NOVEMBER 8, 2024 – However much my heart, psyche and soul are restored and rejuvenated by the woods of Björnholm along the shore of a secluded lake, I also thrive in the society of my species, homo sapiens—beings every bit as noble as we are ignoble. Today I interacted only with the most noble, though with some I talked about the ignoble.
Most of my dealings with the noble were necessitated by a serious medical condition of a close family member. To this point we’ve been fortunate. Our maladies have fallen into one of two categories: 1. Aches and pains—sometimes debilitating, but never devastating; and 2. A serious illness (my own), which, thanks to angels and archangels indistinguishable from human beings, has been held at bay to allow me to experience gratitude and incurable optimism. But now a son with severe symptoms is in the hospital enduring a battery of tests to determine the cause of his condition. From my own medical drama I understand the power of love and devotion. From elements of the universe that reside in the human heart, I’m reminded that parental love is fathomless and unqualified.
If it takes a village to help a parent to shepherd a child, it takes many hearts and hands to build the village. Over the past week my wife and I have been embraced by that village of family, friends, and a new set of angels and archangels, who, in their usual camouflage, borrow appearances of our flawed species.
Yet, if our subgroup of the animal kingdom is identified by defects, it is distinguished by humankind’s inherent divinity, manifest in health care. In our immediate case, the Chief of Staff of the angels and archangels is our long-time friend, the inimitable Dr. Ravi—called such because most people in these parts are intimidated by his 14-letter surname, “Balasubrahmanyan.” Oops! I was off by two letters. Early on, he taught us how to pronounce it “Ball-o’-super-monion.” I taught myself how to spell it (out loud) by shooting for “Brahman”: “B-A-L-A-S-U-BRAHMAN-YAN.” This is quite a feat for me, who struggles with a form of oral, as well as aural, dyslexia and can barely spell “cat” or “dog” aloud.
In any event, Ravi was the first one to call me this morning with an update and encouragement. I recalled how he’d provided palliative care for my dad in Dad’s last two months of life, and the extraordinary support he gave our family; how when I was diagnosed with multiple myeloma, Ravi “went to school” to learn all he could about that particular malignancy and its treatment protocols and for four months straight, called me every single evening to see how I was doing and helped carry me past my trepidation of a stem cell transplant. And now this amazing friend and physician is once again playing a pivotal role in the life and hope of our family.
How can I not marvel at how Ravi, a son of India—a place that nearly 44 years ago I was sure would swallow me whole and spit me out dead—is yet again a great beacon of the village?
As was my custom during my own medical expedition, I’ve inquired of the nurses and trainee who cared for our son today—“What is your story? How did you choose this vocation?” The responses were the same—and just as inspirational—as before: “[When very young] I took care of [a seriously ill parent]” and “When I was a kid, I accompanied my parents to their medical appointments and translated for them.” In watching these people go about their caregiving, I was struck by their proficiency, efficiency, dedication, and above all, genuine caring. Their politics? Completely irrelevant to the most critical issue: the patient’s care.
Then there were the texts, emails, phone calls, and in-person support of friends and family. I was again reminded of the advice I received from a doc at my clinic where the first inkling of something serious had been revealed. “Surround yourself with positive people,” he said. I took his advice to the next level and worked on becoming positive myself, especially when interacting with caregivers. As I did, I saw them respond in kind, which always initiated a reciprocating pattern.
This evening Beth and I attended the annual graduation dinner for this year’s group of 10 young journalist-fellows of World Press Institute based in the Twin Cities. They spoke of their extraordinary weeks-long media tour across America; of the deep friendships they’d forged among themselves and with WPI staff and hosts. Over dinner we visited with other supporters of WPI—fellow board members, hosts, et alia. The recent campaign and election, of course, had been closely covered by the fellows, and the election results were a central point of discussion across the many dinner tables.
But politics was not the exclusive topic of conversation. Our spirited exchanges unleashed the intangible qualities that bind us—a sense of the common good; our joint conviction that supporting a free press is essential to sustaining a free society; a shared interest in knowing what is happening outside our individual bubbles and beyond our collective borders and horizons.
And in talking with people—any people—for long, I discover the troubles and travails that other folks bear and that I’d never want to trade for your own. For me these encounters always summon empathy and gratitude . . . and remind me of our shared and inescapable vulnerabilities; our shared humanity.
As we left the venue and noticed the moon lounging in its celestial hammock, I thought about our son and how much of the day we’d spent with him and thinking about him. I pondered the loving care we’d witnessed among people today and how that care builds on itself.
One of my favorite scenes up at the lake is the light of a waxing moon sparkling, gently rippling, or resting still on the water. But what fills my life with meaning far deeper than the lake or the infinite sky above it is the knowledge that each of us belongs—truly belongs—to a species capable of great love for life and most important, love for one another. As it is said, that—every bit as much as the force of gravity—is what makes the world go ’round.
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© 2024 by Eric Nilsson
