complicated

This week at work, I learned how love is complicated.

This lesson had nothing to do with me, or my life.

It has to do with a depressed patient, who I sent to the unit after admitting him to ours, and who had been found by police at his home in horrible shape, just sitting there.

Not eating.

Not sleeping.

Just sitting.

His wife died five years ago of some terrible disease, and his daughter died three months ago of the same thing.

I had to ask him about it. Because of the legal crap. I didn't want to ask him about it. I felt like Torquemada asking him about it. I didn't have to ask him about it. It was right there, written all over his sick, damaged body.

He said to me, simply, "I am sad. Just... so sad."

And then he changed the subject.

When I gave report to the ICU nurse at transfer, she said, "Oh yeah, I know all about him. His daughter died on our unit."

He loves his wife. He loves his daughter.

They are both dead.

I think he wants to be dead.

His other daughter, who isn't dead, loves him. Loves him enough to call the police when he didn't answer his phone again and again, any way.

So, you see, it's complicated. Because I was trying to get his doctor to send him to the unit all night long, so he could live, even though it was clear to me he didn't want to, no matter what he said to me otherwise. And I wasn't sure it was the right thing to do.

I mean, not on a professional level. It was the right thing to do on a professional level, obviously.

But professional ethics and behavior are different, sometimes, than the right decision.

Because whether or not life is worth living is something only the patient can decide for him or herself, even if it that decision ultimatley hurts other people, and can be seen, on some level, as not love.

I mean, what about his other, living daughter, right? What about her love for him?

Depression is hard, because it makes you realize: loving other people is the easier part of living. We can do that; sometimes we can even fake loving other people, and it works out alright.

But loving yourself enough so that you can love other people, even those you claim to love the most... well, that's the rub, isn't it?

Love is complicated. It makes you sad.

Everything else that's wrong with a human being you can probably cure, given enough time and resources, and willingness.

But love.

You can't cure love.

Not that I've seen, any way.