Chapter Three
Jacinta Arrack
Finishing my ‘Basic Nursing Studies’ in 1986 (a few months after my colleagues
due to the fact that I had a habit of wandering off into the mountains rather
than always turning up for a shift that started before ‘freezing-seven’ in the
morning), I undertook a course in ‘Post-Basic’ studies in Aged Care and
Palliative Care at that local Hospice/Home.
Now, as to my studies in ‘Post Basic’ Palliative Care at the local
Hospice/Home…Many people died at that local Hospice/Home, as you would expect.
One person, in particular, did not. One proud and matronly figure, Mrs Jacinta
Arrack, had been given a prognosis of three months. She was a smart,
deliberative and purposeful woman. She was about sixty years old.
She ‘put her accounts in order’. She
was organised. She handed over her house and another rambling property to her
son.
She said all of her heartfelt goodbyes. She asked for no one to visit her
as she did not want to be seen by people that she loved as she deteriorated
over the prescribed time, give or take. Fine. Done.
The beloved son went overseas and married the most beautiful woman I have
ever seen, from Iran
It was as if that is why gold was created in the first place. At last,
here on earth, real gold had some real meaning, to highlight the beauty of
human skin. The same went for the bothersome sounds of the clunking diamonds. A
kind of ethereal music… like spectral shimmering, wind-chimes.
Why bother to grow a giant forest if not to compress it for countless hundreds
of thousands of years into carbon, and then to add heat and pressure and time
to turn it all into diamonds?
Why do that if it was not to somehow add even more beauty to this young
woman’s constant emanation in the world? Why bother do all that if it was not
for this one?
It did us all good to see this magnificent extravagance of young human
reality somehow conjugated into one being who stood five foot ten inches tall,
in full black-silk adornment, and with high golden heels. It always will do us
good to see this. Beauty is awesome.
Sorry, I digressed from Palliative Care and death for
a moment…
It’s just something I’ve noticed. That sometimes there are some people
who are so dynamically and dazzlingly beautiful, whether of body or mind or
spirit, that you can’t actually see them.
You can’t actually see them clearly at all, but it’s very hard to look away.
Your eyes are drawn into a milieu of fascination and the beauty is so
transcendent, so transforming, that by seeing this being, you are changed, in
yourself, without any clarity or understanding coming with it at all. Blink. My
goodness, it’s so easy to digress from Palliative Care for a moment.
Anyway, meanwhile, back in the Hospice, after six months… three decent
months after she was supposed to be very dead, Mrs Jacinta Arrack, well, she
was looking very well indeed. If this
was deterioration, based on legitimate cancer process and trajectory, then I
wish it for us all. Mrs Arrack was aglow with life.
As it happened, her diagnosis was an error of medical judgment. Reviews
were flawed. Tests were mislaid. Misinterpreted. Someone else’s files. Oops. It
happens more often than it should, just like everything else. It was a human
error. It must happen. It’s human. You can and can’t depend on it.
Meanwhile, her grand home and remnant bucolic pastoral properties had
been sold off by her son and he invested all of that into having the continuity
of human beauty and meaning with him, loving him, every day. He was deeply in
love with his wife, and she with him.
The somewhat bedazzled son came to visit his mother upon hearing the good
news of her new extended-term on Earth. She had to leave the Hospice. She had
to go home. For the first time in her strong life, she had no home. He, her
best beloved, had sold it. He skulked around her Hospice room like a wide-eyed scared
miniature fox terrier with an anxiety disorder.
As for Mrs Jacinta Arrack, well, she, who up to that time thought she was
nigh upon approaching full heaven, when faced with the life-changing decisions
of her goodly son, well, she gave him full hell. She also had quite a few
unpleasant words for the man’s bejewelled Iranian wife.
This is one of the problems with wishing for an instant cure for
everyone. You’d end up with quite a few folk wandering the streets with nowhere
to live; really annoyed at their children. Some would even have vague plans of
attacking the good people of Iran
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