They wheeled her through the corridors of the regional hospital in a chair…
«Where to?» one nurse asked another. «Maybe not a private roommaybe the shared one?»
I felt a pang of worry. «Why shared if theres a private one available?»
The nurses glanced at her with such genuine pity that it caught me off guard. Only later did she learnprivate rooms were for the dying, so the others wouldnt see.
«The doctor said private,» the nurse repeated.
I relaxed. And when I finally sank into the bed, a strange peace washed over mejust the relief of not having to go anywhere, of no longer owing anyone anything. My responsibilities had vanished. The world felt distant, irrelevant. None of it mattered anymore.
Nothing and no one interested me. I had earned the right to rest. And it was good. Just me, my soul, my life. Only *me*. The noise of problems, the rush of urgent thingsall of it seemed so small next to Eternity, next to Life and Death, next to the unknown waiting beyond.
And thenreal Life bubbled up around me! The birds singing at dawn, sunlight sliding across the wall above my bed, golden leaves waving at me through the window, the deep blue of autumn sky, the city wakingcar horns, the click of heels on pavement, the rustle of falling leaves… God, how beautiful Life was! And Id only just realised it.
«So what?» I told myself. «At least I realised. And Ive still got a few days to soak it in, to love it with everything Ive got.»
This rush of freedom and joy needed an outlet, so I turned to GodHe felt closer than anyone now.
«Lord!» I laughed. «Thank You for letting me see how wonderful Life is, for teaching me to love it. Even if its just before death, I finally understand how good it is to be alive!»
A quiet happiness filled meserene, free, light as air. The world hummed and shimmered with golden light, like divine Love had thickened the air, soft and heavy, pulsing like ocean waves. Everything I saw glowed with it. I *loved*. It was like the crash of Bachs organ and the leap of a violin melody all at once.
The private room and the diagnosisacute leukaemia, stage fourhad perks. The dying got visitors anytime. Family were told to call loved ones for farewells, and soon a procession of grieving relatives filed in.
I understood their strugglewhat do you say to someone whos dying? Especially when they *know*. Their bewildered faces almost made me laugh.
I was glad to see them all! And more than anything, I wanted to share this love for Lifehow could anyone *not* be happy with that? I cracked jokes, told stories, kept everyone laughing. Thank God, they all left smiling.
By day three, I got bored of lying down. I wandered the room, sat by the window. The doctor found me like that and nearly had a fit.
«You cant be up!»
I blinked. «Will it change anything?»
«…No.» She faltered. «But you shouldnt be walking.»
«Why not?»
«Your bloodworks like a corpses. You shouldnt even be *alive*, let alone standing.»
Four daysthe max I was givencame and went. I wasnt dying. I was devouring sausage and bananas, feeling grand. The doctor? Not so much. My tests didnt budge, my blood was barely pink, yet I was in the lounge watching telly.
Poor woman. Love demanded joy, so I humoured her.
«Doctor, what *should* my tests look like?»
She scribbled numbers on a slip. I had no clue what they meant, but I studied them solemnly. She muttered something and left.
Next morning, she burst in.
«How are you *doing* this?!»
«Doing what?»
«Your tests! They match what I wrote!»
I shrugged. «How should I know? Does it matter?»
They moved me to a shared ward. No more goodbye visits.
Five other women shared the room, all facing the wall, silently dying. I lasted three hours. My Love was suffocating. I had to fix this.
I rolled a watermelon from under the bed, sliced it open, and announced, «This helps chemo nausea.»
The scent of fresh snow filled the air. Slowly, they crept over.
«Really works?»
«Mm-hmm,» I said, like an expert.
Crunching followed.
«It *does*,» said the one by the window on crutches.
«Me too…»
«See?» I grinned. «Now, ever heard the joke about…?»
At 2 a.m., a nurse hissed, «Will you *stop* laughing? The whole floor cant sleep!»
Three days later, the doctor hesitantly asked, «Could you… switch rooms?»
«Why?»
«Everyone in heres improving. Next doors full of critical cases.»
«No!» my roommates cried. «She stays.»
So I did. Soon, neighbours drifted in just to chat, laugh, *live*. I knew why. Love lived heregolden, warm, wrapping everyone in calm.
My favourite was a shy 16-year-old in a white headscarf, tied in a little knot. Stray ends made her look like a bunny. Lymph node cancer. At first, I thought she never smiled. Then, one daya timid, glowing grin. When she said her meds were working, we threw a party. The night doctor gaped.
«Thirty years here. Never seen this.»
He left. We howled at his face.
I read, wrote poems, watched the world outsideloving every bit of it: books, juice, roommates, the old tree by the window. They gave me vitaminshad to inject *something*. The doctor barely spoke, just side-eyed me.
Three weeks in, she muttered, «Your haemoglobins 20 points above healthy. Stop… raising it.»
She seemed *mad*. Like Id tricked her.
Once, she confessed, «I cant confirm your diagnosis. Youre healing, but were not treating you. Thats impossible.»
«So what *is* my diagnosis?»
«Havent figured that out yet,» she whispered, and left.
At discharge, she sighed. «Wish you werent going. Weve got so many sick ones left.»
Our whole room recovered. Ward deaths dropped 30% that month.
Life went on. But I saw it differently nowlike looking down from above, everything in clearer scale. The meaning of life? Simple.
Just learn to *love*. Then, nothings impossible. Every wish comes trueif you wish with love. No lies, no envy, no grudges. So simple. So hard.
Because its trueGod *is* Love. You just have to remember.
