he remembers our altercation on that last day. We can only hope he remembers fondly, the medical student who tried to assauge his loneliness, strengthen his faith in humanity, and with limited success, lend a listening ear.

There is a parable concerning Abraham and the fireworshipper. Abraham, welcoming a elderly stranger into his tent one night, was shocked to find the man prostrated before the fire idol, and promptly chased the man out of doors. And that very night the Lord came upon Abraham and declared unto him "What is he to you O'Abraham? I have borne him patiently for seventy years, surely you could have borne him for a single night?" My patient, Chelliah, 70 year-old Indian male, has verily taught me patience.

Requisat in pacem