She is My Hero

Those of you who know that I recently lost a sibling to a four-year battle with cancer might think those words are my words, for her.

It was her doctor, a man I met just two days before she died, who stood at the foot of her hospital bed and looking directly at her uttered those four words. It was the first time since arriving at her side two days before that I cried.

Even today, two weeks since she passed away, when I think of Dr I saying those words my eyes fill with tears—and yes partly because I have lost a treasure of a sister with whom I have innumerable memories in 50-odd years, but more so because this man spoke those four words with such grace and heartfelt emotion that I still cannot bear to recall them without crying, hard.

He said more—about how she did everything he asked, and with courage, never afraid to try something that had the potential to get “the enemy,” as he called her cancer, to retreat. And when she was just hours from death he came back to her room and said “I should have done more.” I disagree. Here is a man whom she had grown to trust with her life, and in his capable hands she managed more time than any of us could hope for since her Stage IV diagnosis in December 2010. They texted each other, filling in the gaps where he couldn’t get to her because of late rounds or a waiting room full of patients. He chided her  when she needed to be more proactive about her care, not to wait until her next appointment when something changed. He spoke with the family, calmly and honestly about the aggressive nature of her late-stage cancer and how everyone needed to rally and help fight the fight—I couldn’t be there, but heard the taped message after it happened.

She loved him. And even before I had a chance to shake Dr I’s hand outside Debbie’s room, I knew him—his manner, his deep caring for his patients, his passion for his work.  I thought perhaps his stroke several months before was partly due to the weight he carried in his heart for his patients.

I am glad he recovered to take her through her last few months; she had other doctors, but none like him and none that she preferred to him.  She would send me texts about how she really only trusted him, and felt like he was giving her more time.  She wanted time.

I have a new hero, and, I am sure, a new angel keeping watch over me. And on this Easter weekend I know I am blessed, in spite of the loss.