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What would you expect?

Natalie was moved to ICU on Sunday night, June 3, 2007, after an emergency episode with her blood pressure. On Monday morning I met her oncologist, and first impressions were not good. Until that moment, I had not heard the word “hospice” used in regard to her prognosis.
“She doesn’t want to be here. She wants to go home,” he said. What I heard was, “Get her out of here; she’s wasting my time.”
From his detached position, he could see that the end was near and providing for her comfort was not the hospital’s job. They had plenty of patients who might yet respond to their ministrations. I, on the other hand, refused to see the hopelessness of the situation that stared me in the face.


Despite some other words that I had heard—”inoperable,” “terminal,” “chemo as a means to prolong her life…” The end, if it came, was still far away. Hundreds of people were praying, literally, all around the world. She could not die if I refused to let her go.
Within minutes she was returned to the oncology floor, and her mom was making plans for their return to Alexandria on Tuesday.
The news did appear to bring some strength. Once she was settled in her new room, Natalie dictated another entry for me to post here the next day. And when I left that evening she was sitting up in bed, eating jello and informing all within the sound of her voice that as soon as she got home she was going to call the library because the bookmobile would deliver!
Suddenly the world looked much brighter to me, too.

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