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Matthew XXV
‘/
MEDICINE,SCIENCE,AND SOCIETY
Matthew XXV MICHAELA. LACOMBE,M.D., Norway, Maine
here was a time when the doctors began to come less often, and stayed for briefer periods of time. The woman knew she must be nearing the end. She sensed the restlessness in her grandchildren, for whom the hospital had once been a novelty and was now a close room of heavy sadness. With the doctors unable to predict, her son had returned to Tennessee. Life must go on. Her daughter had brushed her hair ever so gently for over an hour, and had only just left. She had seen the tremble in her daughter’s lip. She wanted it to be over now. She was tired of this process of dying. She had made her peace and said her goodbyes . . . a thousand times over. She had thought that when she had decided to die, to give up the struggle, Death would naturally come. One simply made a decision, she imagined, stopped clinging to life, and as in the novels, gave up the ghost. But each morning she awakened to find herself still alive. Was there something she was doing wrong, some attitude she had incorrectly assumed? Why was Death taking so long to come? And why this sense of something left undone? Couldn’t the doctors give her a shot to ease her out of this world? What possible purpose was served by these last, endless hours? What had she not completed, the woman wondered? Hadn’t she found her Path in this world? What could have been forgotten in this procession of minister, friend, and tearful family? Was she with these remaining hours to take stock of her life one more time? Should there be one final summing up? Perhaps Death was waiting for this completion. The woman addressed her chief success. With her left hand she reached across her body for the siderail, pulling herself slowly to her right side. The agony in her belly cried out from the periphery of her mind. With an effort of concentration, she willed the pain away. She scanned the pictures of her family on her night stand: her first grandchild, Kimmie, stood at attention, towered over by her beloved cello; her son-in his important office in Nashville-smiled at her from his desk; her daughter sat surrounded by Johnny and the twins.
T
From the Oxford Hills Internal Requests for reprints should
Manuscript
submitted
Medicine Group, Norway, be addressed to Michael
April 20, 1990, and accepted
Maine. A. LaCombe,
May 31, 1990.
She pressed against her belly, making a slight adjustment in bed. She looked at the twins with their baseball caps and freckled grins. She had raised a fine family. This was her life’s victory. She shifted her gaze to Phil-and to forty-seven years of memories. She had kept his home for him, raised his children, had been there for him so he could open all the doors of the world. She was his rock, Phil would say, his port in the storm. She had remained interested in his business, had encouraged him always to talk about it, had kept slim for him, as pretty as the years would allow. Only short months ago, he had, with his wink, patted her bottom. Phil’s Path had been hers as well. What else was there? Why this sense of emptiness? She rolled onto her back, winced, and gazed at the tiles on the ceiling. The scent of the hyacinth was getting on her nerves. She heard her doctor paged. Then again, urgently. Hurried footsteps ran off somewhere. What else was there? She shifted her gaze to the courtyard. There had been her parents, and her mother’s own illness. But that was so long ago. Where else had her Path conducted? Was this all there had been? That was all, she guessed. She had her family-a loving husband, her children and.grandchildren-a successful marriage-no small triumph these days. She could be proud of her children’s successes, and of her husband’s. She had been there for them. Mark that down. She listened to the voices of the hospital. Far off, a baby cried, and was still. An old man muttered in the darkness. The maintenance men whispered coarsely, waxing the floors. Why wasn’t she sleepy? She was so immensely tired, but sleep seemed never to come. Why now this haunting emptiness? Was she being made to lie awake until the end? Were they giving her medicines to keep her alert? Well, she wished they wouldn’t do that. The sunset melted into indigos and grey. The lights of the courtyard slanted through her blinds, playing tricks with shadows in her room. She heard voices murmuring from the benches in the courtyard. The paging, so incessantly shrill all day long, was subdued. This was the most difficult time for her: family and friends gone, nurses busy with evening duty, and sleep reluctant to come. In the far corner of the room, behind the door, the courtyard lights shimmered and coalesced. She turned toward the light, and, looking down the
September
1990
The American
Journal
of Medicine
Volume
89
363
MATTHEW
XXV / LaCOMBE
self with her elbows, ignoring her pain. She squintlength of her nose, tried to focus on it. The light held in the corner, in an odd, persistent way. Peculiar. ed again and blinked against the light. Was the morphine inducing hallucination? Or was “I have never seen you before. I think you are this the cancer gone to brain? Could this be some mistaken. When did I see You sick and visit You? mysterious Apparition from another place? When did I see You a stranger and take You in?” She decided it must be the morphine and turned The Apparition brightened, assembled. The her head away. woman licked her dry, chapped lips, and, with widFrom the corner of the room, the Apparition ened eyes, watched. The Apparition answered: spoke to her. “You have given to your hospital so selflessly! Look “Good evening, Claire. I’m here to help you in what you have done! You built a nursery, and intenyour recollection.” sive care. You brought doctors here, and nurses The woman turned back to the light. She squintwith them. You have welcomed the stranger; you ed, blinked hard, looked away, and then back again. visited the sick. You have cared so lovingly for your This was too real to be the morphine, she thought. It neighbor. Inasmuch as you have done it for one of must be cancer gone to my brain. She went back to these, you have done it for Me.” counting the tiles on the ceiling. “You sound like the Bible, Light,” the woman Again the Apparition spoke to her: said. “I had forgotten the hospital. I guess I simply “I remember all those children whose lives you did what I was supposed to do. I never really saved. And the grocer with the heart attack. And all thought about the who or why very much. I had those others, whose lives you’ve touched. Surely you never looked at it in quite this way. Thank you for haven’t forgotten them?” helping me see that.” What in Heaven’s name does one do, she thought, Then with an afterthought, the woman added, with a ghost which is only cancer to the brain? She “Do you visit everyone who is dying, Light?” checked to see that the door was shut tight so that “Everyone,” answered the Apparition. her nurse could not hear her talking to herself and The woman drifted off into a sleep of dreams. think she had lost her mind. The Apparition spoke The sun was high, complete. In the warmth of again, “The nurses are all down the hall, having day she walked meadows dressed with wild aster, coffee.” breathed timothy and fescue, and came to a grand “I think you have the wrong room,” said the womhouse on a hill. There under the elms, she saw an. “You want one of the doctors. You took a wrong wizened grandmothers rocking in gerontic splenturn somewhere. Thank you for the visit.” dor, waving shyly from the porch. She entered the There. Maybe now the cancer in her brain would house and sat by a great swinging door through be still. which entered the bent and frail. She greeted each But the Apparition persisted. of them, taking a pale hand and placing it into the “You have been far more than simply wife and hand of a waiting nurse. Through this same door mother,” said the Apparition. “You have been both left the healed, walking proudly, and with purpose. doctor and nurse yourself. God bless you for that!” Each smiled and bowed to her, handing her a daf“You are quite mistaken. You are nothing but fodil. These she held in her lap, neatly arranged cancer gone to brain,” the woman said. She turned just so-sheaves of daffodils. her head abruptly, away from the light, dismissing Hours later, the morning sun brightened the hosit. She watched the people milling about in the wing pital room. The woman’s young nurse slipped quiacross the courtyard, waiting to be seen in the emeretly in, peering at her discreetly. gency department. She waited an interminable “I’m still alive, Kathy,” said the woman. She length of time to allow the light to leave. Cautiously, looked at her nurse, at her starched freshness and she turned back to sneak a glance. The light was youth, and smiled broadly. there still. “How are you feeling this morning? Did you sleep “Light, thank you for the visit,” she said impawell?” asked the nurse. tiently. “But I am trying to die. I would like to be “Everything is done now. I think I’ve completed alone. Perhaps there is someone down the hall in it,” answered the woman. need of your services.” “Completed it?” asked her nurse. “I came here for you,” said the Apparition, “to “Oh, it’s nothing you’d understand. No matter,” honor you and your good works. I was sick and said the woman. “Just some things I had to see. You you visited me. I was a stranger and you took me will see them too someday. in. ” “Kathy, tell me,” said the woman, changing the The woman struggled to half-sit, supporting her- subject, “just how is my hospital today?”
364
September
1990
The American
Journal
of Medicine
Volume
89
MEDICINE,SCIENCE,AND SOCIETY
Matthew XXV MICHAELA. LACOMBE,M.D., Norway, Maine
here was a time when the doctors began to come less often, and stayed for briefer periods of time. The woman knew she must be nearing the end. She sensed the restlessness in her grandchildren, for whom the hospital had once been a novelty and was now a close room of heavy sadness. With the doctors unable to predict, her son had returned to Tennessee. Life must go on. Her daughter had brushed her hair ever so gently for over an hour, and had only just left. She had seen the tremble in her daughter’s lip. She wanted it to be over now. She was tired of this process of dying. She had made her peace and said her goodbyes . . . a thousand times over. She had thought that when she had decided to die, to give up the struggle, Death would naturally come. One simply made a decision, she imagined, stopped clinging to life, and as in the novels, gave up the ghost. But each morning she awakened to find herself still alive. Was there something she was doing wrong, some attitude she had incorrectly assumed? Why was Death taking so long to come? And why this sense of something left undone? Couldn’t the doctors give her a shot to ease her out of this world? What possible purpose was served by these last, endless hours? What had she not completed, the woman wondered? Hadn’t she found her Path in this world? What could have been forgotten in this procession of minister, friend, and tearful family? Was she with these remaining hours to take stock of her life one more time? Should there be one final summing up? Perhaps Death was waiting for this completion. The woman addressed her chief success. With her left hand she reached across her body for the siderail, pulling herself slowly to her right side. The agony in her belly cried out from the periphery of her mind. With an effort of concentration, she willed the pain away. She scanned the pictures of her family on her night stand: her first grandchild, Kimmie, stood at attention, towered over by her beloved cello; her son-in his important office in Nashville-smiled at her from his desk; her daughter sat surrounded by Johnny and the twins.
T
From the Oxford Hills Internal Requests for reprints should
Manuscript
submitted
Medicine Group, Norway, be addressed to Michael
April 20, 1990, and accepted
Maine. A. LaCombe,
May 31, 1990.
She pressed against her belly, making a slight adjustment in bed. She looked at the twins with their baseball caps and freckled grins. She had raised a fine family. This was her life’s victory. She shifted her gaze to Phil-and to forty-seven years of memories. She had kept his home for him, raised his children, had been there for him so he could open all the doors of the world. She was his rock, Phil would say, his port in the storm. She had remained interested in his business, had encouraged him always to talk about it, had kept slim for him, as pretty as the years would allow. Only short months ago, he had, with his wink, patted her bottom. Phil’s Path had been hers as well. What else was there? Why this sense of emptiness? She rolled onto her back, winced, and gazed at the tiles on the ceiling. The scent of the hyacinth was getting on her nerves. She heard her doctor paged. Then again, urgently. Hurried footsteps ran off somewhere. What else was there? She shifted her gaze to the courtyard. There had been her parents, and her mother’s own illness. But that was so long ago. Where else had her Path conducted? Was this all there had been? That was all, she guessed. She had her family-a loving husband, her children and.grandchildren-a successful marriage-no small triumph these days. She could be proud of her children’s successes, and of her husband’s. She had been there for them. Mark that down. She listened to the voices of the hospital. Far off, a baby cried, and was still. An old man muttered in the darkness. The maintenance men whispered coarsely, waxing the floors. Why wasn’t she sleepy? She was so immensely tired, but sleep seemed never to come. Why now this haunting emptiness? Was she being made to lie awake until the end? Were they giving her medicines to keep her alert? Well, she wished they wouldn’t do that. The sunset melted into indigos and grey. The lights of the courtyard slanted through her blinds, playing tricks with shadows in her room. She heard voices murmuring from the benches in the courtyard. The paging, so incessantly shrill all day long, was subdued. This was the most difficult time for her: family and friends gone, nurses busy with evening duty, and sleep reluctant to come. In the far corner of the room, behind the door, the courtyard lights shimmered and coalesced. She turned toward the light, and, looking down the
September
1990
The American
Journal
of Medicine
Volume
89
363
MATTHEW
XXV / LaCOMBE
self with her elbows, ignoring her pain. She squintlength of her nose, tried to focus on it. The light held in the corner, in an odd, persistent way. Peculiar. ed again and blinked against the light. Was the morphine inducing hallucination? Or was “I have never seen you before. I think you are this the cancer gone to brain? Could this be some mistaken. When did I see You sick and visit You? mysterious Apparition from another place? When did I see You a stranger and take You in?” She decided it must be the morphine and turned The Apparition brightened, assembled. The her head away. woman licked her dry, chapped lips, and, with widFrom the corner of the room, the Apparition ened eyes, watched. The Apparition answered: spoke to her. “You have given to your hospital so selflessly! Look “Good evening, Claire. I’m here to help you in what you have done! You built a nursery, and intenyour recollection.” sive care. You brought doctors here, and nurses The woman turned back to the light. She squintwith them. You have welcomed the stranger; you ed, blinked hard, looked away, and then back again. visited the sick. You have cared so lovingly for your This was too real to be the morphine, she thought. It neighbor. Inasmuch as you have done it for one of must be cancer gone to my brain. She went back to these, you have done it for Me.” counting the tiles on the ceiling. “You sound like the Bible, Light,” the woman Again the Apparition spoke to her: said. “I had forgotten the hospital. I guess I simply “I remember all those children whose lives you did what I was supposed to do. I never really saved. And the grocer with the heart attack. And all thought about the who or why very much. I had those others, whose lives you’ve touched. Surely you never looked at it in quite this way. Thank you for haven’t forgotten them?” helping me see that.” What in Heaven’s name does one do, she thought, Then with an afterthought, the woman added, with a ghost which is only cancer to the brain? She “Do you visit everyone who is dying, Light?” checked to see that the door was shut tight so that “Everyone,” answered the Apparition. her nurse could not hear her talking to herself and The woman drifted off into a sleep of dreams. think she had lost her mind. The Apparition spoke The sun was high, complete. In the warmth of again, “The nurses are all down the hall, having day she walked meadows dressed with wild aster, coffee.” breathed timothy and fescue, and came to a grand “I think you have the wrong room,” said the womhouse on a hill. There under the elms, she saw an. “You want one of the doctors. You took a wrong wizened grandmothers rocking in gerontic splenturn somewhere. Thank you for the visit.” dor, waving shyly from the porch. She entered the There. Maybe now the cancer in her brain would house and sat by a great swinging door through be still. which entered the bent and frail. She greeted each But the Apparition persisted. of them, taking a pale hand and placing it into the “You have been far more than simply wife and hand of a waiting nurse. Through this same door mother,” said the Apparition. “You have been both left the healed, walking proudly, and with purpose. doctor and nurse yourself. God bless you for that!” Each smiled and bowed to her, handing her a daf“You are quite mistaken. You are nothing but fodil. These she held in her lap, neatly arranged cancer gone to brain,” the woman said. She turned just so-sheaves of daffodils. her head abruptly, away from the light, dismissing Hours later, the morning sun brightened the hosit. She watched the people milling about in the wing pital room. The woman’s young nurse slipped quiacross the courtyard, waiting to be seen in the emeretly in, peering at her discreetly. gency department. She waited an interminable “I’m still alive, Kathy,” said the woman. She length of time to allow the light to leave. Cautiously, looked at her nurse, at her starched freshness and she turned back to sneak a glance. The light was youth, and smiled broadly. there still. “How are you feeling this morning? Did you sleep “Light, thank you for the visit,” she said impawell?” asked the nurse. tiently. “But I am trying to die. I would like to be “Everything is done now. I think I’ve completed alone. Perhaps there is someone down the hall in it,” answered the woman. need of your services.” “Completed it?” asked her nurse. “I came here for you,” said the Apparition, “to “Oh, it’s nothing you’d understand. No matter,” honor you and your good works. I was sick and said the woman. “Just some things I had to see. You you visited me. I was a stranger and you took me will see them too someday. in. ” “Kathy, tell me,” said the woman, changing the The woman struggled to half-sit, supporting her- subject, “just how is my hospital today?”
364
September
1990
The American
Journal
of Medicine
Volume
89