She was wheeled through the corridors of the regional hospital in her chair…
“Where to?” one nurse asked another. “Maybe not a private roomperhaps the general ward?”
I grew uneasy. “Why the general ward when theres a private one available?”
The nurses looked at her with such genuine pity that I was utterly bewildered. Only later did she learn that private rooms were reserved for the dyingso the others wouldnt have to see.
“The doctor said private,” the nurse repeated.
I relaxed then. And when I found myself lying on the bed, I felt a strange peace settle over me. No more obligations, no more responsibilities. The world outside faded into insignificance. Nothing mattered anymore.
For the first time, I had the right to rest. And it felt good. Just me, alone with my thoughts, my soul, my life. Gone were the petty worries, the frantic race for meaningless thingsall of it dwarfed by the vastness of eternity, by life and death and the unknown waiting beyond.
And thenreal life burst in around me. The chirping of birds at dawn, a sunbeam creeping across the wall above my bed, golden leaves waving at me through the window, the deep blue of an autumn sky. The hum of the waking citycar horns, the click of high heels on pavement, the rustle of falling leaves. Good Lord, how beautiful life was! And only now did I truly see it.
“Fine,” I told myself. “But at least Ive realised. And I still have a few days to savour it, to love it with all my heart.”
This overwhelming sense of freedom and joy demanded release, so I turned to GodHe felt closer now than anyone.
“Thank you, Lord,” I whispered, “for letting me see how wonderful life is. Even if its just before the end, at least Ive learned how good it is to live!”
A quiet happiness filled meserene, weightless, yet soaring. The world shimmered with golden light, as if love itself had thickened the air. It pulsed around me, heavy and warm, like slow, rhythmic waves. Everything I saw glowed with it. I loveddeeply, fiercely. It was like the swell of an organ, the flight of a violins melody.
The private room and the diagnosisacute leukaemia, stage fourthe doctors verdict that my body was beyond repairhad its perks. The dying were allowed unlimited visitors. Relatives were told to gather, and a stream of grieving faces filed in to say goodbye.
I understood their strugglewhat do you say to someone who knows theyre dying? Their awkwardness amused me.
I was glad to see them all. More than anything, I wanted to share this love for lifehow could anyone not be happy knowing it? I cracked jokes, told stories. By some miracle, everyone laughed, and the farewells were joyful.
By the third day, I grew restless. I got up, paced the room, sat by the window. The doctor stormed in, horrified.
“You cant be walking!”
I blinked. “Will it change anything?”
“No,” she faltered. “But you shouldnt be able to.”
“Why not?”
“Your bloodworkits like a corpses. You shouldnt even be alive, let alone standing.”
The four days Id been given passed. I wasnt dying. I was eating sausages and bananas with gusto. Meanwhile, the doctor was baffledmy tests hadnt changed. My blood was still faint pink, yet I was strolling into the hallway to watch TV.
I almost felt sorry for her. Love demanded joy, after all.
“Doctor,” I asked, “what would you like these results to say?”
She scribbled numbers and letters on a scrap of paper. I didnt understand, but I studied it carefully. She muttered something and left.
At nine the next morning, she burst in.
“How are you doing this?!”
“Doing what?”
“Your resultsthey match what I wrote!”
I shrugged. “How should I know? Does it matter?”
They moved me to the general ward. My relatives had already said their goodbyes and stopped visiting.
Five other women shared the room. They faced the walls, silently, grimly dying. I lasted three hours. My love was suffocating. I had to do something.
I rolled a watermelon from under the bed, sliced it open, and announced, “This helps with chemo nausea.”
The scent of fresh snow filled the air. One by one, they crept to the table.
“Really works?”
“Absolutely,” I said knowingly.
Juicy crunches followed.
“Its gone,” murmured the one by the window, hobbling on crutches.
“Me too,” another whispered, then another.
“See?” I nodded. “Now, have you heard the one about?”
By midnight, a nurse scolded us. “Will you stop laughing? The whole floor cant sleep!”
Three days later, the doctor hesitantly asked, “Could you move to another room?”
“Why?”
“Everyone in here is improving. The next ward has critical cases.”
“No!” my roommates shouted. “She stays.”
So I stayed. Soon, patients from other rooms drifted injust to chat, to laugh. I knew why. Love lived here. It wrapped around everyone like golden warmth, soothing them.
My favourite was a sixteen-year-old girl in a white headscarf, tied at the nape. The loose ends made her look like a little rabbit. Lymph node cancer, they said. At first, I thought she never smiled. But a week later, I saw itshy, sweet. When she said the treatment was working, we threw a party. The duty doctor gaped at us.
“Thirty years here,” he muttered, “and Ive never seen this.”
He left. We howled with laughter.
I read, wrote poems, gazed out the window. Loved everythingbooks, juice, the old tree outside, even the car parked below. They gave me vitaminshad to give me something. The doctor barely spoke, only shot strange glances.
Three weeks in, she admitted, “Your haemoglobins 20 points above normal. Stop improving.”
She seemed almost angry. Logically, shed misdiagnosed mebut that was impossible. She knew it.
One day, she sighed, “I cant confirm your diagnosis. Youre recovering, but no ones treating you. That cant happen.”
“What *is* my diagnosis?”
“Havent decided yet,” she murmured, walking away.
At my discharge, she confessed, “Ill miss you. Weve got so many critical cases left.”
Our room emptied. That month, deaths in the ward dropped by 30%.
Life went on. But my perspective had shiftedas if I were looking down from above, seeing the bigger picture. The meaning of life was simple, really.
Just learn to love. Then possibilities become endless. Desires come trueif theyre born of love. No lies, no envy, no grudges. So simple. So hard.
Because its trueGod is love. We just have to remember in time.
