"They hoped they were secondaries. They put him on chemotherapy and checked again two weeks later. They had grown like _this_." The circle grew to the size of a chestnut. "He was in a coma for three weeks before he went." She stared me in the eye.
"That's..." I shook my head, trying to convey a mixture of commiseration and shock at the cruelty of fate. I wondered if she was Catholic. Her Irish accent - southern Irish - made it likely. Should I say something that mentioned God? What if, as a health professional, she had turned her back on the church and followed a rationalist philosophy of life? It was only as I was leaving, 5 minutes later, that I wondered if the National Health Service frowned on its employees mentioning religion? In the end, I decided neither to risk being the first to bring God into the conversation nor to respond to her candour with anything more than the truth.
She looked very sad. She wasn't going to break down or cry, but for more than a moment she stopped being a nurse and became this greying woman on the edge of old age, worn down by a lifetime of hard work. Abandoned by someone she had come to rely on always being there. Uncertain what to do next. Lacking the core of her life.
I stumbled over the words. "I don't care what anyone says. It's much harder for the ... the ones who don't have it. The partners." That little bit of honesty made me feel uncomfortable. Did I owe her honesty? What if she disagreed?
She continued to stare me in the eyes, or at least the somewhat smudged spectacles. "They have no idea what caused it."
"Could it have been-"
"Oh, they say stress is always a factor. He was very stressed at work..." She leaned back a little, further away from me and her eyes strayed from mine. I started wondering how best to disengage from this conversation. Then she hunched forward, eyes locking on me again.
"That's..." I shook my head, trying to convey a mixture of commiseration and shock at the cruelty of fate. I wondered if she was Catholic. Her Irish accent - southern Irish - made it likely. Should I say something that mentioned God? What if, as a health professional, she had turned her back on the church and followed a rationalist philosophy of life? It was only as I was leaving, 5 minutes later, that I wondered if the National Health Service frowned on its employees mentioning religion? In the end, I decided neither to risk being the first to bring God into the conversation nor to respond to her candour with anything more than the truth.
She looked very sad. She wasn't going to break down or cry, but for more than a moment she stopped being a nurse and became this greying woman on the edge of old age, worn down by a lifetime of hard work. Abandoned by someone she had come to rely on always being there. Uncertain what to do next. Lacking the core of her life.
I stumbled over the words. "I don't care what anyone says. It's much harder for the ... the ones who don't have it. The partners." That little bit of honesty made me feel uncomfortable. Did I owe her honesty? What if she disagreed?
She continued to stare me in the eyes, or at least the somewhat smudged spectacles. "They have no idea what caused it."
"Could it have been-"
"Oh, they say stress is always a factor. He was very stressed at work..." She leaned back a little, further away from me and her eyes strayed from mine. I started wondering how best to disengage from this conversation. Then she hunched forward, eyes locking on me again.
