14October2025
I was wheeled on a flimsy gurney down the long, echoing corridors of StThomas County Hospital.
Where to next? one nurse asked another.
Perhaps a private bay, perhaps the general ward?
Why the general if we could get her a private one?
They looked at me with genuine compassion. I later learned that patients who were close to the end were moved to single rooms so the rest of the ward wouldnt have to watch them fade away.
The doctor said a private room, the second nurse repeated. I felt a sudden calm settle over me. When the gurney finally stopped and I lay down, a deep peace washed over me simply because I no longer had any obligations, no journeys left to make, no debts to settle. It was as if a curtain had been drawn between me and the bustling world, and I didnt care what happened beyond it. I had, at last, a right to rest. Alone with my thoughts, my soul, my life, the petty worries dissolved, the frantic rush of everyday concerns shrank to nothing beside the endless.
Then, in the quiet, real life began to rumble around me: the chirping of sparrows at dawn, a shaft of sunlight creeping across the wall above my bed, golden leaves fluttering past the window, the deepblue autumn sky, the city waking with the hum of traffic, the clatter of shoelaces on cobblestones, the rustle of falling foliage. Good Lord, how wonderful life is! I only now truly grasped it.
Fine, I whispered to myself, I have a couple of days left to savour it and love it with all my heart.
A surge of freedom and joy rose within me, and I turned to the Almighty, who felt nearer than ever.
Lord! I cried, tears of gratitude spilling, Thank you for letting me see how beautiful this world is and for giving me the chance to love it. Even if I am near the end, I have learned what it means to truly live!
A tranquil happiness settled over me; the world seemed to hum with a golden light of divine love. For the first time love felt tangible, lifegiving. Everything I saw was bathed in that glow. I was in love.
The private bay and the diagnosisacute fourthstage leukaemiaalong with the doctors verdict of an irreversible condition, had their own odd comforts. Visitors were allowed at any hour; relatives were invited to say their goodbyes. A line of grieving kin stretched toward my bed. I understood their awkwardnesswhat do you say to someone who is dying? Their bewildered faces made me smile. I wanted to share my love with them, to entertain them as best I could, recounting funny anecdotes from my past. Laughter filled the room, and the farewell turned into a moment of joy.
Around the third day I grew weary of lying still, so I started pacing the ward, sitting by the window. The doctor caught me, initially flaring with indignation that I was getting up.
Will it change anything? I asked.
No, she muttered, flustered, but you arent supposed to walk.
Why not?
Youve got postmortem results. You cant stay alive, yet youre trying to rise.
Four days passed, the maximum allotted to me. I wasnt dying; I was munching bananas with appetite, feeling fine. The doctor seemed frustrated; the blood tests showed only a faint pink hue, and I began drifting into the common lounge to watch television.
I felt sorry for herher frustration was a shadow over the joy I tried to spread.
Doctor, how would you like those test results to look?
She mumbled something about letters and numbers, read them without understanding, and left.
At nine oclock the next morning she burst into my room, shouting, What are you doing with those results?
What results? I asked.
The tests! Theyre exactly as I wrote them.
I laughed, And? What difference does it make?
The commotion dwindled. I was moved to the general ward. My relatives had already said their goodbyes and stopped visiting. Five other women occupied the ward, staring blankly at the walls, silently slipping away. I endured three hours of their stillness before my own love began to feel suffocated; something had to be done at once.
I hauled a watermelon from under the bed, placed it on the table, sliced it, and proclaimed loudly, Watermelon cures nausea after chemo. A faint scent of hope floated through the ward. My neighbours tentatively leaned in.
Does it really work? one asked.
Certainly, I replied, confident.
The watermelon crunched juicy.
See? It helped, said the lady by the window.
It helped me too, chimed the others.
Exactly, I nodded, then launched into more humorous tales.
At two in the morning a nurse peered in, indignant, When will you stop laughing? Youre keeping the whole floor awake!
Three days later the senior nurse hesitantly asked, Would you mind moving to another bay?
Why?
Patients in this bay are getting better, but the next one has many serious cases.
No! we shouted in unison. We wont leave.
They didnt move us. Instead, people from other bays drifted in just to sit, chat, and laugh. I understood whylove had settled in our ward. It wrapped around each of us, making the atmosphere warm and peaceful.
I was especially taken by a sixteenyearold girl named Grace, wearing a white headscarf tied in a knot at the back, the loose ends giving her a bunnylike look. She had lymph node cancer and seemed unable to smile. A week later her shy grin blossomed, and when she told us the treatment was finally working, we threw a modest celebration, laying out a simple but neat spread.
The night shift doctor walked in, eyes wide, and remarked, Ive been here thirty years and have never seen anything like this. He turned and left, and we laughed long after, recalling the astonishment on his face.
I spent my days reading, writing poetry, gazing out the window, chatting with my neighbours, strolling the corridors, and loving every sight: a book, a fellow patient, the car parked outside, an ancient oak tree. I received vitamin injections; the nurse barely spoke to me, merely glancing oddly as she passed. After three weeks she whispered, Your haemoglobin is twenty units above the normal range for a healthy person. No need to raise it further.
I could not confirm my diagnosis, yet I was recovering without any real treatment.
When they finally discharged me, the doctor confessed, Its a shame youre leaving; we still have many difficult cases. Everyone from my ward went home, and the departments mortality rate fell by thirty percent.
Life went on, but I now see it through a different lens, a simpler meaning. All you need is to learn to love; then your wishes will be fulfilled so long as you form them with love, without deceit, jealousy, or malice.
Its that simple.
Because, truly, God is Love. All we have to do is remember this in time and pass it on. May divine love fill everyone and everything.
