She Can Finally Rest

On August 7, 2011, a mere seven weeks ago, I’d written about a co-worker and her illness. Following a diagnosis, surgery and treatment for lung cancer, my co-worker did not seem to be able to bounce back and resume her life even after her doctors assured her she was in great shape and in a good place. I had written:



She seems to have given up on herself. She’s not following her Dr’s advice to strengthen her resistance and body by eating better and making sure she gets proper nutrition. She’s late for work most days, saying she can’t get started in the morning. She’s miserable, snappish and short tempered. She’s frustrated with her job and openly derisive of the work involved. She’s in a bad place. We don’t know what to do for her.



I couldn’t understand her attitude and I wasn’t alone. Our other office-mates felt much the same. We spent a lot of time, since last November, trying to figure out how to help her. We joined forces and brainstormed. We made a list of her favorite things, foods, scented candles, candy, music, things we could bring to work and share with her during the day. We ordered out for lunch and sat with her, coaxing her to eat things we knew she liked. We kept up a steady stream of positive conversation, careful to not dump any of our personal angst in her vicinity. We tried to keep her work stress to a minimum if possible, running interference when she seemed tired or not at her best. We made sure to compliment her when she dressed up a bit more for work and tried to do all of the things we could to try and boost her in any way we could find.



We remained frustrated nevertheless. We could not understand how she would allow herself to sink so low and not try to be positive for herself. Why she wouldn’t drink her protein shakes, why she wouldn’t take her vitamins and why she wouldn’t eat the meals we dropped off for her. We were all fighting for her but she never seemed to join us in that fight for her life. A life cut short because three days ago her life came to an end. Her fight was over.



Following a procedure, three weeks ago, to address a lingering fever, some additional “hot spots” were discovered and the awful realization that the cancer had returned was upon us. After a collective “now what” we all started right back trying to envelop her with positive energy. Phone calls and email fluttered back and forth keeping us connected and involved. Even the most optimistic of us struggled to ignore what we knew was likely inevitable. Still, when she was admitted to the hospital last weekend we thought she’d get some beefing up with good drugs and be able to go home and have her next round of chemo. On the phone she seemed a little spacey but sounded like herself. That was the last any of us spoke with her.



Her son called us early Monday morning, telling us that she was slipping away. The medical staff at the hospital told her family that her death was immenent. Inconceivably, her time had come and they were going to spend these last hours with her at the hospital. Her last hours. As incredible as it would have sounded to us seven weeks ago, somehow we understood and accepted it. We accepted it, we prayed and we waited.



During that wait, I realized that she had indeed been fighting. While previously we didn’t think she was fighting, while we didn’t think she was doing enough to help herself to get better, perhaps on some level she had come to understand that she was not in the clear and would never be. Perhaps she knew what we didn’t … perhaps she knew her time was ending and her difficulty, anger and derision about certain things was her response to having been cut so short in her life. Maybe that was the way she fought.



For in her inability to fight the cancer she found that she could fight and resist those things she didn’t want to have to deal with. She could fight us, she could fight our intentions and she could fight against the things we wanted her to do. It was a mighty fight, right to the end. Her doctors gave her a few hours on Monday morning but she never left until late Tuesday evening. I like to think she left when she was good and ready and not when the medical staff said she would.



One of the comments left on that blog I wrote seven weeks ago said:

From what you wrote, it sounds like everyone has gone out of their way to be helpful and supportive–but I must ask, has anyone just listened to her? Maybe she doesn’t need anything other than someone to just listen; listen to her fears and concerns, her feelings. Cancer is scary. Chemo is scary too. Chemotherapy can also cause something called “chemo brain” where it changes a person’s cognitive abilities, their demeanor, maybe their personality. For some people it is very temporary, for others, it may last much longer.



We did listen, We were supportive. We were constant. We were there for her. We just didn’t see that she was fighting something we couldn’t possibly have understood. She was fighting a personal battle, the most acutely personal battle a person can fight. We can take comfort that we stood with her during this time. We can be satisfied that while what we did for her did not change the outcome, what we did for her allowed her to feel our love. Allowed her to know she had us by her side. Allowed her to see how much we were behind her. Perhaps what we did somehow made it possible for her to fight her own personal battle just a little bit harder. I hope so.



So now it is, with our prayers spoken, beneath our tears, behind our anger and frustration at the senslessness of it all, that we will continue to be by her side, pushing and hoping that she will arrive at her place of peace. That she will arrive at the place where she can finally rest now that her fight is done..



Godspeed Maur.