Her oncologist had warned me about her. She was formidable. Difficult. Suffering from a chronic blood disease for which she required bi-weekly blood transfusions, she had just been diagnosed with advanced cancer. While she declined any work-up or treatment for her cancer she insisted on continuing with life-sustaining blood transfusions. This left her oncologist befuddled and confused. He asked me to help.

A black immigrant, she immigrated to the United States as a young teenage girl and settled in the Midwest. She married and raised her children during the peak of the Civil Rights movement. Needless to stay, her trust of the medical community was weak and I had my work cut out for me.

I gently knocked on the clinic door and entered. There she sat in a wheelchair, dressed to the 9’s in a fur lined coat and hat. Her skin was smooth with barely a wrinkle visible, the color of a perfect cup of coffee with just the right amount of cream, disguising her age. “Hello! My name is Janelle. You must be Jane. It is so nice to meet you!” She skeptically appraised me and declared with her knotted finger pointed right at me, “I don’t want any of your medicines.” I simply stated, “Good because I don’t want to give you anything you don’t want.” This began our 4-month journey.

As her condition worsened over the months, I had many opportunities to get to know her better. I learned that she was a woman of deep faith who treasured her family and her church family. Throughout her illness, she never waivered in her faith and hope for a miracle. I attended her birthday celebration and felt honored to be included.

There was a moment during her illness when she was hospitalized that I went in to her room to visit with her. As I sat on the edge of her bed, she looked deep into my eyes, touching my soul, and placed her knotted hand on my cheek and stated, “Everything you have ever done…He forgives you.” She always had a way of knowing exactly what I needed to hear.

Toward the end of her life, she began to really suffer and her symptoms were not able to be managed at home. With much persuading she agreed to come to the hospital so we could make her more comfortable. She could barely breathe and was in severe pain but in true Jane fashion, she declined any recommendation I made. In my frustration, I let out a big sigh and with shoulders sagging I told her I didn’t know how to help her and was admittedly frustrated. She declared, “Don’t you be frustrated with me.” I exclaimed, “I’m not frustrated with you, I am frustrated by the situation. I am frustrated that I don’t know how to help you.” She simply said, “You need to pray.” I conceded and excused myself from her room, knowing that any further recommendations I might have would be rejected. As I walked out into the hall I said a silent prayer to God, asking him to help me come up with a way to help her.

I moved on to the next room where I was seeing a new consult. The elderly woman I was visiting had severe dementia and had been admitted with a urinary tract infection. Her dutiful husband sat in the corner explaining the severity of her dementia. “She can’t tell you what day it is or what she had for lunch but she can still recite the 23^rd Psalm.” BINGO!

After a quick Bible App check, I ran to Jane’s room where I found her sitting on the side of the bed in a tripod position struggling for every breath. I told her that God had given me the 23^rd Psalm. I then proceeded to read the entire verse to her. “The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want…even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. For you are with me. Your rod and your staff comfort me…surely goodness and love will follow me all the days of my life and I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.” She looked at me and stated, “I will take your medicine.”

I was able to get her comfortable quickly with medications. She was able to lay back in bed and sleep. At one point when she was surrounded by her church family, I played a song for her titled I Stand in Awe of You by John Thurlow. She seemed to enjoy the music and was comforted by it. I left them to spend what precious time they had with her.

Later that day, I felt moved to return to her room. As I entered I quickly noted that she was in the imminent phase of dying, her respirations now agonal. Her daughter was present and I asked her permission to play the song again. She agreed and once again the room was filled with the worship music that Jane so loved. I held her hand and silently prayed that God would take her at the end of the 8 minute song. And wouldn’t you know it…he answered my prayers for a second time that day. She passed peacefully on that cold winter day surrounded by the warmth of her God and her family.

Jane forever changed my career. She taught me how to meet people where they need to be met. To not follow my agenda and check my boxes. She taught me how to find the human connection and to earn the most sacred of all things…trust. She helped shape my entire career and for that I am eternally grateful to her and her family who allowed me to be in their midst.

(Names, ages, diagnoses have been changed to preserve patient privacy.)