Free In the Midst of Life by Jennifer Worth

and then an hour presenting empirical evidence and taking questions. How on earth could she present empirical evidence to support a thesis on death? It was impossible. Yet without it, her lecture would be a failure.
    Elisabeth was still devoting her spare time to dying patients in the hospital, talking with them to try to ease their fears and loneliness. A young girl called Linda impressed her deeply. She was sixteen, and at an advanced stage of leukaemia. The direct and focused way in which she discussed her condition wasimpressive.
    She was comfortable and unembarrassed about it, and suddenly it dawned on Elisabeth that, if Linda could talk to the medical students, she would be the ideal person to tell them what it was like to be dying at the age of sixteen. Linda readily agreed to participate.
    On the day of the lecture, Elisabeth was a nervous wreck. She stood on the podium and read from her notes. The students’ behaviour was inexcusable: they chewed gum, chatted, leaned back with their feet up, and sniggered; but, as the lecture drew to its close, their behaviour became more respectful. During the break Elisabeth brought in her brave sixteen-year-old and wheeled her into the centre of the auditorium. The girl was pathetically frail and thin, and she could not stand, but she was nicely dressed and her hair looked pretty. Her clear brown eyes and determined jaw showed that she was perfectly in command of herself.
    The students sat nervously in their seats. No one spoke, no one put his feet up, no one even chewed gum. They were obviously feeling uncomfortable. Elisabeth introduced the girl, explained her condition, and said that she had generously and bravely volunteered to answer their questions on what it was like to be terminally ill, and to know that you have only a short time to live. There was a slight rustle as people shifted awkwardly in their seats, and then there descended a quiet so profound it was disturbing. Elisabeth asked for volunteers but no hand was raised, so she selected a number of students, called them on to the stage so that they would be close to Linda, and instructed them to ask questions. All that they could think of was muttered questions about her blood count, the size of her liver, and other clinical details.
    Until then, Linda had been calm and was even smiling, but at that point she lost all patience with the students, and in a passionate fit of anger the floodgates of her frustration and loneliness opened.
    ‘That’s all you people ever think of – tests, tests, tests. No one ever thinks of
me,
as a person. You people hide behind your tests and charts so that you don’t have to talk to me. Me, who is dying, who is younger than any of you, but will never go to college, nevergo out on a date, never get married and have children. No one ever talks to
me,
to try to know my thoughts and feelings. Until Dr Ross came the only person who wanted to talk to me was the black cleaning lady in our block. She is very poor, and all her people are poor. She was never taught to read or write, but she understands me and sees what I am going through, and she tells me not to be afraid – death is an old friend for her people, and is not so very frightening. Until Dr Ross came she was the only person who talked to me.
    ‘You people never talk to
me.
You stand by the bed and talk
about
me, as though I wasn’t there, and call me “she”. You won’t even look me in the eye. Are you afraid of me? Am I infectious? Do you people think you will catch death off me if you come too close? Even my family can’t mention the subject. If I try to speak of my dying to my mother, she changes the subject. Does she think I’m morbid or unnatural to think about death, when it’s with me every minute of every day? Do you know, she even put an article in the paper, advertising my leukaemia, and asking people to send me “Happy Sweet Sixteen” birthday cards. Hundreds of silly cards came to the hospital, all from