October 10, 2021

Love machine

Lately I have been busier than before and distracted. Partly due to work which drains me daily.

Partly due to the puppy, Barlow, who is growing rapidly. A fine and handsome puppy he is.

And partly due to news of COVID-19 which continues to ravage, while disinformation rages and divides the country.

Also on my mind is my friend, Debbie.

When I used to “attend” at the hospital, I cared for many dying patients. Sometimes difficult cases full of suffering with patients and/or families or doctors, resisting the inevitable. Some of my most satisfying experiences were helping patients and their families accept that dying was part of life for all of us. We could back off the often painful and uncomfortable “heroic” care and move into the area of comfort and goodbyes, easing the transition. The nuns, the Sisters of Providence, would often come to the family meetings, saying “This isn’t doing anybody any good”. Their empathy and concern allowed the families to see the situation realistically and move towards doing what was best for the patient, letting go of the hope for a miraculous save. I often felt that was the miracle. Facing death wholly. Allowing love and grief to come face to face.

Which brings me back to my friend, Debbie. She is dying of metastatic breast cancer. She has lived a life full of love and loss. As a young mother, she lost her first husband to cancer and the chemotherapy that ravaged him. Years later, she lost her second husband to ALS who was ravaged by a relentless disease. She was there for both of them. When her breast cancer returned, this time there was no cure. She looked at treatment options, told they could add months to her life, she chose to try ones with minimal side effects and avoided those that could cause more symptoms. When the ones she tried didn’t work, she made the choice to stop treatment, facing death.

A wondrous thing happened. She became a love machine. Yes, she was one already, but now she really is a love machine. She says the decision broke her open to receive and give love in ways that surprised her. Rather than suffering through chemo, feeling fatigued or having “chemo brain”, she is truly present on a daily basis for the stream of friends and family that come by to see her. She almost glows. We all bask in her love. I suspect the love she feels sustains her, bringing endorphins that mask any pain she might feel. We all know, and she knows, that she is dying, but the gift she brings to each of us is love and the fact we get to return that love. Each day is another chance to give and receive love. Such a lesson. For that I am grateful. May we all be so lucky.

Wash your hands, cover your nose, love as long and as hard as you can.

And finally, my caveat is that this is my experience and my opinions, which are subject to change as more information is available, and not related to the organization I work for. Thanks for reading.