What it Takes

In May 1985, I was in a hospital being treated for leukemia. Despite the medication I was taking, suddenly, for no reason doctors could identify, my platelets (blood cells that clot) began to fall to the point where I was in danger of bleeding to death, even from a small cut. I lay in my bed, worried about the upcoming scheduled trip to Bethesda, a huge hospital complex where I’d have a series of tests to determine if I had a second blood cancer. 

I’d been there almost a week when Nina, my favorite nurse, came in to check my vital signs. Usually, I appreciated her dry sense of humor, but I was too depressed to acknowledge her presence. She asked, pretending to be incredulous, “Where’s my favorite woman warrior?”

Grinning in spite of myself, I said, “Gone. Gone with the missing platelets.” 

“Well, if they’re lost, we’ll just have to find them. Get up and get dressed. You’ve been here too long. I’m taking you out.”

“Can I leave?” I asked, incredulous. “What about your work?”

“This is a hospital, not a prison. Yes, you can leave. What I do about my work is my problem, not yours. I’ll pick you up in half an hour so be ready.” She left.

I had a choice of two outfits—a pair of jeans and a once-favorite skirt that now mocked my decrepit state. When she came back to pick me up, she put a shawl of many hues of blue around my shoulders. “Matches your jeans,” she said. I followed her out of the room, out of the ward, out of the hospital, grateful for the warmth of the shawl, to her car, a red hatchback. She opened the passenger side door and motioned for me to get in.

“Where are we going?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” she grinned. I was torn between annoyance and intrigue. She drove to a large parking lot filled with cars surrounded by huge trees, flowering bushes, and lots of spring flowers. I got out of the car, wondering where we were and why we were here. Her brisk pace was too fast despite doing my best to keep up. Another reminder of how much physical ability I’d lost in the four months since being hospitalized for an illness doctors couldn’t diagnose.

In the park we walked for longer than I’d walked in a long time. I could hear water falling before I saw it. A huge waterfall. The pool of water was filled with people in various states of undress laughing, playing, running in and out of the cascading water. Nina took my arm, making sure I didn’t trip on the uneven path. I could just imagine what people saw when they looked at us—a sturdy nurse in scrubs holding up a frail woman. She led me to a small boulder warmed by the sun, close enough to breathe in the fresh scent of water, to feel small drops occasionally bopping me. She put a small blanket on the stone and motioned for me to sit.

I don’t know how long we stayed. Staring at the falling water was mesmerizing. When I began to shiver, suddenly feeling cold, she said, “Let’s go to my place and have a cup of tea as we watch the sunset.”

“I need to get back,” I said. “I ordered dinner. What happens if they bring it and I’m not there?”

“Are you telling me you want to eat dry white turkey on white mayonnaise-slathered white bread with white potato salad, limp lettuce, and a tasteless tomato?” I couldn’t help laughing at her apt description. The food did nothing to encourage my appetite. When I shook my head, she said, “Well, at least there’s nothing wrong with your brain. You can eat with me in the staff dining room.”

“Am I allowed?” I asked.

Nina’s laugh was infectious. “Yes, you’re allowed. Do I look like a person who breaks rules?” She grinned. “Don’t answer. Let’s go.” We drove to her house and sat on the porch, drinking chamomile tea, watching a spectacular sunset. Later, we ate in the staff dining room where no one questioned my presence.

Early the next morning, after the tech guy drew my blood, I asked if he would let me know the results as soon as he had them. “Not supposed to,” he said, but knowing how anxious I was about the platelet count, he agreed to tell me. 

My platelets had risen slightly. Just enough for me to persuade my oncologist to wait a day or two to see if they would rise or fall. They continued to rise. The visit to Bethesda was postponed, then cancelled. The doctors had no explanation for the sudden rise in my platelet count. 

I did. Being near a waterfall. Sipping chamomile tea while watching the sunset. Cared for by a nurse who recognized my despair and loneliness. Who knew how to improve my health with the “right” kind of medicine.

Have you experienced unconventional wisdom? If so, what happened?

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may 2025 monthly stories