In the Midst of Life

will die happy.’ And she blessed him again.
    ‘But you can’t be dying. You are not ill!’ he protested.
    ‘No, but I am old, and I can see the figure of death, the Reaper. I hear the swish of his scythe that cuts down the old grass so that new may grow. It is the way of life. I am content now, and I ask God for nothing more than to die peacefully under my son’s roof.
    Four days later Mrs Ratski developed acute intestinal obstruction. Suddenly, and unaccountably, a loop of bowel twisted on itself, a condition that, if untreated, is fatal. Slavek was the first up that morning, and found his mother in great pain on the sofa in the living room where she had been sleeping. She was leaning forwards, clutching her stomach, moaning and rocking herself. She looked up when he entered, and her face was grey with pain, her lipspressed back over her gums and her eyes dull. He went over to her and took her in his arms.
    ‘Oh, my son, my jewel! It has been a long night, but the morning brings my Slavek, praise be to God.’
    Slavek felt himself panicking, and ran to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Karen,’ he called. ‘Come quickly. Something terrible’s happened.’
    ‘I must give my blessing to your wife and your children before I go,’ said the stricken old lady.
    ‘We must get the doctor,’ said Karen.
    The doctor arrived and examined Mrs Ratski as best he could, but she was rigid and he could barely move her. He noted her pain and sweat and rapid pulse. Her temperature was very high. ‘I will give her an injection of morphine, and then I will order an ambulance to take her to hospital,’ he said.
    I was a first-year student nurse at the Royal Berkshire Hospital, Reading, when Mrs Ratski was admitted. The year was 1953 and I was eighteen years old. We had been told to prepare for a woman with an abdominal obstruction of unknown origin, possibly a perforation, and peritonitis. The ward sister told the staff nurse to take me with her and to instruct me in preparation for an emergency abdominal exploration.
    We made ready a bed, a surgical trolley for the examination, an injection tray for drugs and infusions, a trolley for gastric intubation and suction, and a drip stand for glucose and saline infusion. Our patient arrived and the staff nurse took her temperature, which was high, and blood pressure, which was subnormal. Her pulse was thin and racing, and her skin was white and sweating. Her mouth and tongue were dry, her eyes glazed, and she was deeply asleep, breathing slowly – only about six to eight breaths per minute. Our patient was obviously in a state of shock. I was told to undress her.
    Slavek was hovering in the background, so the staff nurse took a medical history from him. He did not know his mother’s age, but thought she was between seventy-five and eighty years old. He informed us that she had been a peasant, uneducated, and hadworked on the land since she was about seven. She had married, and borne (he thought) nine children. ‘Had there been any miscarriages?’ He did not know. ‘Had she ever been ill?’ He thought not – at least, he had never been told of any illnesses. ‘Had she ever had an operation?’ He didn’t think so. ‘Was her husband with her?’ No, he had died many years ago.
    I was still taking off all her black clothes, revealing an emaciated body. Staff nurse was a thoughtful girl, and remarked, ‘She looks half-starved, as though she has hardly had a good meal in her life. How did she come to be with you?’
    Then Slavek told us the story of her astonishing lone journey across Europe to England. Staff nurse wrote it all up in the notes. ‘Amazing,’ she said, ‘hardly credible. But she is here, so she must have done it. Why did she come?’
    ‘She told my sister, Olga, that she was going to die, and that she must see me first.’ Slavek could scarcely get the words out, his voice catching as he choked back the tears.
    ‘Her dying wish, eh?’
    ‘I suppose so. She told me that she was happy to go now that she had seen me.’
    Staff nurse was kind and optimistic. ‘Don’t worry. Your mother is in the right place. We can treat this sort of thing. She will soon be well again.’
    ‘Thank you so much. You are wonderful.’
    The house surgeon arrived. He was very young, about twenty-four, and this was his first house job. Like me, he was nervous and a bit hesitant. He checked Mrs Ratski’s heart and lungs, looked into her eyes, ears and throat, and checked all her