Grace through suffering

I notice that quite a few of my posts are things that I've observed, and learned, from patients. I remember being told when I was a student that one of the beauties of practice is the ability to develop these long-term relationships with people.
Recently, a friend made me question just how funny/humourous I was anymore. I remember being funny once, and I'd like to think that I still am, but ever since then, I've been watching and waiting to see if any of my patients will do anything hilarious. Which they don't. It's too bad, as I now think my job inherently has the capability to swallow and hold a whole lot of suffering (as noted by the last essay that I had posted), and though there is much joy in walking alongside patients through their valleys, it's not exactly laughsville.
One patient re-taught me a lesson that I think is easy to forget. This patient has a spouse (who is also my patient) who is dying, slowly, ever so excruciatingly slowly, and so very young. They have a tiny child at home, and in the course of dying, which will likely take years, the disease will gradually take their mind and their body. In fact, it already has, and the increasing lack of control over their emotions, their rationality, their paranoia, and the volume and tone of their voice is taking a toll on the well spouse, trying to ask them to shush in front of the toddler, trying to get them to calm down to not scare the child. In the days where they are more lucid, they can actually have a conversation, but mostly, day after day, my patient arrives home from work to a barrage of baseless accusations, and screaming, and a great dread of coming home to their spouse. My patient hasn't really told many people at work; it'd be too hard for them to understand exactly what this dying process is like. They also have no other family; it is just the three of them. So, they spend their days, going to work, coming home, caring for the child, dealing with the spouse, and then collapsing, exhausted until it starts again. They dread the weekends. There is no one else to take the child for weekends, no siblings, parents, cousins, aunts who can share the burden of care. It is a situation that leaves me worrying for this patient, how they will make it through the next few years without being broken and burnt out.
And yet, they are still able to teach me lessons. They pointed out, how it has made them appreciate that, when interacting with others, that they don't really know the depths of suffering or sadness that the other may be dealing with, in the dark, in the private spaces, and has helped them demonstrate, shall we call it "grace"? to others and treat them gently. And that, I found stunning. That even in this hellish home, ravaged by this illness, my patient can still find grace for others. I don't think they would call it that, I don't think that they would even recognize the word, but, despite all their suffering, it is humbling for me to be reminded of their ability to remember that others may also be walking similar paths...

Need to rant on a few pet peeves

I've realized there are two things that bother me a lot: Tardiness and ambiguity.
Tardiness: I think it has to do with a "let your 'yes' be 'yes' and your 'no' be 'no'" business, or I'm just an incredibly uptight, anal-retentive Westerner that is more concerned about the clock than the time, but, I think because I tend to be on time (or early) to a fault, it irks me all the more. I think if someone tells you that they will be at X by such-and-such a time, and then are consistently late, it only communicates (to me) that my time is less valuable than theirs. It, in fact, makes me feel that they don't value my life and ways that I use it.
Ambiguity: See above. I think being unsure and wary of people's motivations or inclinations becomes exhausting. I wish people were a little bit more up front about how they really felt about things, or would not try to be nice for the sake of harmony.
That's it. Just needed to rant a bit.