My First Experience with AIDS Patients
by Marc Kielburger
words & expressions
1. a hospice in the slum
Hospice ['hɒspɪs]n.临终安养院
Slum 英[slʌm] n.贫民窟；棚屋区
2. Protest ['prəʊtest] n.抗议；反对；抗议书（或行动）v.抗议；（公开）反对；
3. to treat bedsores
Bedsores ['bed.sɔː(r)] n.〔医〕褥疮— also called pressure ulcers and decubitus ulcers — are injuries to skin and underlying tissue resulting from prolonged pressure on the skin.
4. to dispense medicine [dɪ'spens] v.分配；分发；提供（尤指服务）；配（药）
5. stifling heat
Stifling ['staɪf(ə)lɪŋ] adj.令人窒息的；沉闷的v.“stifle”的现在分词
Stifle ['staɪf(ə)l] v.扼杀；抑制；压制；阻止 My major concern was that a large bureaucracy, however organized, tends to stifle creativity.
我主要担心的是，一个庞大的政府机构，无论组织得多么好，也容易窒息创造性。
6. frequent blackouts
Blackout ['blækaʊt]n.停电；断电；新闻封锁；灯火管制（期）
7. an incredible stench in the air
Stench [stentʃ] n.恶臭；臭气 v.(使)发恶臭
The stench of burning rubber was overpowering. 燃烧橡胶散发出的臭味极其强烈。
8. queasy stomach
Queasy ['kwiːzi] adj.恶心的；欲吐的；稍感紧张的；略有不安的 causing nausea.
9. dash for the bathroom
Dash 英[dæʃ] v.猛冲；急奔；急驰；猛掷 n.短跑；破折号；匆忙；少量
1. To move with haste; rush: dashed into the room; dashed down the hall. 2. To strike violently; smash: waves dashing on the rocks.
10. alone and petrified
Petrified ['petrɪfaɪd] adj.非常害怕的；恐慌的；石化的so frightened that one is unable to move; terrified.
Petrify ['petrɪfaɪ] v.使吓呆；使惊呆；（使）石化
11. fall back on 依靠于，求助于
12. fumbling and scared
Fumbling adj.笨拙的；迟疑的
Fumble ['fʌmb(ə)l] v.摸索；失球；乱摸 (for；after)；笨手笨脚地摸弄
n.摸索；失球；笨手笨脚的处理；失错
//"fumbling around in the dark" 在黑暗中瞎撞
// "fumbling towards ecstasy"笨笨地面对喜悦;
tumble['tʌmbl] v.跌倒；摔倒；倒塌；绊倒 to fall suddenly and helplessly.
13. a feeling of anguish
Anguish ['æŋɡwɪʃ] n.痛苦 v.(使)痛苦；(使)苦恼；悲痛万分
14. Haunt [hɔːnt] v.（鬼魂）出没；（不快的事情）萦绕于脑际；长期不断地缠扰（某人
adj. haunted 闹鬼的；反复出现的；受到困扰的 haunting 不易忘怀的，萦绕于心头的；给人以强烈感受的
原文：
I was ushered to the AIDS ward of a hospice in the slum. I would later learn that the ward did not exist，at least not officially. Not a single person in Thailand had AIDS，according to the Thai government at the time. People got "sick," of course，sometimes "very sick." but no one had AIDS. The hospice was home to an ever-growing number of "very sick" people.
I entered the ward and was greeted by two Thai nurses.
"Thank goodness you are here, Marc, "said the first.
"You’re a doctor, right "
I shook my head.
"So you are a medical student then!"
I shook my head again.
"But you know medicine，right "
"Kinda," I offered. "I watch E.R., every Thursday."
After a rapid exchange in Thai，the first one said，"NO problem. Get ready for your four- hour medical school training!"
"But in my country medical school takes years!" I protested.
"We don’t have that long," she replied. "So we better get started. "
During the next few hours, I learned to clean wounds, administer IVs, treat bedsores, and dispense medicine. The work was punishing, made worse by stifling heat, frequent blackouts, and an incredible stench in the air. I tried desperately to hide my weak nerves and queasy stomach, but more than once dashed for the bathroom to throw up.
Just when it seemed my training was coming to an end, the nurse took me aside. "There are only two more things you need to know," she said. "On the left-hand side of the ward, you will find what we call the Exit Area. " As it turned out, she meant "exit" in the largest sense of the word. Terminally ill patients were hidden behind a curtain and then exited out of the ward after death. "The second thing you need to know," she continued, "is that we haven’t had a day off in three weeks. You’ll be looking after the ward by yourself for the next shift. "
My jaw dropped.
"Don’t worry, Marc," said the other nurse, patting me on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Think of this as the beginning of your residency !" And with that, they walked out. Alone and petrified, I tried unsuccessfully to keep calm.
I counted to twenty-four. That’s how many AIDS patients were in my charge. What am I going to do I thought. What can I do? I fell back on my training with the Canadian government and put my talents to work. I served patients water-some with ice, some without. Next, I tried to cheer up everyone, myself included, giving enthusiastic high-fives to patient after patient. Soon enough, everyone was laughing. Some were laughing with me, others most definitely at me, but I didn’t care. As long as I could keep people smiling, I was sure it would all be fine. And it was. Until a short while later, when a patient in the Exit Area began to choke. He had fluid in his lungs and could not breathe. As I crossed the floor, I could hear the man gasping for air. Fumbling and scared, I pulled back the curtain and administered the medicine the nurses had recommended. The man didn’t respond. With nothing left to offer, I sat down and held his hand, looking into his eyes as he breathed heavily for a while and then stopped. Watching him slip away, I was hit by a feeling of anguish such as I’d never felt, either before or since. It haunts me to this day.
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