Sometimes life is just hard

Personal Essays
Written By Salma Ali

For the past three weeks, Mom has been in the hospital. She fell. Mom has a history of falls and luckily she’s never hurt herself. This time seemed the same, as she was eating and walking as usual the next day. But on the second day, she woke up confused and disoriented and just not herself. A battery of scans and MRIs in ER showed that she had actually suffered a small stroke and that’s why she had fallen. She spent a week in the hospital; then was admitted to the rehab center to regain her strength, balance, and cognition. After a week in rehab making some progress, she was disoriented again; an MRI showed another small stroke and an infection, and she was back in the hospital. It’s been a hard time; please keep Mom in your prayers.

During these hospital stays, there was a kind male nurse from Ethiopia who was looking after her. He had the most gentle, reassuring smile; not one that’s put on but that emanates from a much deeper place. So much so that even Mom, in her haze of confusion, noticed it. “What are you smiling for?”, she asked him one day. The question caught him off guard, he told me later, he didn’t know how to respond.

Every day, he greeted us, and everyone, with that genuine smile; there is no way you could not feel comforted by it. On the day Mom was being discharged for rehab the first time, I had to ask him where his smile comes from, how he can smile all day long working in such a challenging environment?

“It gives hope to my patients,” he told me, “it gives them confidence, and helps heal their spirits.”

“Plus, I have a big deposit of reasons to smile.” What a beautiful way to put it.

“When I wake up in the morning, I don’t feel tired because I know I’m going to be impacting someone’s life; and it’s not just the patients, but also the patients’ families. They come here feeling way down, but I can give them a feeling of hope. When I smile, people think everything is ok in my life, or I make more money than others and that’s why I’m smiling. But money is not everything. Purpose is everything. We’re all going to pass, but while I’m here, am I just living or am I impacting someone’s life.”

I asked him where he learned this life philosophy. From his grandmother, he told me. When he was 14, in Ethiopia, he was sent to live with his grandmother who had asthma, and to care for her needs. One day when she had a severe asthma attack, he was the one who found a driver to take her to the nearest hospital. He was in awe at how the doctors and nurses took care of his grandmother. That day he vowed to do the same for others.

As a young boy, his grandmother would always tell him to go clean a neighbor’s house or help them with chores. “Go help people, go make them happy, she would tell me.” He never forgot that lesson.

He loves his job, he tells me. “If you see me five years from now, I will still be here. It’s not about money. They can’t pay me enough for what I do; they pay me so I can pay my bills so I can live for my purpose. I’m not going to change; I’m never going to change.”

When Mom returned to the hospital for the second time last week, our new friend was surprised to see us back, but his smile was ever present. He wasn’t assigned to Mom, but he continued to check in on her and help in any way.

Yesterday when Mom was being discharged to go back to rehab, I had to ask him one more question that’s been particularly on my mind, because to be honest it’s been a hard few months.

In addition to the worry about Mom, this year has felt harder than last year when I was going through active treatment. When you’re in treatment, there’s a plan, a mission – you’re researching the best care, going to umpteen doctors’ appointments, family and friends are constantly checking in on you. Surgery, chemo, radiation, as hard as they are, are finite; they end. But life after cancer continues. When active treatment ends, the structure and support dissipate too. You are no longer thecancer patient. But you’re also no longer the person you were before; your body, mind, and life have irrevocably changed. This liminal space is not an easy one to navigate.

“You look great, I love your short hair!”, is people’s initial reaction when they see me these days. It’s lovely of course; but it’s amazing how a natural salt and pepper pixie and a smile can mask what’s actually going on. Some delve deeper and ask how I’m really doing, and I tell them.

I’m dealing with the daily effects of cancer meds, from bone pain to brain fog. Some days I wake up feeling 90 years old, everything creaking and aching; my hands especially, not able to open a jar of jam. Movement helps. It’s the relentless fatigue that gets me down the most. I want to dive back into my consulting work and writing projects and volunteer efforts, but by 3pm I’m utterly exhausted; if I lie down to rest, my body collapses and there’s little chance of making it cooperate again. Life and home management that could be put on hold when you’re a patient needs to be addressed eventually—find an electrician for the kitchen lights, schedule social engagements and keep them, and on and on.

I was heartened recently to read Princess Kate Middleton’s vulnerable remarks on her life after cancer treatment. “You put on a sort of brave face, stoicism through treatment. Treatment’s done, then it’s like, ‘I can crack on, get back to normal’, but actually the phase afterwards is really, really difficult,” she admitted. No one is exempt from finding, navigating, and coming to terms with a new normal.

So, when times are hard and I can’t find my usual joy within myself, I seek solace and inspiration in the stories of others and try and learn from their hard-earned perspectives. This time, as Mom’s IV was being removed so she could move to rehab again, I turned to my nurse friend and asked if I could ask him one more question, the same one that I asked all of you over a year ago: how do you get through challenging times.

It’s one of the most beautiful answers I’ve heard; he said I could share it.

I went through some shocking, challenging situations, if I told you it would take more than 12 hours. The main thing that helps me get through what happens in my life is first accepting the facts. When I fight with the reality, things get complicated. It doesn’t matter what comes your way, accepting the life situation as it is and getting ready for the future is what’s important. If you start asking, why is this happening, oh it’s my bad luck, or why me, the problem gets bigger and bigger. It’s like a penny [he makes a small round shape with his fingers and covers his right eye]; if you put a penny up close to your eye, it will obstruct your sight, you cannot see anything else. If you move the penny further away from your eye, you can see the penny, and everything else. Now I can put my attention on the solution, and not on the penny – who can I talk to, how can I help this situation. I focus every inch, every energy, every minute on how I can come out of the problem. Where is the exit window.

There was one night when I was in shock because my problem was so big. I was just lost; I couldn’t even share it with my wife. But then I started focusing on what I have; even if I lose everything, I am alive, I have this and this and this, I can start over. I started to count my blessings and I started focusing on the solution. That’s what kept me going that night. Another thing to remember is that you are not the first one to go through this situation, you are not exceptional; someone else has gone through this and more and conquered the situation.

Every problem has a solution, but if you keep focusing on the problem, you cannot find the exit window; and it may be here just next to you.

People amaze me. Truly. The extraordinary insights of ordinary people living life with resolve and purpose is incredible; their humility and wisdom give me strength. I literally bounced out of the hospital room, yes with a huge smile, and a newfound perspective.  

Next time I’m feeling overwhelmed (likely tomorrow), I’ll remember to move the ‘penny’ from right in front of my eye, so I can more clearly see the exit window. And then I’ll remind myself of “the big deposit of reasons” I have to smile.

With love,

Salma

PS: When I first shared my cancer news with you (in “Sharing Some Personal News”), I asked if you would share with me how you get through hard times. I was overwhelmed with the response—so many heartfelt messages and ideas from romcoms to hymns, from photographs of nature and newborns to playlists and podcasts. I hope to find a way to share some of these with all of you, with permission of course, so we can all benefit from this wisdom.

As this feels like another difficult moment, I’ll turn to you again for inspiration and solace. Hope you’ll share what helps you get through a hard patch. And please do keep Mom in your prayers.

 
Salma Ali
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