Some time ago I visited a friend at the hospital. Let's call him Harry.
Harry was diagnosed with colon cancer around 2 years ago. For a 30-year-old who led a very healthy life and, compared to myself, an exceedingly clean diet, this was out of all expectations. My grandpa smoked all his life and died of lung cancer, but since Richard Doll discovered a causal link for that, it was a sad thing to know but also it wasn't a surprising revelation; on the other hand, for someone as young to have diagnosed colon cancer, the news was really out of the blue. Under such looming shadow, though, for the last two years he seemed to have fought the illness very well. His photos were showing him in a healthy state and he was leading an active social life.
One day, his friend called to say he had suddenly fallen into a critical condition and was now at the hospital. It didn't sound right, so I suggested if I could pay him a visit.
When I went to visit him, alas, I was completely taken aback.
There he was, lying in bed. He was extremely thin, to the point where only a thin layer of skin covered the jawbone. Teeth showed malnutrition, by the fact that at this point he would vomit every single thing he ate. His arms were connected to the numerous tubes for his only means of nutrition and various chemicals. He was breathing through an oxygen tube. Instantly he reminded me of my grandpa.
There were already his folk and a few other visiting friends present. We exchanged small talks with each other, cracking jokes sometimes. He was tired, but was in good spirit. He would listen to what we say and would utter a few words in response. One can tell he really made an effort to do so because he would run out of breath after each sentence. We sensed this and ended up doing most of the talking ourselves. The mood was sombre.
After a while, a priest arrived. Harry is a Christian and the priest would come every few days to see how he's doing. The priest came to his bedside, he sat up and the priest read passages from the Bible whilst holding his hand. He would then ask Harry and see if he was taking them in fine. Harry would respond, but there was only enough breath for him to say a few words each time. A few stories were told, and we all listened attentively. We sang praises and a friend picked up his iPhone and recorded the singing. It was a happy hymn with a lively tune.
We all stayed for the priest. We had a good time and we all laughed when he told us interesting stories, but it was obvious Harry was just way too tired, having got up for nearly half an hour by now. So we ended the session with prayers and we all prayed together. After some encouraging comfort words, the priest said his goodbye, and so us friends did the same as well while his family continued to tend for him. His mum picked up the iPhone and she played the hymn back to him.
Outside the room, one of the friends broke down and started sobbing uncontrollably. Another friend went on to her, hugging her and comforting her. We were all standing there silently, faces looking down onto the floor. By now there was not an eye amongst us that remained dry. No one had said anything. We all knew why.
The hymn continued to play at the background, everyone's happy voices contrasting.
