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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."
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