By Lee Paton
 Several
years ago in Seattle, Washington, there lived a 52-year-old Tibetan
refugee. "Tenzin," as I will call him, who was diagnosed
with one of the more curable forms of lymphoma. He was admitted
to the hospital and received his first dose of chemotherapy. But
during the treatment, this usually gentle man became extremely
angry and upset. He pulled the IV out of his arm and refused to
cooperate. He shouted at the nurses and became argumentative with
everyone who came near him. The doctors and nurses were baffled.
Then Tenzin's
wife spoke to the hospital staff. She told them Tenzin had been
held as a political prisoner by the Chinese for 17 years. They
killed his first wife and repeatedly tortured and brutalized him
throughout his imprisonment. She told them that the hospital rules
and regulations, coupled with the chemotherapy treatments, gave
Tenzin horrible flashbacks of what he had suffered at the hands
of the Chinese.
"I know
you mean to help him," she said, "but he feels tortured
by your treatments. They are causing him to feel hatred inside
- just like he felt toward the Chinese. He would rather die than
have to live with the hatred he is now feeling. And, according
to our belief, it is very bad to have hatred in your heart at
the time of death. He needs to be able to pray and cleanse his
heart."
So the doctors
discharged Tenzin and asked the hospice team to visit him in his
home. I was the hospice nurse assigned to his care. I called a
local representative from "Amnesty International" for
advice. He told me that the only way to heal the damage from torture
is to "talk it through."
"This
person has lost his trust in humanity and feels hope is impossible,"
the man said. "If you are to help him, you must find a way
to give him hope."
But when I
encouraged Tenzin to talk about his experiences, he held up his
hand and stopped me.
He said, "I
must learn to love again if I am to heal my soul. Your job is
not to ask me questions. Your job is to teach me to love again."
I took a deep
breath. I asked him, "So, how can I help you love again?"
Tenzin immediately replied, "Sit down, drink my tea and eat
my cookies." Tibetan tea is strong black tea laced with yak
butter and salt. It isn't easy to drink! But that is what I did.
For several weeks, Tenzin, his wife, and I sat together, drinking
tea. We also worked with his doctors to find ways to treat his
physical pain. But it was his spiritual pain that seemed to be
lessening. Each time I arrived, Tenzin was sitting cross-legged
on his bed, reciting prayers from his books. As time went on,
he and his wife hung more and more colorful "thankas,"
Tibetan Buddhist banners, on the walls. The room was fast becoming
a beautiful, religious shrine.
When the spring
came, I asked Tenzin what Tibetans do when they are ill in the
spring. He smiled brightly and said, "We sit downwind from
flowers." I thought he must be speaking poetically. But Tenzin's
words were quite literal. He told me Tibetans sit downwind so
they can be dusted with the new blossoms' pollen that floats on
the spring breeze. They feel this new pollen is strong medicine.
At first,
finding enough blossoms seemed a bit daunting. Then, one of my
friends suggested that Tenzin visit some of the local flower nurseries.
I called the manager of one of the nurseries and explained the
situation. The manager's initial response was: "You want
to do what?" But when I explained the request, the manager
agreed.
So, the next
weekend, I picked up Tenzin and his wife with their provisions
for the afternoon: black tea, butter, salt, cups, cookies, prayer
beads and prayer books. I dropped them off at the nursery and
assured them I would return at 5:00.
The following
weekend, Tenzin and his wife visited another nursery. The third
weekend, they went to yet another nursery.
The fourth
week, I began to get calls from the nurseries inviting Tenzin
and his wife to come again. One of the managers said, "We've
got a new shipment of nicotiana coming in and some wonderful fuchsias
and oh, yes! Some great daphne. I know they would love the scent
of that daphne! And I almost forgot! We have some new lawn furniture
that Tenzin and his wife might enjoy."
Later that
day, I got a call from the second nursery saying that they had
colorful wind socks that would help Tenzin predict where the wind
was blowing. Pretty soon, the nurseries were competing for Tenzin's
visits. People began to know and care about the Tibetan couple.
The nursery
employees started setting out the lawn furniture in the direction
of the wind. Others would bring out fresh hot water for their
tea. Some of the regular customers would leave their wagons of
flowers near the two of them. At the end of the summer, Tenzin
returned to his doctor for another CT scan to determine the extent
of the spread of the cancer. But the doctor could find no evidence
of cancer at all. He was dumbfounded. He told Tenzin that he just
couldn't explain it.
Tenzin lifted
his finger and said, "I know why the cancer has gone away.
It could no longer live in a body that is filled with love. When
I began to feel all the compassion from the hospice people, from
the nursery employees, and all those people who wanted to know
about me, I started to change inside. Now, I feel fortunate to
have had the opportunity to heal in this way. Doctor, please don't
think that your medicine is the only cure. Sometimes compassion
can cure cancer, as well."
|
