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Dear Andrzej,
How are you? I am writing to tell you something about my workplace. I work in a hospital. Working there has never been easy for me.   I do not understand   what is so special about it that attracts me. When I was younger, I hated   even thinking about working in the hospital. Some of the patients smelled   funny, and most of the time everyone looked nervous. After working on the   night shift for about a year, I've found that hospitals are more than   just a place where people are sick. They are a place to observe life   and death. I think the thing that scared me the most was the thought of   seeing any person struggling with life in those last minutes.  

  Though I didnt like it, I had many experiences that made me continue   my work. One of my most memorable patients was an elderly man who had   Lou Gehrig's disease. When I met him, he was on a ventilator, a feeding   machine, and with the needles inserted in his left hand. All this was to   keep him alive. He was slowly losing his ability to control his muscles;   he couldn't talk, so I learned to lip-read what he wanted, which wasn't   an easy task for either of us. I didn't stop trying, and he didn't give   up on me. After a while, we were able to communicate fairly well. When   I talked about my friends, school classes, and the weather, he would   mostly listen to me and not ask any questions. I cried when I found out   that he had died. I knew it would happen one day; I just didn't want to   lose my friend. After thinking about it for so long, I believed I was   strong enough to take the emotion. But I was wrong.  

  I also took care of an 18-year-old that had been in a car accident. He   was a normal teenager and was having fun on a Saturday night.   He was a   passenger in that car, and his drunken friend was trying to impress his   girlfriend. He had been put in the neurology unit because they suspected   that he might have damaged his spinal cord or brain.   Thirty minutes   later he was laying on a hospital bed in a neck brace with the horror of   having a surgery. I knew he was afraid, so I talked to him about school,   sports, anything to get his mind off of the surgery. I think that made   him feel better, but I was still mad at the one who had put him there.  

          Hospital work isn't all sad. Sometimes it's happy and even funny. I took   care of a very sweet lady who had been a nurse when she was young. She   always talked with me as a mother, and gave advice about my problems.   She used to tell me some really good jokes.   She always wanted to help   others. I don't think she realized that she was a patient. I think some of   the greatest people in the world are the ones who get a chance of helping   others and help them, and not the ones that just care for themselves.   I remember one lady in particular who had a dark colored bruise on her   arm. She looked deep into my eyes as she pointed to her arm and said,   Im not a Negro--I know you think Im black, but Im not." I couldnt think   of what to say in reply.   All the nurses around me started laughing at   her; sometimes I think its the only way to keep from stressing out.

Well, I have to finish now, because I must go shopping with my mother. I hope to hear from you soon.
Best wishes,
                                                                                     XYZ.
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