These two little maxims seem connected so I would like to share them both:
"Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live."
-Norman Cousins (1915-1990)
Of all the quotations written about living and dying I find this one to be absolutely stunning, a soft reminder of the shame of allowing the universal vicissitudes - so daunting at the beginning, so trifling at the end - to ruin your life.
"If something comes to life in others because of you, then you have made an approach to immortality."
-Norman Cousins
Not that we all sit around wailing about the fact that human life is "solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short," but how clearly this quotation defines the reward of spending a little time working on something else besides our need for fame and fortune.
As the narrator of this blog always says, "If the words goodwill, and duty, and laughter are included in your mission statement then you're on your way to a great life."
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Realizing that human life can be something that is "solitary, poore, nasty, brutish, and short," it helps me to remember that it is also something that is sacred.
The measure of life, after all, is not its duration but its donation.
Corrie Ten Boom
Greetings from the Death Front. The Cousins quotes are nice sentiments, but of no help in my present circumstances. In fact, it would be more apt to say that the greatest loss I'm experiencing is what dies inside all of us as we help each other die.
I've been up all night with a friend who's dying of liver cancer (or is it? the docs can't seem to decide). She was diagnosed with Hepatitis C a long time ago, went on interferon with some other chemical, developed a stroke a week before that year was up (which went undiagnosed by everyone until I took her to the emergency room since it seemed likely to me, someone who barely knows the difference between mitochondria and mistletoe) and has been on a slope of loss ever since--loss of dignity, loss of mobility (oh, she also has postpolio syndrome, diabetes, and other problems) loss of self-determination, loss of faith in the medical profession and so much more.
Two days before Thanksgiving she underwent a procedure to tie off the varices in her throat. She was sent home to recuperate. I found her nearly comatose and nauseous, with a note from the doctors' office: "It is important to not spit up in order to avoid dangerous hemorrhaging." I looked for an anti-nausea suppository. Hah! Of course there was none. Of course no physician called back for another 12 hours. Of course the doctors' office didn't think to ask whether my friend lived alone, or to inform her that she needed someone to stay with her.
Later, I found that the diuretic she was on (due to liver failure) increases blood ammonia levels. She called the doctor to ask for a different prescription, only to be told that it was what 'everyone in your position is taking.' How jolly. Oh, and also to be told that there was no reason to call any more, because they had done everything they could for her. Good riddance, actually.
So here we are, a group of friends trying to make her comfortable. We're all feeling abandoned by the health care profession. We don't feel noble, we don't feel full of goodwill, we hate the duty and it's hard to laugh. We're all pretty crabby with each other, to be honest. Finally our friend has agreed to sign up for hospice and I hope this will improve the situation.
I wish someone could explain to me the value or meaning of these long, long, long drawn-out death watches where we all blink and watch DNA of those we love slowly uncoil.
Molly
Molly - what an appalling and sad story. I'm glad that you friend has you to be looking out for her. Whether you feel noble or not, you have done the right things.
I absolutely love the first quote. Thanks much for sharing.