She was wheeled down the corridors of the regional hospital in a chair… «Where to?» one nurse asked another. «Maybe not a private roommaybe the general ward?»
I felt a pang of worry. «Why the general ward if theres a private one available?»
The nurses looked at her with such genuine pity that I was utterly baffled. Only later did she learn that private rooms were reserved for the dying, so the others wouldnt have to see them.
«The doctor said private,» the nurse repeated.
I relaxed. And when I found myself on the bed, a strange peace washed over mejust from knowing I didnt have to go anywhere, that I owed nothing to anyone, that all my responsibilities had dissolved. I felt detached from the world, indifferent to whatever was happening in it.
Nothing and no one mattered anymore. I had earned the right to rest. And it was good. I was alone with myself, with my soul, with my life. Just me and me. The problems were gone, the rush and the pressing questions vanished. All that frantic chasing after trivial things seemed so petty compared to eternity, to life and death, to the unknown waiting for us
And thenreal life surged around me! It turned out to be so wonderful: birds singing at dawn, a sunbeam crawling across the wall above my bed, golden leaves waving at me through the window, the deep blue of an autumn sky, the sounds of the city wakingcar horns, the click-clack of heels on pavement, the rustle of falling leaves God, how beautiful life was! And only now did I truly understand it.
«So what if its late?» I told myself. «At least Ive realised. And Ive still got a few days left to savour it, to love it with all my heart.»
The overwhelming sense of freedom and happiness demanded an outlet, so I turned to GodHe felt closer to me than anyone else.
«Lord!» I rejoiced. «Thank You for letting me see how wonderful life is, for teaching me to love it. Even if its just before death, at least Ive learned how glorious it is to live!»
A quiet, soaring happiness filled mepeace, freedom, and a ringing clarity all at once. The world shimmered with golden light, pulsing with divine love. I could feel its powerful waves, thick yet soft, like an ocean swell.
It filled every space around me, even the air, which grew heavy, flowing into my lungs like slow, pulsing water. Everything I saw seemed bathed in that golden glow. I loved! And it was like the mighty swell of a Bach organ piece blending with the soaring melody of a violin.
The private room and the diagnosisacute leukaemia, stage fouralong with the doctors verdict of irreversible decline, had their perks. The dying were allowed visitors anytime. Relatives were told to gather loved ones for the funeral, and a stream of grieving family members came to say goodbye.
I understood their strugglewhat do you say to someone whos dying? Especially when they know it. Their bewildered faces almost made me laugh.
But I was happy. When else would I see them all? More than anything, I wanted to share this love for lifehow could anyone not be happy knowing that? I entertained them as best I could, telling jokes, sharing stories.
Thank God, everyone laughed, and the farewells unfolded in joy. By the third day, I grew tired of lying down and started pacing the room, sitting by the window. Thats how the doctor found me. She panicked, insisting I shouldnt be up.
I was genuinely puzzled. «Will it change anything?»
«No,» she admitted, flustered. «But you cant walk.»
«Why not?»
«Your bloodwork is corpse-level. You shouldnt even be alive, let alone standing.»
The maximum Id been givenfour dayspassed. I wasnt dying. Instead, I devoured sausages and bananas with gusto. I felt fine. The doctor, on the other hand, was baffled. My tests didnt changemy blood was still faintly pinkyet Id started wandering the halls to watch TV.
Poor woman. Love demanded joy for those around me.
«Doctor, what would you like these results to look like?»
«Well, at least like this.» She scribbled some letters and numbers. I didnt understand, but I studied them carefully. She muttered something and left.
At nine the next morning, she burst in, demanding, «How are you doing this?!»
«Doing what?»
«Your bloodwork! It matches what I wrote!»
«Oh! How should I know? Does it matter?»
I was moved to the general ward. Relatives had already said their goodbyes and stopped visiting.
Five other women shared the room. They lay facing the wall, silently, grimly dying. I lasted three hours. My love was suffocating. Something had to be done. I rolled a watermelon from under my bed, sliced it open, and announced, «This helps with chemo nausea.»
The scent of fresh snow filled the room. Slowly, the others shuffled over.
«Does it really help?»
«Mm-hmm,» I confirmed knowingly.
Juicy crunching followed.
«Its working,» said the woman by the window on crutches.
«Me too Me too» the others chimed in.
«See?» I nodded. «Now, have you heard the one about?»
At 2 a.m., a nurse stormed in. «When are you lot going to stop laughing? Youre keeping the whole ward awake!»
Three days later, the doctor hesitantly asked, «Could you switch rooms?»
«Why?»
«Everyone in here is improving. The next ward has critical cases.»
«No!» my roommates shouted. «She stays.»
And she did. Soon, patients from other wards drifted in just to chat and laugh. I knew why. Love lived in our room. It wrapped everyone in golden warmth, making them feel safe.
My favourite was a sixteen-year-old girl in a white headscarf tied at the back. Stray ends made her look like a bunny. Lymph node cancer. At first, she never smiled. A week later, I saw how sweet and shy her grin was. When she said her meds were working, we threw a feast. The night doctor gaped at us.
«Ive worked here thirty years. Never seen anything like this.»
He left. We laughed for ages.
I read, wrote poems, gazed out the window, chatted, strolled the hallsloving everything: books, juice, neighbours, the old tree outside. They injected me with vitaminshad to give me something. The doctor barely spoke, just eyed me sideways.
Three weeks in, she muttered, «Your haemoglobins 20 units above a healthy persons. Stop increasing it.»
She seemed angry, as if Id made her misdiagnose mewhich was impossible, and she knew it.
Once, she confessed, «I cant confirm your diagnosis. Youre recovering without treatment. That cant happen.»
«What *is* my diagnosis?»
«I havent figured that out yet,» she whispered, walking away.
At my discharge, she admitted, «Ill miss you. Weve still got so many critical cases.»
Everyone in my room recovered. Ward mortality dropped 30% that month.
Life went on. But my perspective had shiftedas if I were seeing the world from above, everything scaled differently. The meaning of life was suddenly simple: just learn to love.
Then your possibilities become endless. All wishes come trueif theyre shaped by love. No deceit, no envy, no grudges, no ill will. Simple. And terribly hard.
Because its trueGod is love. You just have to remember in time.
