12October2023
Today I found myself being wheeled down the corridors of the County Hospital in Oxfordshire on a rolling chair. A nurse turned to her colleague and asked, Where to? The other replied, Perhaps a private bay, perhaps the general ward? Why the general ward when a private ones available? they whispered with genuine sympathy. I later learned that private bays are reserved for those whose condition is deemed terminal, so the rest of us dont have to watch them slip away.
The senior nurse repeated, The doctor wants you in a private bay. I felt a sudden calm settle over me. Lying there, I realised I had no obligations left, no one to answer to. A strange detachment from the world washed over me; I didnt care what was happening outside. I had finally earned a right to rest, to be alone with my thoughts, my soul, my life. All the daily worries, the hustle, the pressing questions dissolved into insignificance when compared with eternity.
Then, unmistakably, real life began to stir around me. The simple pleasures I had taken for granted burst forth: the morning chorus of sparrows, a sunbeam creeping along the wall above my bed, golden maple leaves swaying at the window, a deepblue autumn sky, the citys awakening car horns, the clatter of boots on the pavement, the rustle of fallen leaves. Good Lord, what a wonderful life! I only truly understood it now.
Ill make the most of it, I told myself. I still have a few days to enjoy it and love it with all my heart. The surge of freedom and happiness demanded expression, and I turned to God, whom I felt nearer than ever.
Lord! I exclaimed. Thank you for letting me see how beautiful life is, even as I near its end. Ive learned what it means to truly live. A serene joy settled over me, the world glittered with a golden light of divine love. It seemed love had finally become real, lifegiving. Everything I saw was bathed in that golden glow, and I felt I was truly loving.
My private bay, my diagnosis of acute fourthstage leukaemia, and the irreversible state declared by the doctors all had their odd advantages. Visitors were allowed at any hour, and my relatives were urged to call in for the funeral. A line of mournful kin gathered, each unsure what to say to someone on the brink. Their bewildered faces amused me; I laughed at the awkwardness. I wanted most of all to share my love with them, to lift spirits with any funny anecdote I could muster. By Gods grace, they laughed, and our goodbyes were tinged with joy.
Around the third day I grew tired of lying still, so I began strolling along the ward, sitting by the window. The doctor caught me and, in a flurry, declared I must not get up. Will that change anything? I asked. No, he muttered, but youre not allowed to walk. Why? I pressed. Your blood work shows youre practically dead, yet youve started to rise. Four days passed I didnt die, I ate bananas with gusto, and felt fine. The doctor, meanwhile, was perplexed: my results never shifted, my blood was a faint pink, and I even ventured out to the corridor to watch television.
He seemed sorry for himself. Doctor, I said, how would you like those results to look? He mumbled something about numbers and letters I couldnt decipher but read attentively. At nineam the next morning he burst into my room shouting, What are you doing with those tests? What am I doing? I replied. The results are just as you wrote them. He stammered, Well what does it matter? The drama faded, and I was moved to the general ward. My relatives had already said their farewells and stopped visiting.
Five other women occupied the same ward, staring at the walls, silently slipping away. I endured three hours before my own love began to choke; something had to be done. I hauled a watermelon from beneath the bed, placed it on the table, sliced it, and announced loudly, Watermelon curbs nausea after chemotherapy. A scent of hope drifted through the ward; my neighbours hesitantly leaned in.
Does it really work? one asked. Indeed, I replied, confident. The watermelon crackled under our knives. It does, said the lady by the window. Me too, chimed the others. Exactly, I nodded, and resumed my stream of comic stories.
At two in the morning a nurse barged in, exasperated, When will you stop laughing? Youre keeping the whole floor awake! Three days later the senior doctor, unsure, asked, Could you perhaps move to another bay? Why? I replied. Everyone here is improving, but the next ward is full of critical cases. No! my companions shouted. We wont leave. They stayed. Visitors from other bays drifted in just to sit, talk, and laugh.
And I understood why. Love had taken up residence in our little bay, wrapping everyone in comfort and peace. I was especially drawn to a sixteenyearold girl named Ethel, wearing a white kerchief tied at the nape with a knot, the ends sticking out like rabbit ears. She had lymphoma of the lymph nodes and seemed unable to smile, but a week later her shy, magical grin appeared. When she announced her treatment was working, we threw a small celebration, laying out a splendid spread.
The oncall doctor walked in, eyes wide, and said, Ive been here thirty years, and Ive never seen anything like this. He turned and left, his stunned expression forever etched in our memory.
I spent my days reading, writing verses, gazing out the window, chatting with my neighbours, wandering the corridors, and loving everything I saw a book, a fellow patient, a car parked outside, an ancient oak tree. My vitamins needed a pinch, so someone had to draw them. The doctor barely spoke to me, only casting odd glances as he passed, and three weeks later whispered, Your haemoglobin is twenty units above the healthy range. No need to raise it further. I replied, I cant confirm your diagnosis. Im getting better, even though no ones treating me!
When it was time for discharge, the doctor confessed, Its a shame youre leaving; we still have many tough cases. All the patients from my bay were discharged, and the wards mortality fell by thirty percent. Life went on, but I now look at it through a different lens; the purpose seems simple: learn to love, and your wishes will be fulfilled if you nurture them with love, without deceit, envy, or malice.
Its that easy. After all, God is Love. All we need is to remember this in time and pass it on. May Divine Love fill everyone and everything.
Lesson: True peace comes not from the certainty of death, but from the certainty of love.
