It’s a bit cold, detached and yes, stoic. It’s meant to be. It’s also what you need to do so you can go on to help the next patient. That’s what they tell you. It’s the circle of life and as hard as it is to read the words, you do need to keep a distance between yourself, the consummate healthcare professional, and him or her, the patient.
I’ve been pretty good about it. I can do my job, be professional and not take my work home with me. Or, rather, I had.
One day, just over a year ago, a young woman came to one of my crystal bowl concerts. This beautiful blonde, who could have been on the cover of Vogue, was sitting on a yoga mat in the back of the room, in the exact spot (my spot) where I place my yoga mat when I attend my yoga class. She came alone and she was just sitting, waiting for the concert to begin.
I try to meet everyone at the door and if I do not, I go to them to introduce myself.
I approached her, “Hi, I’m T Love, thank you for coming. I don’t think I’ve seen you at a concert before have I?”
“No”, she replied.
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Kim” she responded.
“Well, Kim, it’s very nice to meet you. How did you hear about this concert?” I asked.
“Jean Marie at the hospital told me about you.” She replied.
“Oh yes, I know her. How are you doing?” I asked. (I know Jean Marie. She's the woman at the hospital who deals with all the cancer patients.)
“I’m doing really well!” she said with a big confident smile.
“I’m glad you could come today. I hope you enjoy the concert” I replied and moved on to greet other guests.
At the end of the concert she approached me and told me she loved the concert. She then told me she had cancer but was now in remission. I told her she looked great, congratulated her on the clean bill of health, let her know the bowl I placed on her played beautifully and wished her a wonderful evening.
She then looked into my eyes and said with such great sincerity, “I am so glad to have met you.”
Somehow, that struck me. I’ve heard those words before, but this time it was different and that’s where it all began.
Three weeks later she e-mailed me to tell me she had to go back to the hospital because of some pain she had been experiencing. They discovered the cancer had returned. She had only been in remission for a month, at most.
She asked to come in for energy therapy treatments. I scheduled her for Friday, February 18th at 11:00am.
She brought her Mom. I explained the process to them both, described what the sessions were like and we got started that day.
During the course of treatment she had her ups and downs. Who wouldn’t? She had cancer. For the second time. She remained strong and when she was down, I’d help her to stay positive and turn her attitude around. She was most definitely moving forward.
In May she was back in the hospital. I called her husband to ask if I could visit her and offered to bring her laptop to her so she could e-mail friends and family. He gave me permission and off I went. I don’t remember how long she was there, perhaps a week. After she was discharged, energy therapy treatments began in full.
I got close. It got personal. I learned a lot about her, and she about me. She became my friend. I was not just her energy therapist. I became her confidante, friend, mentor – someone she could tell anything to without judgment or fear of rejection. She was a pure delight and I grew to love her as one would a sister.
I really don’t have much of a family – no one was there for me at all when I had major health issues. Although I deal with many people havng major health issues, somehow, Kim was different. I insist on being there for them. I pride myself in that. No one should go through the hell and horror of cancer alone. Based on personal experience, I can absolutely say that it truly sucks and you really need the support of someone, anyone, to show they care. Even just a little bit. So I’m emphatic about being the energy therapist that gives the patient the support they need, when they need it. I went a little overboard with Kim – according to all the text books, lectures, mentors and professionals that is.
Kim has a 4 year old daughter and a 7 year old son. I’ve met them both, they've been to my home. I knew I was getting way too close. Way too personal. Way too involved. I got hooked and I busted my butt to help in any way I could.
The summer was pleasant and she was doing extraordinarily well. Her endoscopy was clear, her CT Scan was clear, all the tests were great, everything was clear and all was right with the world.
In our area we experienced a hurricane in August and she had no electricity for quite a while. She told me this on her treatment day so I gave her a big box full of half gallon milk cartons that I fill with water and keep frozen in my deep freezer for just such occasions. She took them gratefully, but then, she was always so grateful for even the smallest of things.
Then in October we experienced a most unusual autumn snow storm that dumped 18” of snow in our area. I had no electricity for 5 days. She came in for her treatment two days after I got my electricity back. I was laughing as I told her about gathering buckets of snow only to melt it on the gas stove so I could flush the toilets in the house. We have a well. No electricity – no flushing. She scolded me telling me I should have called her and come to her house. This is when I really knew the therapist/patient relationship was non-existent. Yup, we were friends and I so very much enjoyed seeing her each week. I looked forward to it.
When she came in for a treatment before Thanksgiving she was tired and a bit concerned. Something wasn’t right. She said she could feel it. I didn’t pick up on anything. Looking back, I wasn’t meant to. I told her to contact her doctor. She did and she wound up back in the hospital.
She spent most of the rest of the year in the hospital. She was sent home only to go back a few days later and then it seemed she was constantly there with people poking at her and administering tests. Ultimately they performed surgery to relieve the blocks causing the pain that was making her more than uncomfortable.
I went to visit her and kept in touch via phone calls and e-mails. Then the e-mails stopped, almost suddenly. I kept sending and then received an e-mail from her best friend, Christine. Kim was still in the hospital and things were not going well. She had been asking for me. Would I be able to take some time to visit her? Of course I would and of course I did.
Four days after I visited her, she was sent home, hospice was coming in and I got another e-mail stating she was asking for me again. I went. People have said that was courageous. Are you kidding me? When someone is asking for so little . . .anyone would go. This is what I do for my patients, I would do no less for a friend and Kim was most definitely, both. You go when they ask for you. It’s vital that they know you care. I held her hand and spoke to her. She was not fully aware. She mumbled a few words and I told her I loved her.
This is the part of my job that I don’t like so much. It’s the hardest part. Every job has a hard part – I know that. I’ve worked in the corporate world. I’ve had other jobs. This though, this is particularly difficult and challenging for me. Even though that’s true, this is probably, no, I daresay, it is truly the most purposeful part of my work. It’s the part that means the most and it’s the part that makes the work matter the most.
I find this is when my patient needs me the absolute most. They’re counting on me to hear them when they say they’re scared – knowing I won’t get sad and cry and knowing I won’t tell them, “don’t worry, it’s going to be alright”. They’re counting on me to tell them the truth when they ask questions and they’re counting on me to keep their confidences. As a professional, I need to do just that. I respond honestly. I hold their hand. I work to ease their fear and never, under any circumstances, do I divulge the information they’ve entrusted to me. That’s my job. It’s hard, but yes, it is the most purposeful part and I believe my patients know that I’ll be there for them when they need me.
Kim passed away on February 13, 2012.
She leaves two babies, 4 and 7, yes, they are and always will be her babies; an incredibly caring, devoted, kind and nurturing husband, like no other I have ever seen; friends galore and a huge hole in my heart , the heart of the energy therapist who did everything you’re not supposed to do.
I don’t care what I was taught by of all the mentors and teachers who drilled that into me. I would not give up the time I spent with her, or her children, for anything. I am so grateful to have crossed paths with her. It has been my honor to know her and I know that my life is much more blessed because I met and yes, because I got personal and I got to know Kim. She has left an indelible imprint on my heart, the kind an innocent, free spirited and loving child leaves when they so much as smile at you. That was Kim.
I might have done everything textbook wrong, but I KNOW it was for all the right reasons. If I had to do it all over again. I'd do the same thing. Why? Because she was worth it and apparently, it was meant to be so. I didn’t set out to be her friend. It just happened.I’m more than grateful that it did. I am truly blessed.
It is said that the teacher is the student and the student is the teacher. That’s true. I saw her grow so much, spiritually, in the year that I knew her. She influenced my life in a tremendous way where the effects I am quite sure, are still yet to be seen. She was my friend. She was my supporter. She was my motivator. She was a beautiful soul. How lucky am I to have gotten to know her and grown to love her? Kim, I will never forget you or your strength and courage. I shall miss you my friend, for now, but I know I shall see you again.
Kim Taylor was a hell of a writer as well. I don’t think she would mind my posting her last blog post from her site, here, on my site. She wrote it as she lived it.
I’m not sure she ever believed me when I would tell her how incredible her writing was. She sent things to me and okay, yes, I do know that I am not an editor, or an author, but you know what? I am a reader and I liked what I read. A whole lot. In my opinion, she wrote beautifully.
I’ll let you decide.
Read her blog post and then, would you please do me a favor when you’re done? Would you please send her a small prayer, whatever that means to you. Every prayer is heard no matter how small and every prayer is equally important.
I thank you, whoever you are, for reading her post and sending her a prayer. May you be abundant in only the best of life’s offerings. Kim would want that for you too, I KNOW it!
The Stalker
I have a stalker.
He is tall and muscular and gloomy. He takes the very breath from my lungs the moment I see him. It’s there, clutched in his fist, seeping through his fingers…dripping slowly to the ground until at last it’s gone. And I stand there unable to breathe… That’s part of my soul you just took away. Just pulled from my chest like the strings of a marionette, tugging me toward you and playing me for your amusement. When I’m frightened it makes me feel like a little girl, longing to wrap my arms around mommy’s leg and feel its strength and fearlessness. But sometimes, when I’m faking strong, I absolutely do not care for these childish games. Now get out of my way now and let me pass. Let me pass or I’ll…
He is always looming. He crouches in the corner of my dreams. When I’m awake he steps out of shadows I don’t even know are there. I feel his presence creep upon me like a bottle of ink spilt across a piece of newsprint. It’s horrifying. Not just because I’m scared—because I feel violated. Because this creepy is inside me. Around me. Hovering. You know it’s changed the color of my skin? I’m paler now than I used to be. Sickly. The circles around my eyes are darker, more pronounced and my eyes have sunk… my skin feels draped over my bones, leaving only a landscape of peaks and valleys with no discernable shape.
So much wreckage. This is my life. I never knew what a big word that was until now. I had cut out the pattern and colored inside the lines. But I had no concept of how enormous it was. That my body—this complex system of cells with weight and depth, sprinkled with thought and senses to help it maneuver in the world—is simply an emblem of life. A representation, a translation, of my experiences. The child who absorbs life like a sponge is only meant to grow up—not out of her impermeability. I know this to be true so why can’t I have it? Make room for it? The creepy prevents me.
I have a vision that one day I will be free. I am standing before an enormous window—in a castle above the clouds. It’s covered with silk sheers and they billow into the room as the wind blows and my hair flies and twists wildly around my head. I walk toward the window, barefoot across a stone floor, deliberately, feeling the contour beneath my feet. Heal, ball of foot, toes. I am grounded. The fluttering curtains assure me that I am alone here and their translucency seems to offer the proof I need. But I’ve been fooled before. I reach out to the window, harnessing the power of the wind, and grab hold of curtains. I rip them aside, my breath clamped down tight, veins flooding and rising to the surface of my pale exterior. There is no one there. No shadow, no image, nothing. I am alone.
Suddenly the deadbolt on my lungs is undone …and my breath is released for the very first time. I exhale and watch the dust covered cobwebs get carried away with the wind, swishing and twirling and tumbling into oblivion. I gulp in clean, fresh air and it fills me so completely that my feet are nearly lifted off the ground. I smile, the muscles in my cheeks pleased to be of service once again and they remind me with a biting sting that they have lay dormant far too long. Alone. My veins retreat beneath the surface of my skin and my color begins to change. I hear myself laughing, a familiar tune but a new melody. Suddenly everything is new. I’ve been reborn and the woman is once again a sponge of innocence. No longer bound to a shadowy figure in the corner of my mind. I am finally free.
Kim Taylor, November 4, 2011
Yes, Kim did indeed have a stalker. Yes, that rat Bastard took her from us. Not completely though. That Bastard stalker did not win. That rat Bastard will not and cannot take Kim away from any of us. She is in our hearts forever and I know those who knew her, shall never forget her.
God Bless you Kim. You are finally free. You are at peace and you have touched so very many hearts. Not just the hearts of those who knew you, but the hearts of those who have heard about you and the hearts of those who read your blog as well.
The Bastard Stalker can’t take that away from anyone. Not NOW. Not EVER.
I love you, Kim. May God bless you, my friend, and keep you in his care.
