Success in Fostering People
I have uncountable memories of what my seniors did to foster me during my youth.
How many times was I admonished by them when they saw through me when I made some casual remarks? How many times did we laugh together, cry together, or take a bath together, chatting and thinking together? Literally uncountable times, indeed! Some of them advised me to look at both their bad sides as well as good, even honestly confessing about their own worries or anxieties. They brought me up with tender care in my 20s that I am not able to forget.
Now, I’m seriously pondering about the importance and difficulties of fostering younger people. Here are some points that I hold as key to successful fostering:
No. 1 – Being a good judge of people
No. 2 – Having an affection for people whom we want to foster
No. 3 –Being able to make unprejudiced and levelheaded observation of their characters
More important, however, is to know that we too often tend to judge others’ characters instead of judging our own selves. It is almost impossible to successfully “foster” people unless our own
Cherry blossoms are now in full bloom. One of my seniors once told me that cherry trees blossom out of their own will. But their doing so depends upon the meteorologically right environment. The same can be said about people, too. The growth of a person depends on his or her own will to grow, but the willingness on the part of the people around to help is indispensable. It is only when the two will meet that the growth occurs, as flowers come out in blossom in response to the right weather.
Thus, although our efforts and willingness to foster young ones are of much importance, the bottom line, in my opinion, is that we should try to spend our lives in positive spirits day after day and keep growing, no matter how old we get in our years.
Yesterday, I participated in a study session held among the fellow practitioners of acupuncture treatment. Attention was focused on how we should guide the acupuncturists of the younger generations on the basis our experiences. The study was centered on the observation of the physical surface of our body, attempting to detect the possible dysfunction of the internal organs through watching the points, the color of the skin and face and the tongue, and checking the pulse.
One principle of our acupuncture research group of Oriental medicine is to “aim at the salvation of the body, mind and soul.” So, this experience of exchanging mutual “treatment” among us who share this principle was extremely meaningful and enjoyable.
Acupuncturing is my profession, but when I had my body surface observed by another acupuncturist, I discovered quite a few things that transcended the clinical hand technique. The importance of touching the points, taking the pulse and even feeling the fear of touching the body of patients always occupy my mind when I try to observe the health state of my patients.
At this particular study session mentioned above, I felt immensely calmed and stabilized the moment that an acupuncture specialist took my pulse. It is my belief that at the time of the pulse-taking, his soul and mine impulsively responded to each other. This experience had great impact on my soul.
Our mentor once told us that there is always love at the bottom of clinical observation procedure. The patient receiving treatment from us definitely senses the love we entertain toward him or her, the love emanating from our unpretentious heart and soul. At this study session, my determination was re-strengthened to pursue my profession based on this pure-hearted love toward our patients.
One factor by which we can guess the character of somebody is the “eyes” of the person we meet. The eyes of a person who is engaged in his or her work look serious as well as attractive.
Last year, I happened to see on the media somebody whose eyes struck me strongly. That person was Ms. Eiko Ishioka, an art director residing in New York. Her look, while she was at her work, glued me to the scene and gripped my heart with its attractiveness transcending her age. Her look reminded me, if I’m allowed to say, the personal atmosphere that my late mother had always created. It closely resembled that of my mother. It was so impressive that it even made me yearn for an opportunity to meet with her if I had an opportunity to visit New York.
It was therefore a sad surprise for me to learn at the end of last year that she died of cancer of the pancreas. She went at just about the same age as my mother did. Her serious look was also that of my mother who had never given up fighting against the same illness. Ms. Ishioka’s serious look, while alive, spoke of the same hard struggle that my mother had sustained, too.
When I’m treating my patients, I am not able to see my own eyes, of course, but we look mutually into the eyes of each other from time to time. The eyes of my patients are honest and seriousness itself. Each time I feel the pulse of my patients, I ask myself if I deserve their seriousness and how responsibly I should respond to it.
I sincerely pray that Ms. Ishioka’s soul will rest in peace, while I seriously long for the day to come when my own eyes strike the heart of each patient as Ms. Ishioka’s eyes did mine.
One factor by which we can guess the character of somebody is the “eyes” of the person we meet. The eyes of a person who is engaged in his or her work look serious as well as attractive.
Last year, I happened to see on the media somebody whose eyes struck me strongly. That person was Ms. Eiko Ishioka, an art director residing in New York. Her look, while she was at her work, glued me to the scene and gripped my heart with its attractiveness transcending her age. Her look reminded me, if I’m allowed to say, the personal atmosphere that my late mother had always created. It closely resembled that of my mother. It was so impressive that it even made me yearn for an opportunity to meet with her if I had an opportunity to visit New York.
It was therefore a sad surprise for me to learn at the end of last year that she died of cancer of the pancreas. She went at just about the same age as my mother did. Her serious look was also that of my mother who had never given up fighting against the same illness. Ms. Ishioka’s serious look, while alive, spoke of the same hard struggle that my mother had sustained, too.
When I’m treating my patients, I am not able to see my own eyes, of course, but we look mutually into the eyes of each other from time to time. The eyes of my patients are honest and seriousness itself. Each time I feel the pulse of my patients, I ask myself if I deserve their seriousness and how responsibly I should respond to it.
I sincerely pray that Ms. Ishioka’s soul will rest in peace, while I seriously long for the day to come when my own eyes strike the heart of each patient as Ms. Ishioka’s eyes did mine.
Today, I saw a tremendously colorful rainbow I’d ever seen. It was on my way to the funeral of Mr. Y.
Last September, I received a call from Mrs. Y, speaking in a desperate voice. She said her husband’s doctor had advised him to go to a hospice because he was in the terminal stage of cancer. In response, I suggested that she take him home and let me give him acupuncture treatment. During the last three months, I witnessed many dramatic scenes, reminding me of the genuine nobility of human life.
No matter how much he suffered, he looked at his wife and muttered to me, “I feel sorry for her,” again and again. In the middle of December, he wanted to ask me a question. “Is it all right for me to die now?” I answered, “Each second of your life is so precious. Try to do your best to live as long as possible, for yourself and your wife….” “I understand. Your words penetrate my heart,” he responded with a smile on his face.
Mr. Y had no pain anymore, and was able to talk. There was no problem in his vital signs. Just a few days before his death, I advised him to declare a victory over cancer. Everyone smiled.
Then, on the day before his death, he very seriously thanked me. “Ms. Hashimoto, you should know how much I feel grateful to you!” His words penetrated my heart. The next morning, the varix burst open and he vomited a lot of blood. But he did not lose consciousness and could even speak. When I visited him again the same evening around 9:30, he passed away, having his hands being held by his wife. The 30th of December 2011 became an unforgettable day for me.
Mr. Y’s courageous fight against cancer to the last moment of his life makes me think that it was a brilliant life as represented by the wonderful rainbow I saw today. His face told me it was.
