In November of 2020, my staff reported that they saw a tokoloshe. For those not familiar with the phenomenon of the tokoloshe, this is how ChatGPT describes it: “The tokoloshe is a pint-sized, hairy mischief-maker from South African folklore – think evil gremlin with a grudge and a serious height disadvantage.” The reporting of a tokoloshe sighting is not as unusual as you might think. I’ve had to deal with casual glimpses of the little beast, infected tokoloshe-bites and emergency loans to placate the demanding little creature. This time however, not only was Mr Tokoloshe spotted, but he was making a lot of noise outside room 17. As I was the only white person on staff, I was asked to investigate.
This is what I discovered: The previous night, our Tokoloshe arrived from Mpumalanga in the boot of someone’s Range Rover. He jumped out of the vehicle when she opened the door, shot through the garden and settled in under the massive Delicious monster in the garden. (The irony of the little monster hiding under the delicious one was not lost on me). There he settled, and had apparently been screaming and screeching ever since. The staff, patients and guests were all terrified.
Remember, this all happened in 2020, and as a business-owner, mother of two teenagers and someone who was subjected to COVID rules, I was not going to be scared of a tokoloshe after having survived the previous months of horror. I quicky found the little guy. He was hairy, loud, very angry, skinny and pitch black. I suspected quickly however, that he was a cat rather than a mystical creature. Monster-slaying was abandoned and a rescue operation was set in motion instead.
In the dining room, a dear friend of mine, and super smart engineer named James Smith, was having breakfast. I enlisted his help and the two of us, kitted out in rubber gloves, carrying towels and a cage, caught the little kitten in what I can only describe as a terribly ungraceful mission. Once the kitten was in the cage, it spat and screeched and for a moment, I also wondered whether it was not perhaps the tokoloshe after all. Long story short, I did not want another cat. I decided I wouldn’t even name it, and just called it Smith – after James – until I could rehome him. You guessed it… Smith is still here five years later. He has not exactly had a glow-up. He is at best, average looking and not terribly smart, but I love this cat like a coffee snob millennial loves matcha: unreasonably, unconditionally, and with wild obsession.
Back to James Smith: apart from our rescue mission of Smith, we share the same culture, same love of books, same birth year, same language, same traditions, same challenges with our beliefs, same viewpoints and same dark humour. Over the years he has often had to explain scientific concepts to me in laymen’s terms. This week, I asked him to explain Quantum physics (or quantum mechanics) to me. You’d be surprised how often this comes up when you deal with the gnarly business of healing and, well, not healing (read dying).
Despite James’ excellent and patient explanations, I still don’t understand quantum anything. Luckily, most people don’t. Even Nobel prize winner and renowned physicists Richard Feynman said: “If you think you understand quantum mechanics, you don’t understand quantum mechanics.”
I’ve read about Schrödinger’s cat many times. I’ve listened to TED talks on “The many world interpretation” as well as the Copenhagen interpretation. I watched Sliding Doors. I loved Sheldon from the Big Bang theory. Whether there are other universes based on our decisions or choices, it does not really matter. What matters is this one, where we live right now, in this strange concept of linear time. Here and now, we have to live with our choices and decisions, and with the rest of life over which we have no control.
I watch my patients discuss the “if only’s” so often. “If only I went for a mammogram earlier.” “If only I took the car and not my motorbike that day” “If only that gene skipped this generation.” “If only I took my BP pills.” “If only I stopped chemo sooner.” We dare not allow ourselves to spiral down those dark and answerless corridors. We can only make things better in the here and the now, with the information, guidance and hopefully, bit of discernment we have. Schrödinger’s cat is ultimately a thought experiment about what may or may not be true or real in an unknowable and infinite loop, but as interesting as these thought experiments can be, when it comes to life and death, to regrets and wishing, they are not always (or ever?) very helpful. Making the most of what we have right now, or making the best decisions with the information we currently have, is usually the best, or only option.
Every morning, before I start my day, I send a WhatsApp to all our patients’ families, just to report on how their night was. This morning, I informed a mom about how her son, Steve, is doing. He is with us for end-of-life care And I’ve come to know her, and so admire the way this matriarch loves her family. This family has a genetic disease that has crushed the family for generations. The mom nursed her brother, who died last year, and in the past decade, has lost two grandsons from this cruel genetic lottery. She knows her son will be the next person to be ripped right out of her heart. One would think that after all this trauma, she would be bitter, defeated or angry, but she is none of those things. After my message this morning, she sent me photos of her son’s dog and her roses. She knows I also attempt to grow roses, and we joke that I’m definitely not as successful as she is. Can you imagine the many other universes or possible life paths she would like to imagine? Ones in which her grandchildren are healthy, her brother still goes to the bush with her and her son is not actively dying. And yet, she chooses to stand still this morning, and literally, smell the roses.
We understand so little, and we really control so very little. Not much makes sense in this world. All I can do, is be grateful that I get to live in this very imperfect universe, with my majestic cat Smith, and get to be inspired by people like Steve’s mom.
Sometimes things are not as we perceive them to be, and monsters under bushes are really just frightened kittens who become beloved pets.
Often, things are not as we wish or hoped they would be, but perhaps in acceptance and care, rather than in the relentless pursuit of understanding, we can find freedom.