Debra Smith

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Loving Inspiration from My Past and My Future

         December 17th, 2007 I had a cancer surgery. It was pretty tough. The cancer was so rare that I had one shot and that was surgery. There is no radiation or chemotherapy protocol for many types of abdominal cancers and I had one of those kinds. I got through the long and tricky surgery pretty well but I was left with a hole in my body the size of a coke can with three deeper crevices penetrating into my abdomen. The surgeon had to take so much tissue that they could not close the wound. It had to heal from the inside out with the help of salt encrusted inner bandages that had to be removed and replaced several times a day. Even though I had a morphine drip going directly into my spinal fluid, they wanted me to walk the hallways of the hospital to keep my circulation moving. It was difficult at first, dragging the IV pole and willing my brutalized body to make the circuit of the hospital floor by willing one foot ahead of the other.

            When I was a child I visited my dying grandmother in a hospital that was very much like the one I was in. Every Christmas I was reminded of that visit when my children ate blueberry candy canes from our Christmas tree. My husband was a candy cane fanatic and he bought every flavour of candy cane he could find. The blue ones, which he found every year, creeped me out because they turned my children’s mouths blue just as I remember my grandmother’s mouth being just before she died. At some point I must have told my children about that visit (minus the blue horror story). What I remember almost as vividly as her mouth was the fact that she had no flowers. Every other room I passed on the way to hers seemed to have flowers. I was only about ten then but somehow this spoke to me of loneliness, being poor and dying alone. The floor I was on was so like that. Codes were called, our doors were closed and people died.

            It is amazing what children remember and what impresses and stays in their small spirits. Now my children (aged 13- 23 at the time) ensured that I knew I was loved and cared for. They filled my room with a riot of flowers at every visit- consciously, sweetly, kindly. Not Christmas flowers but bouquets and favourites that defied any season bringing the vividness of life to me. I had a constant reminder that they were with me willing me to embrace life.

            Between visitation times, I walked the hallways, self centred and in pain but soon I began to lift my head and see my surroundings. As I walked past rooms with open doors, I could not help but notice that others were suffering too. Many were not as mobile as I was. Many were alone in rooms without flowers and appeared to be very sick. This began to sink in. As I walked I also passed a service room and I eventually noticed that many empty vases were stored there.

       One trip, I made a detour into the service room and smuggled out a vase. I think my return trip to my room was a bit faster and less painful, at least I did not notice the pain as much. Once back in the room, I felt a little thrill of pleasure and purpose as I arranged a selection of flowers from my abundance into the vase. After a bit of a rest, I challenged myself to deliver the flowers unseen to the gloomiest room on the floor and I got away with it. I was walking a bit faster, a bit straighter and noticing the pain less. Now, I was walking with a purpose and I was walking a bit more often. Each time, I was scouting out who needed to have a bit of brightness and smuggling back another vase. My flowers never seemed to diminish in my room as they travelled further out to other rooms. Their beauty was more spectacular and immediate to me as I handled and arranged them. Soon I began hearing snippets of conversation in the corridor about the mystery of the flower angel. I even heard a sound I had not remembered hearing there before: laughter. While I was never ‘caught’ I was caught up in a mini every day miracle from which I benefited most. My Grandmother would have liked that little adventure.

            Of course, you have anticipated that the additional walking was very good for me. I had been told before the surgery that I would have to spend Christmas in the hospital but on the morning of Christmas Eve, my husband arrived to take me home. The doctors had decided that with the help of home care nursing to change the bandages and tend the wounds, I could go home for Christmas.

          Home for Christmas with my family! Never has any turn of events been as sweet. I saw my children with new eyes and with a glimpse of the wonderful adults that they all would become. I felt a profound gratitude as I left the hospital that was mixed with a tincture of guilt. Many were not going home for Christmas and many others would never go home. For me, it turned into one of the most memorable and special Christmases of my life. For Christmas that year, I put one memory to rest by honouring my Grandmother and received far better ones in return.