There are some teachers that you always remember because they made a profound impact on your life. Amy was such a teacher to me, though not in the traditional sense.
She was a 46-year-old wife and mother of two young children, and may have been the sickest of the thousands of people I have met in the hospital. Amy had Crohn’s disease, melanoma, colon cancer that metastasized to other organs, cardiac issues and gastroparesis. She was in the hospital more than she was out, hence our close relationship of many years.
And as sick as Amy was, she was somehow the most alive person I have ever known. Amy was a teacher to all who met her. A teacher of what it means to appreciate, value and enjoy every moment of life.
I can vividly recall entering Amy’s hospital room one day as she lay on the bed clutching her laptop. Beads of sweat were dripping from her face and body. Her face was all pink and her head kept bobbing up and down as if she was trying to stay awake. I knew Amy was in pain and it was the pain meds that were making her feel drowsy. I had asked her what she was doing on her laptop. She could barely speak a few words without drifting off. After several minutes, Amy finally expressed that she was trying to order small prizes to put in birthday party bags for one of two kids. Note that Amy could hardly stay awake, and barely had enough energy to push the buttons on the keyboard! Yet, this was how she was occupying her time. It was both an amazing and terribly sad thing to witness.
Amy was a co-“class mother” for one of her children’s classes for many years. I never could understand how or why she would choose to take on this added responsibility of class mother given her circumstances. However, she never saw anything as too difficult. Everything she did was from a feeling of extreme love and pride for her family. I know because she told me. And when she would tell me this, she humbled me as a parent.
Amy was always in a state of pain; it was just the level of pain that varied daily. However, she never questioned why. She never questioned why some people had it so much easier than she. I would often enter Amy’s room after she had just heard some disappointing news about a test result. Amy always allowed herself to be sad, to absorb the news, and then would re-shift her thoughts, strengthen her attitude and would continue to plow ahead with a new treatment plan. Her husband was a determined, loving and unwavering presence and advocate. He was constantly by her side, holding her hand and reinforcing that they will try to make it through whatever might come their way.
One would think that Amy would be self-absorbed. After all, it would be natural for a person such as her to be very preoccupied with their own poor medical state. And yet Amy was somehow quite selfless.
Amy told me that on one occasion while at home, a friend of hers was ill with strep. Amy casually mentioned that she had brought her soup. I looked at her with shock. Given our close relationship, I felt comfortable to ask, “Amy, you have three different cancers. You are undergoing chemo. You cooked food for your friend with strep?” Her response was that every person is undergoing their own struggle and that your struggle should not be felt as any greater than theirs. To them, for who they are, it might be their greatest challenge in that moment.
That is true compassion.
According to medical statistics, Amy should have died much sooner than she did. Her ER and ICU visits were too numerous for us all to count. She was a walking miracle and every doctor and hospital staff member knew it.
While most people get depressed from lying in a hospital bed for days on end, Amy was grateful to merely open her eyes in the morning and be alive. While most people would cry about hair loss and neuropathy from cancer treatments, Amy rejoiced because she felt it was a sign that the treatments were working. While most people would complain about the hospital food, Amy was grateful to open her mouth and eat. And while many people grumble about the bickering of their children and complain about the need to perform monotonous household chores, Amy cherished every moment of simply being in her home with her family.
If I had to sum up the essence of who Amy was, it would be the most dedicated, compassionate and thankful soul. Amy may have been dying, but she was a true teacher of what it means to live.
May Amy’s legacy continue to live on through her special family and the many “students” she touched in her life.
By Debby Pfeiffer
