In the Midst of Life

sitting beside her. She didn’t look herself. I asked her if she would like a game of Scrabble. ‘I don’t think I could concentrate,’ she said. She moved a little and winced. ‘I can’t seem to get comfortable. This pain jabs at me, here and here.’ She pointed to her stomach. I felt the area. It was a mass of hard lumps.
    The district nurse came to give her an enema. I met her in the hallway as she was leaving.
    ‘I am going to get her doctor to come and see her as soon as possible,’ she said.
    ‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’
    ‘I don’t know what you are thinking.’
    ‘I think she has cancer of the stomach and abdominal organs.’
    ‘I am sure she has,’ replied the nurse.
    The doctor came a couple of days later, and arranged for a hospital scan, which showed a massive cancerous growth in the abdomen.
    Leah spent a few days in hospital at the time of the scan, then came home, then went back to hospital for more tests, then was sent home again. She was not eating, or at best she was taking only a tiny bit of food, and she lost weight rapidly. She began to look very ill. Her grandson came over from Israel and stayed with her for a week. He put pressure on her to go into a nursing home. ‘I will not return to Israel and leave you alone like this,’ he said, ‘and if I don’t go back I will probably lose my job.’
    He searched widely, and found a home he thought she would like. She moved in.
    I visited her there. It was a lovely day in June, and she was sitting in the garden in the sunshine – Leah always loved the sun. She seemed more relaxed, and therefore a little improved. This is often the way. The hospital or nursing home offers a feeling of security and freedom from the constant tension of struggling to cope with a battle one is going to lose. She was deeply engrossed in a crossword and saw my shadow on the grass before she saw me.
    Shelooked up with a lovely smile. ‘You can’t stay beyond three o’clock,’ she announced. ‘It’s the finals of
Countdown
on television. I’ve been following it all through and must see these finalists.’ Her passion for word games and mental gymnastics was undiminished. She told me that she liked the new place, though she couldn’t eat the food, which she blamed on the cook, not on her digestive system. She felt she ought to stay there, because it was a worry to her family if she was alone at home, though she missed her home terribly.
    I suggested again that she could have a live-in carer. Before the sentence was finished she butted in. ‘Never. I should hate having someone around me all the time.’ Most of us would think like that.
    She told me that the previous day she had been taken to the anti-coagulant clinic at the hospital. Whilst I was with her, a carer came and said that the results had come through, and that she must have an increased dose of Warfarin. She handed Leah about six or eight tablets to swallow along with a glass of water. Leah sighed. ‘These pills! I’m sure it’s all these pills that are making me feel so sick.’ But she swallowed them nonetheless.
    Suddenly she looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go. It’s time for
Countdown.’
I tried to assist her indoors, but she resisted help, and in the end I gave up. I left her, paper and pencil in hand, eyes eager, sitting in front of the television, waiting for the first jumble of letters. On my way out I met another of her friends. ‘I’m just going to see Leah,’ she said brightly. I wondered what sort of dusty reception she would get!
    I was bothered by the higher dose of Warfarin, and made a point of seeing the matron to discuss this before leaving. She was very guarded at first, as though I was accusing her or the nursing home of some impropriety.
    ‘It has nothing to do with me. We can only do as we are instructed. You will have to talk to the doctor.’
    ‘I’m not trying to cause trouble, honestly. I am merely puzzled.’ We swapped details on our training and experience. She was awoman in her fifties and was obviously dedicated to the care of the elderly. When I mentioned that I had been sister-in-charge of a cancer ward, she realised we were probably having similar thoughts.
    ‘If you look at her medical record you will see that since January the dosage has been going up after every visit to the Warfarin clinic,’ she said.
    ‘On what assessment?’
    ‘On the blood sample analysis.’
    ‘But she’s a hundred and three! What do they