You've Got Time

My favorite things in life don't cost any money. It's really clear that the most precious resource we all have is time. –Steve Jobs

“Why did you stop practicing medicine? You know I need a doctor,” she said repeating the question that she so often asked me. The person posing the question was a building security guard at my research laboratory and someone with whom I had a deep history.

Twenty years ago, she and I had worked together in an inner-city women’s clinic. At that time, she was a medical assistant, and I was fresh out of medical school learning how to be a real doctor.

“Let’s run the list,” she would say with a big, wide smile and piercing brown eyes that lit up the room.

“OK,” I replied. “The first three patients are pregnant with low-risk pregnancies. Patient number one and two will need a urine sample and number three will need a glucose drink to check if she has gestational diabetes. Patient number four rarely comes – I think she is homeless – if she comes, we should ask her if she wants to see the social worker. Patients five and six are new to me. No idea how we can prepare for their visit.” Being a doctor for the first time felt like an enormous responsibility and honor.

“We’ll get it done,” she said flashing that infectious smile that always brightened my day.

And we would. The clinic was a challenging cornucopia of disease that takes hold when people don’t have access to medical care or struggle with addiction or homelessness. In those days, I was caring for a lot of Somali refugees, who had escaped a civil war. Working in this clinic wasn’t a job, it was a personal mission to help people in great need.

After three years of seeing patients in this clinic, I became a Chief Resident, which meant that my days were spent supervising resident physicians in the hospital. My medical assistant and I parted ways. Until miraculously, our paths crossed again.

“Kristina! I thought that was you,” she called in a thunderous voice from across the room.

Turning toward the security desk, my spirit soared. If there was ever a person who saw life as full of opportunity and beauty and hope, it was her.

“I tried to make an appointment with you, but they said that you weren’t practicing anymore. Is that true?” she asked.

“Yes. I never thought I would stop practicing medicine. When my husband was diagnosed with cancer, I needed to simplify my life to be flexible for him and work less,” I said.

My response was more rehearsed now than it had been several months ago, and it was easier to say. But whenever I mentioned his cancer – especially to someone that I cared about – I got a lump in my throat.

“How far has it spread?” she asked.

I was taken aback by her question, because very few people ever asked for more details. Partly out of respect for our privacy, but also to avoid being burdened with more information than they could handle.

“Well, right now, the scans look clear, but there is a spot on his rib that they are not sure about. And they are watching some nodules in his lungs. The cancer was so advanced, I am pretty sure it will come back,” I said with eyes turned downward trying to hold back the tears.

She responded so fast that her reply almost punctuated my sentence.

“It always comes back, but you’ve got time!” she interjected staring deep into my eyes.

In disbelief, I just looked at her.

That is exactly what I thought and the reason that I felt such dread every time he had a follow-up test or CT scan. But no one had ever said anything like this out loud and with such conviction. Especially not his oncologist, who could hardly bring herself to whisper his survival statistics.

I’ve got time? Who could make a statement like this? And with such vigor and certainty? Only one possibility occurred to me. Someone who had been through a similar living hell.

“My husband was diagnosed with lung cancer, and they gave him six months to live,” she said. “But he was gone in 5 weeks. You have time. Use it.”

I was speechless.

Her last five words struck a nerve because I knew them to be true. I had time right now with my husband. Was I using this time with him to the best of my ability?

Had the words come from anyone else, I might have dismissed them. But not from her. She had nothing but care and goodwill for me. She had also experienced a devastating cancer loss before she had any time to mentally prepare. Her advice was meant to help me.

She was right. The situation could be worse. What if he had died six months into his cancer treatment from the giant blood clot? Or, what if he had already been diagnosed with a metastasis?

Now, was the time to do the things we had put off. So many things were on our bucket list that we wanted to do if only we had more time. Life was busy. Between kids, sports, school events, and work, we were in a fun — but endless — cycle of back-to-back events. We dreamt about taking our girls to Africa, but there was always a reason to delay. We were also far behind on going out to try new restaurants, just the two of us, for a date night.

Were we missing the tender moments by not slowing our lives down? Should we be taking more walks on the beach, holding hands, and having deeper conversations? Should we just pull the trigger and book a trip to Africa while his cancer was still in remission?

Yes, my friend. I would use this time.