In the Midst of Life

love’? Not so; I think the opposite – that the lover is all-wise and sees in the beloved the goodness that no one else can see.
    We could not halt the metastases in Mr Roberts’ emaciated body. The treatment was proving to be worse than the disease, so after three doses of radium the Chief proposed a halt. He spoke to Mrs Roberts, who said: ‘I know. God’s will be done. The Lord God say, “Can you command the sun to rise, or the sun to set? Can you move the moon from her course? Did you set the stars in motion? Can you number the days of a man?” I know what you saying, and I see it clear. He is my husband and the father of my children, and I will speak with him. He is ready to die, and will be grateful.’
    We stopped all active treatment and increased his sedation and she asked us: ‘Is it always right to reduce pain? I am not sure. We are born in pain and some of us will die in pain – is this wrong? If there is pain and suffering in this world, there must be a meaning to it. Some of us have to learn thismeaning.’
    I said, ‘We always try to relieve suffering.’
    ‘Yes, I know, and because I am not sure about the right or the wrong, I must leave it to you to decide.’
    Then she laughed, a big chuckle that surprised me.
    ‘There is one thing, Sister, that I am quite, quite sure about. Quite sure. He does not need food. Your nurses bring him food, they try to feed him, and he push it away, he turn his head. They try again. It is a nonsense, a child’s game. He cannot eat, and does not want to eat.’
    She chuckled again, and her face creased with merriment.
    ‘Does a man need porridge or scrambled eggs when he come to the Pearly Gates? No way. He need a clean mind and a pure heart.’
    I laughed with her, and said that it was hospital practice to feed patients, even to the point of force-feeding.
    Her merriment vanished. ‘You not goin’ to force-feed my husband,’ she said emphatically.
    ‘We will not try to feed your husband any more, I assure you. But what about drinking?’ I asked.
    ‘I give him water, it trickle out his mouth. A nurse give him water, he try to swallow, but the water, it choke him. Does he need water, Sister?’
    I said we all need water to live.
    ‘But he is dying, not living. It is different.’
    I said that if he had no water his death would come more quickly.
    ‘But does that matter?’ she asked innocently.
    I had to pause. What a question! Does it matter? I had asked myself that question many times but never dared to voice it. Hearing the words spoken aloud by this woman was a shock. Do we try too hard to keep people alive? And what are we doing it for?
    I said, ‘I cannot allow a patient on my ward to die of thirst. It is against all my teaching, principles and practice.’
    Yes, Sister, I understand you,’ she said quietly.
    ‘If he has no water his kidneys will make less urine, and therewill be more blood and infection in what little urine is in his bladder. It will be very bad for him.’
    ‘I understand,’ she said.
    ‘We planned to put up a drip today.’
    She jerked up and looked me straight in the eye. ‘No. No drip.’
    ‘Why? Does your religion forbid it?’
    No. We are Methodists, not Fundamentalists. I don’t think it is forbidden. It just seems wrong, unnatural.’ Her face dissolved in tenderness. ‘He is at the point of death, Sister. He is a good man, and has led a good life. Let him rest in peace.’
    I said I would discuss the matter again with the doctor. But I also said that, as he could take very little fluid by mouth, it was important to keep his mouth and throat clean and moist, and that one of the nurses would show her how to do this with swab sticks and moistening solution.
    After that conversation, his wife never left him. The family, varying at different times between eight and twenty people, more or less camped downstairs, but Mrs Roberts strictly controlled the number of people who saw him. We put him into a single room, and no drip was installed. The family was assiduous in keeping his mouth and throat moistened, and he took a few ounces of water now and then. Some of the younger members of the family helped the nurses to clean and change his bed, and to attend to pressure points. They liked doing so, and almost fought for the privilege.
    The family brought food for Mrs Roberts, and we provided cups of tea and coffee from the ward kitchen, for which she always thanked us most graciously.
    It was a busy morning, and she