In the Midst of Life

nausea or discomfort. I began to revise my opinion about the office work he was doing.
    After supper is usually a good time to talk to people. The ward is quiet, the day’s activities are stilled, the light is changing, and the human heart and mind seem to change with it. Mr Anderson was sitting up in bed, watching the sun sink behind the trees. It was a reddish sunset, with bands of fluffy pink clouds. Mr Anderson appeared relaxed, and I thought, with a leap of the heart, that perhaps the radium might effect a complete cure. Spontaneous recovery from cancer
is
possible, and whilst no one can explain what happens, I have seen it.
    It can be a bit awkward talking to someone in the middle of a hospital ward. You have to sit close, and talk very softly. It is no good asking a patient to come to the office; that is too formal, and very often the person is tongue-tied in such a situation. No, the bedside is usually the right place, and the right moment can only be judged by intuition. I pulled the curtains around his bed and sat on the edge. He moved his legs over so that I could sit morecomfortably, which was encouraging, because it indicated that I was welcome.
    ‘It’s a lovely evening,’ I said, ‘a lovely sunset.’
    ‘Beautiful. I would like to go on to the balcony to see it better, but I can’t be bothered to make the effort just now.’
    ‘I could help you.’
    He smiled. ‘No, it’s not worth it. The sun will be gone by the time we get there.’
    ‘You are looking very much brighter this evening.’
    ‘Well, I did a good morning’s work. Excellent, in fact.’
    ‘It obviously does you good. I thought it had tired you too much, but I was wrong.’
    ‘I have always needed to exert myself – it’s just the way I’m made. If I could get rid of this damned cancer by sheer will power and exertion, I would do so.’
    ‘You are having radium treatment, that will limit the growth. And a positive outlook, such as yours, will help a great deal. We don’t think you will be able to go trekking in the Himalayas, but Wales, or the Wye Valley, as the Chief suggested, could be possible.’
    ‘That’s encouraging. I will hold on to that one, Sister. The Wye – a bit of rough canoeing, wonderful, and some climbing – oh, I’d love that.’
    ‘Perhaps you should cancel your Himalayan trek and concentrate your thoughts on the Wye Valley.’
    ‘Why not? I will get my secretary to order the maps from Stanford’s tomorrow.’
    His eyes sparkled with eagerness, and as I looked at the wasted muscles that could not find the energy to step on to the balcony to see the sunset, I pondered the phenomenon of hope.
    Hope is the one thing that people never lose, and even though they may know that they are dying, hope never deserts them. Most people hope for a new breakthrough in medical research, a new drug, a new treatment, a miracle cure, and we have to encourage this, however unrealistic it may be. But hope does not preclude an acceptance of death, and it can come in many forms.
    Most doctors believe that they must never allow a patient togive up hope of a cure. The implication of this is that the medical profession is the single source of hope. This is too narrow a definition. Hope is an abstract concept, and is by no means confined to physical cure. Hope means something different to each one of us. Hope to see a daughter married, or a grandchild born, can keep life buoyant and content for weeks, or even months, beyond the realistic expectations of a medical prognosis. Many people, knowing they have cancer, have done the most extraordinary things: run marathons, cycled halfway round the globe, written books, taken degrees. Hope, directed towards an achievement, is the driving spirit, and makes the future endurable. Belief in an afterlife is also hope.
    ‘The Wye Valley will be lovely in a few weeks’ time with the spring coming,’ said Mr Anderson dreamily. ‘You know, when I first suspected I had cancer, I simply did not believe it. They’ve got it wrong, I thought. I had always been healthy, and led a healthy life. I couldn’t have cancer, not at my age. I thought it must be a misdiagnosis and I was furious with the doctors.’
    ‘Did anyone tell you?’
    ‘No. Lies, half lies, evasions, silences – that’s all I ever got. It’s an insult to one’s intelligence.’
    ‘How did you discover?’
    ‘When I came here – I knew what radium treatment is for.’
    I was silent. It was so obvious, so