“You look like I feel,” I said to the couple who was sitting next to me in the doctor’s waiting room.

I was still reeling with shock from the doctor’s announcement a few minutes earlier that I had to have a radical hysterectomy to remove a growth that had a 70% chance of being cancerous.

As the receptionist handed me the pile of forms to complete, I noticed a couple sitting quietly to my left. They were holding hands so tightly that their knuckles were white.  

They looked over at me and we started to talk.  

Lynette and Werner had come all the way from Kimberley. The gynecological oncologist whose waiting room we were in saw only the most difficult cases, so I knew that being there wasn’t good news.

Lynette was young (at most in her early thirties) and had already gone through hell having had surgery, radiation and chemo. They had hoped that she was in the clear, but now something wasn’t right…

We compared notes, she mentioned she had a little girl and then they were called into the doctor’s room.

Two days later, I arrived early in the morning at Mediclinic to be admitted for surgery. I felt scared, alone and stressed. To my amazement, Lynette and Werner were in the reception area also waiting to be admitted. It turned out Lynette’s procedure would be performed right after mine.

 Somehow seeing Lynette made all the difference. We started to make jokes and being an old hand at hospitals, she said all the right things to calm me down.

I realized that she was in the ward next to mine and shortly before I was wheeled down to theatre, I popped into her room to wish her well. “See you on the other side,” we promised each other.  

The next morning, Lynette and Werner came to see me and say goodbye. She sat on the corner of my bed and explained that the cancer had returned. “I just want to see my little girl go to school before I die,” she said fighting back tears. Behind her Werner was staring out the window, his jaw moving as he tried to contain his own emotions.  

I was lost for words. I tried to comfort her as best I could and then it was time for them to leave. We hugged tightly like old friends. “Don’t give up, okay?” I said as she left. She turned around and smiled. “Never!”

Later that day, the surgeon called to say that my tumour was rare, but totally benign. I was extremely relieved, but could not help thinking of Lynette who was on her long journey back to her little girl.

In the months that followed, we kept in touch through texting. I was recovering, she was bravely fighting to win more time.

My last text to her was at the end of August. There was no reply. Then in September her WhatsApp profile disappeared. She had lost her battle.

 Lynette and I only saw each other four times over a period of two days. Yet, in those brief moments, she gave me courage and hope. She also made me reflect on what really mattered in life.

 Most importantly, Lynette reminded me that we never know what impact we can have on someone’s life. Even in the briefest of moments we can comfort, heal and give hope as she did for me.

 We can of course, also hurt and injure.

 I’m busy reading Michelle Obama’s new book The Light We Carry. In it, she talks about the subtle racism – such as a rough tone of voice, not being looked in the eyes, assumptions of inferiority or criminality people - that people of colour endure daily. She describes it as “a thousand little cuts”.  

This powerful image moved me deeply.

As we wish 2022 farewell and enter 2023, perhaps we can all commit to being a little kinder and a little more patient. Perhaps we can resolve to remind ourselves daily that our words and presence can heal or hurt someone – no matter how fleeting the interaction.

And, may we remember that life is short so – to quote Lee Ann Womack, “When we have the choice to sit it out or dance – let’s dance!”

May you all have a happy and peaceful new year.

PS: Sadly, I never got Werner’s contact details. So, if someone in Kimberley who knows them reads this, please will you send Lynette’s family my deepest condolences and love. She was a brave, kind and beautiful person.