I was being wheeled down the corridors of the county hospital in Yorkshire on a gurney, the clatter of wheels echoing off the linoleum.
Where to? one nurse asked another.
Maybe a private bay, maybe a general ward?
Why a general ward when a private could be arranged? they replied, their eyes soft with pity. I later learned that patients nearing the end were moved to single rooms so the rest of the ward wouldnt have to witness their decline.
The doctor ordered a private bay, the nurse repeated, and a wave of relief washed over me.
When I finally lay down on the bed, an unexpected calm settled over me. I realised I had no more obligations, no errands to run, no debts to settle. A strange detachment from the world took hold; I could have cared less about the hustle beyond those walls. I had earned a respite, a moment alone with my own thoughts, my soul, my fleeting life. The petty worries, the frantic questionsall melted away, dwarfed by the notion of eternity.
Then, all at once, life outside the curtains surged back in full colour. The chirping of sparrows at dawn, a shaft of sunlight crawling across the wall above my bed, golden leaves fluttering against the window, a deepblue autumn sky, the city waking with the rumble of buses and the taptap of shoes on wet pavement, the rustle of fallen foliage Goodness, what a wonderful life! And only now did I truly grasp it.
Fine, I told myself, Ive seen it. I have a couple of days left to savour it and love it with all my heart.
A rush of freedom and happiness surged within me, and I turned my thoughts to God, who seemed nearer than ever.
Lord! I exclaimed, thank you for letting me see how beautiful life is, even as I approach its end. I may be dying, but Ive learned how to truly live!
A quiet bliss and peace enveloped me. The world glimmered with the golden light of divine love; love finally felt tangible, lifegiving. It seemed everything I beheld was bathed in that warm glow. I was loving.
My private bay, the diagnosis of stage4 acute leukaemia, and the irreversible state declared by my doctors all had a strange upside. Visitors could come at any hour. Relatives were invited to say their goodbyes, and a procession of grieving family members gathered around my bed. I understood their awkwardnesswhat do you say to someone who is about to leave? Their puzzled faces made me smile. I wanted to share my love with them, to entertain them with lighthearted anecdotes from my past. By Gods grace they laughed, and the farewells were tinged with joy.
Around the third day, I grew restless. I paced the bay, perched by the window. The nurse caught me and, flustered, warned that I shouldnt be getting up.
Will it change anything? I asked.
No, she stammered, but youre not supposed to be walking.
Why?
Your blood work shows youre essentially not alive, yet youve started to rise.
Four days passed, the maximum they allowed. I wasnt dying; I was munching bananas with gusto, feeling well. The doctor, however, was baffled. My results stayed unchanged, the blood was a faint pink, and I even drifted to the lounge to watch television.
She seemed sorry for me; love demanded that those around me be happy.
Doctor, what would you like those results to look like?
Just something normal, she muttered, scribbling numbers I couldnt decipher but read dutifully.
At nine in the morning she burst into the bay shouting, What are you doing with those results?!
What? I replied.
Theyre exactly as I wrote them.
Ah I dont know why it matters, I said, and the argument fizzled.
I was moved to the general ward. My relatives had already said their goodbyes and stopped visiting. Five other women occupied the space, each staring at the wall, silently and grimly slipping away. I endured three hours, my own love feeling suffocated. Something had to be done.
I dragged a watermelon from under the bed, set it on the bedside table, sliced it, and announced loudly, Watermelon eases the nausea after chemo.
A scent of hope drifted through the ward. My neighbours tentatively leaned over.
Does it really work? one asked.
Indeed, I confirmed, a spark in my eye.
The melon cracked with a satisfying crunch.
It does, said the lady by the window.
Me too me too, chimed the others, delighted.
Here, I nodded, and began spinning more lighthearted tales.
At two in the night a nurse peered in, annoyed. When will you stop laughing? Youre keeping the whole floor awake!
Three days later the senior doctor, hesitant, asked, Could you move to another bay?
For what? I replied.
In this bay everyones improving; the next one has many serious cases.
No! the other patients cried. Dont let us go.
They werent let go. Instead, strangers from other wards drifted in just to sit, chat, and share a laugh. I understood why: love had taken residence in our bay. It wrapped everyone in warmth, making the atmosphere cosy and calm.
I was especially fond of a sixteenyearold girl named Ethel, her white kerchief tied in a knot at the back, the ends sticking out like rabbit ears. She had lymph node cancer and seemed unable to smile, yet a week later her shy, magical grin blossomed. When she announced that her treatment was finally working, we threw a modest celebration, laying out a simple feast.
The oncall consultant, eyes wide, said, Ive been here thirty years and never seen anything like this. He turned and left, and we laughed for a long while, recalling the astonishment on his face.
I read books, wrote poems, gazed out the window, chatted with my neighbours, strolled down the corridor, and fell in love with everything I saw: a novel, a fellow patient, a car parked outside, an ancient oak tree. They gave me vitamin injections; I welcomed the prick. The doctor scarcely spoke to me, merely casting odd glances as she passed. Three weeks later she whispered, Your haemoglobin is twenty units above the normal range for a healthy person. No need to push it higher.
I cant confirm your diagnosis, she said. Youre getting better, even though no one is treating you!
When it was time to discharge me, the doctor sighed, What a shame youre leaving; we still have many tough cases.
Everyone from my bay was sent home, and the wards mortality fell by thirty percent. Life went on, but I now looked at it differently; its meaning seemed wonderfully simple.
All you need is to learn to love, and your wishes will come true if you shape them with love. If you avoid deceit, envy, resentment, and wishing harm on others it really is that easy.
Because its true that God is Love. All we have to do is remember this and pass it on. May divine love fill everyone and everything!
Lesson: love is the cure that transforms even the darkest moments into something worth living for.
