‘When I die let it be in this way that everyone knows grief,
not like a scorpion or a snake whose death brings all relief’
A few days ago, after a stoic and ferocious fight against
that most cruel of killers, cancer, my uncle died.This is his and to a very small degree our story..
Soon after his diagnosis, he sought out the best hospitals
in Pakistan
for the best treatment available. In what would be a brief reprieve, he was
given the all-clear of cancer before visiting overseas to seek further care.
Unfortunately the cancer had returned and spread to the extent he was told
there was not long left and his care was to focus on comforting him. There, he
made the choice to return home to Pakistan and to the care of family
and doctors close to his home town.
In those last few
months, when we were still hoping against hope that he would be able to fight
his illness, he would tell me stories about a life well lived and his hopes for
the present. At one time, he reminded me of a family story of my grandfather, a
‘dervish’ of a man who when told that his children should feel proud of his
many achievements replied, ‘I await the day when I am known by my children’.
In those tear-filled days, two things stood out: my own
realisation about how poorly prepared we all are when we care for someone who
is facing death; and my uncle’s belief that remembering the past is crucial but
at the same time pointless if we do not fight for the future.
His battle against cancer was informative of that most
fundamental aspect of private health care in Pakistan. Upon his return he was
offered an endless variety of treatments for what was an incurable illness.
While overseas he was given a simple and clear plan about what to expect and
what help would be realistic, it was the opposite closer to home. During this
myriad of confusing information came the realisation the healthcare system is basically
transactional. That means it is about paying for a service and as a result the
one with the most expensive treatment gets marketed the most. It ignores what
research says has the best outcome and instead focuses on what shows the most
expensive activity. To put this in perspective, one could have expensive and
unnecessary treatments which while keeping one alive, puts the same person
through immense pain.
As one doctor once memorably told me, ‘the key about being a
healthcare professional is to care for the dying and treat the sick; the
problems arise when we try to cure the dying and care for the sick’.
This fundamental difference is where we draw the line
between caring and curing. The former is about ensuring those who are facing
death, face it whenever possible on their own terms. This is a difficult thing
for family members to accept but the reality is that while modern technology
can extend survival that is not the same as extending living. More damningly, a
health system which sells false hope is not doing anything noble for its
patients. It is in fact as complicit as a potion-seller would be in selling a
miracle treatment.
Coming back to my Uncle’s belief in the future, he would
explain that we live in a time of dynasties and people constantly invoking the
memory of those long since past. He would quote the Persian adage ‘Pidhram
Sultan Bhood’ (my father was a King) that reflects that belief or perhaps even
better explained by the story of ‘a man who asks a mule "who are you?"
to which the mule replies "well my Mother was a horse!"
I now remember the story as a reminder of how we are so
often intent on holding on to the past and forgetting that by doing so, we
forget to dream of a better tomorrow. Ultimately no greater memory can be given
to those not in this world other than to honour their memory by being more than
we can be and sharing what we have learnt to others.
The final price of loss is grief and learning to make peace
with that most cruel of wounds. From this I wanted to share something I read a
long time ago by Anne Morrow Lindberg:
‘Grief is a great leveler. There is no highroad out. Courage is a first
step, but to simply to bear the blow bravely is not enough…In the end, one has
to discard shields and remain open and vulnerable. Otherwise, scar tissue will
seal off the wound and no growth will follow. To grow, to be reborn, one must
remain vulnerable-- open to love but also hideously open to the possibility of
more suffering.’
When we received that final call that my uncle was not ‘in
this world’ (dunya kaay nishta) anymore, I thought of his story about my grandfather. As I write
these words, I think back to that and the lessons it taught me. Of this I can
say with truth, my grandfather would have been proud that he was known by his
son.
Rest in peace uncle.
