As Read at Dr. Kamran Hassidim’s Memorial
San Diego, CA January 27, 2011
Hello, my name is David Wright and I am one of Doctor Hassidim’s patients. I first met him 18 years ago practically to the day, today. I had just been diagnosed with cancer and I was told I had to go meet my Oncologist. I’m pretty sure that I had never heard the word before, and I know I had no idea what an Oncologist was or what they did, but I went, because you do. I met him over at his old office on Moraga Ave. The one with the beautiful view. He sat behind his desk, a very unassuming man, who shook my hand, and seemed to have the unenviable task of telling me all the possible things that could go wrong, with my upcoming months of chemotherapy. What a way to meet somebody! Doctor Hassidim met a lot of somebodies that way. It’s unfortunately a very long list of side effects, and I think Doctor Hassidim went on for about a half hour or so, but within the first minute of Doctor Hassidim talking with me I had 3 very distinct thoughts.
One - “This is the smartest man I have ever met.”
Two - “Gee, he really does seem to know what he’s talking about.”
Three - “I’m in the right place!” and I was.
When Laurel called me a month ago with the news, I immediately had a vision of Doctor Hassidim. It was more of a conglomerate memory, really, but Doctor Hassidim was on his rounds, in his lab coat, and he stepped into my hospital room as he had done so many times to check on me. In my vision he did it just the way he did it every time in real life for those many months. He looked up to find my eyes and said, “How are ve doing?” And even with Laurel still on the phone with me, it made me smile, and it comforted me.
When you do what Doctor Hassidim did for a living, and you do it the way he did it, you don’t just touch thousands of lives, but you hold those lives in your hands and maybe even cradle them in your arms. At least that’s the way I felt. In Doctor Hassidim’s care, you were very well cared for.
Doctor Hassidim first brought me to Sharp. He told me he could treat me at any of the hospitals in San Diego, but he thought I should go to Sharp Memorial Hospital. When I asked him, “Well, why Sharp?” He got kind of conspiratorial and said, “I think you’ll like the nurses the best.” He was right.
I wrote a play about my cancer experience. It’s called With Flying Colors. Doctor Hassidim is in it through out, but I’m going to do just one short piece from it. This is called Portrait.
PORTRAIT
If I were to paint a picture of my life right now, I would paint myself seated high on a stallion charging boldly forward into whatever comes next. And on that stallion I would carry large banners above my head. On those banners would be the following names: Chatsworth, Del Carmen, Henderson, Ritchken, Bekkar, Holdy, Smith, Gibbons, Barone and, of course, the largest banner - Hassidim. These are the names of doctors. My Doctors. My incredible Doctors. It would make a good picture, but if I stopped there it wouldn’t be finished.
I would need to paint in still more banners - thousands upon thousands more. Only these wouldn’t have any names. I don’t know the names of all those that vomited their way through chemos that didn’t work. All those that endured radiation without the results they’d hoped for. All those that suffered surgeries that couldn’t stem the tide. I don’t know their names, but I know their courage. And in my portrait they ride with me, too. The way I see it, that courage became wisdom. That wisdom found my Doctors’ hands. And those hands gave me back my life. I will never have a greater gift. No one could ever have a greater gift. I can’t repay it-I can only live. And living for me now, is being high on my stallion, charging forward, with flying colors.
I used to love to try to make Doctor Hassidim laugh. He had a great laugh. He had a great sense of humor. You didn’t always see it because his was a serious business, but it was there. I was about midway on my stay in the hospital and my hair was long gone, so, one of my more thoughtful friends brought me in a rainbow wig. I thought this might do it, so I told the nurses to tell Doctor Hassidim that I was really excited as my hair had started to come back in. I then donned the rainbow wig and waited for him. When he came into my room I didn’t even wait for him to announce himself with “How are ve doing.” I started right in with, “My hair’s back, Doctor Hassidim, what do you think?” He looked at me and said, “Looks pretty good.” Unflappable when he wanted to be.
Years later on one of my follow up visits, I said to him. You know, Doctor Hassidim, you saved my life. He got a funny look on his face and said. “David, David, Doctors treat. Only God heals.” Such was his humility. Such was his grace.
When I hung up the phone with Laurel that day a month or so, ago. I had another vision of Doctor Hassidim. This one wasn’t a memory, but really a true vision this time. Doctor Hassidim was at the gates of heaven, in his lab coat. And as he stepped through the gates and looked around at everyone, he had no thoughts of himself, no worries about what had happened to him, where he was going, or what was coming next. He just looked at God and everyone and said, “How are ve doing?
I can tell you this. Heaven is now very well cared for, and on behalf of all those of us who are still here in this world because of him. I want to close by saying,
“We Love you. Thank you Doctor Hassidim.”
