The Patient Person for March 30, 2007

• By LAURIE SMITH ANDERSON
• Advocate columnist
• Published: Mar 30, 2007

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Suspended from a nearly invisible string of its own making, the tiny green worm is unaware of its pending death.

From above, a yellow dragonfly circles its prey. In the shallow water below, several bream have spotted the same appetizer.

A bream wins.

The worm never knew what jumped from the water to snatch him.

Unlike the caterpillar that dangled in front of my eyes just moments ago, I am aware that I too hang suspended between two worlds.

Last week, I completely lost track of large chunks of time, as my body lay unresponsive in my bedroom.

A virus had left me dehydrated and weak, barely able to ward off the cancer that has circled like that dragonfly for the last 16 months.

A strong recovery by early this week left family amazed and joyful. It left me confused. I wasn’t sure why everyone seemed to be making such a fuss over me or why my children were still home when I thought they had just left. In fact, they had left only to be recalled a couple of days later as the hospice nurse felt my demise was at hand.

I missed a few days in which I knocked on death’s door, but didn’t enter.

During those days I displayed classic symptoms that often accompany approaching death.

While I was out, I picked at my clothing as if it were covered in lint. My hands moved almost constantly as I slept. My family said I seemed to be engaging in endless tasks such as cooking, knitting and riding a horse.

They said they were heartened by the fact that I often smiled during these dreams and sometimes laughed. Several times during the day or night my brow would tighten, and my husband would know it was time for a drop of morphine. Within a few minutes, I would relax again and continue with a more pleasant dream.

After I regained consciousness, my loved ones worried about my glassy-eyed gaze and confused expression. I spoke in a whisper they often couldn’t understand even when they held their ears next to my lips.