They wheeled her down the corridors of the county hospital in a chair…
«Where to?» one nurse asked another. «Maybe not a private roommaybe the shared one?»
I panicked. «Why shared when theres a private one available?»
The nurses looked at her with such genuine pity that it threw me completely. Only later did she learn that private rooms were for the dying, so the others wouldnt have to see.
«The doctor said private,» the nurse repeated.
I relaxed. And when I finally settled into the bed, I felt this strange peacejust from knowing I didnt have to go anywhere, didnt owe anyone anything, that all my responsibilities had vanished. I felt detached from everything, like the world outside didnt matter anymore.
Nothing and no one interested me. I had the right to rest. And it was good. Just me, alone with my soul, my life. Only *me*. The problems, the rush, the big questionsall of it seemed so small suddenly, next to eternity, next to life and death, next to whatever unknown thing waited beyond.
And then*real* life burst in around me. The birds singing at dawn, sunlight creeping across the wall above the bed, golden leaves waving at me through the window, that deep blue autumn sky, the sounds of the city waking upcar horns, the click of heels on pavement, the rustle of falling leaves. God, how *wonderful* life was! And Id only just realized it.
«Fine,» I told myself. «But you *did* realize. And youve still got a few days left to love it with everything youve got.»
This wave of freedom and happiness needed somewhere to go, so I turned to Godcloser to me now than anyone.
«Lord!» I laughed. «Thank you for letting me see how beautiful life is, for teaching me to love it. Even if its right at the end, at least I *know* now!»
A quiet, ringing joy filled mepeace, freedom, lightness. The world hummed and shimmered with this golden light, like love had become something solid, soft, transparent. It was everywhere, thick in the air, slow to breathe in, like pulsing water. Everything I saw glowed with it. I *loved*. It was like Bachs organ music crashing together with a violin soaring high.
The private room, the diagnosis («acute leukaemia, stage four»), the doctors certainty that my body was beyond savingthey all had perks. The dying got to see anyone, anytime. Family was told to gather for the funeral, and so a line of grieving relatives trailed in to say goodbye.
I got itwhat do you even *say* to someone whos dying? Especially when they *know*. Their awkward faces almost made me laugh.
I was just glad to see them all! And more than anything, I wanted to share this love for lifehow could you *not* be happy about that? I cracked jokes, told stories, kept everyone laughing. Thank God, they all joined in. By the third day, I was bored of lying down. I started walking around, sitting by the window.
The doctor walked in on me like that and nearly had a fit. «You cant be up!»
I blinked. «Will it change anything?»
«No,» she admitted, flustered. «But you *shouldnt* be walking.»
«Why not?»
«Your bloodworks a corpses. You shouldnt even be *alive*, let alone on your feet.»
The four days theyd given me passed. I wasnt dyingI was happily munching on crisps and bananas. I felt *good*. The doctor? Not so much. She was baffled. My blood was barely pink, but there I was, strolling to the lounge to watch telly.
Poor woman. Love wanted everyone else to be happy too.
«Doctor,» I asked, «what *should* my bloodwork look like?»
«At least like *this*,» she muttered, scribbling numbers on a scrap of paper. I had no idea what any of it meant, but I studied it solemnly. She stared at me, muttered something, and left.
At 9 a.m., she stormed back in. «How are you *doing* this?!»
«Doing what?»
«Your bloodwork! Its *exactly* what I wrote down!»
I shrugged. «How should I know? Does it matter?»
They moved me to a shared room. The goodbyes were over; no more visitors.
Five other women were there, all facing the wall, silently, grimly dying. I lasted three hours. My love was suffocating. I had to do something. I dragged a watermelon out from under the bed, sliced it up, and announced, «Watermelon helps with chemo nausea.»
The smell of fresh snow filled the room. One by one, they shuffled over.
«Really helps?»
«Mmhmm,» I said sagely.
Crunching followed.
«It *does*,» said the one by the window, who used crutches.
«Me too… and me…»
«See?» I nodded. «Now, have you heard the one about…?»
At 2 a.m., a nurse peeked in, scowling. «When are you lot going to stop cackling? The whole wards trying to sleep!»
Three days later, the doctor hesitantly asked, «Could you… move to another room?»
«Why?»
«Everyone in heres improving. Next doors full of critical cases.»
«No!» my roommates shouted. «She stays!»
So I did. Soon, patients from other rooms wandered in just to sit, chat, laugh. I knew why. Our room was full of love. It wrapped around everyone like a warm wave, cozy and safe. My favourite was a sixteen-year-old girl in a white headscarf tied at the back, the ends sticking out like bunny ears. Lymph node cancer. At first, I thought shed forgotten how to smile. A week later, I saw itshy, sweet. When she said the meds were working, we threw a party. The night doctor gaped at us.
«Thirty years here,» he said faintly. «Never seen this.» Then he left. We howled laughing.
I read, wrote poems, gazed out the window, chatted, wandered the halls. I loved *everything*the books, the juice, my roommates, the cars outside, the old tree. They gave me vitamin injections. Had to give me *something*. The doctor barely spoke to me, just side-eyed me when she passed. Three weeks in, she muttered, «Your haemoglobins 20 points above a healthy persons. Stop… raising it.»
She seemed *mad* at me. Like shed misdiagnosed mebut that was impossible, and she knew it.
Once, she admitted, «I cant confirm your diagnosis. Youre getting better, but no ones treating you. Thats not *possible*.»
«What *is* my diagnosis, then?»
«Havent figured that out yet,» she whispered, walking off.
At discharge, she sighed. «Shame youre leaving. Weve got so many critical cases.»
Our room emptied out. That month, the wards mortality rate dropped 30%.
Life went on. But I saw it differently nowlike I was looking down from above, the scale of everything shifted. The meaning of life turned out to be so simple.
Just *love*. Then your possibilities are endless, your wishes come trueif you make them with love. No lies, no envy, no grudges, no wishing harm. Simple. And so hard.
Because its trueGod *is* love. You just have to remember in time.
