I am dumbfounded at how much more we know today than we ever did before. Think of how we have moved on, even just in the last few centuries, from burning witches at stakes, confusing mental health problems for being demon-possessed, drilling holes in skulls for headaches, blaming “floating uteruses” for issues or calling it “hysteria” when women had a bit of menopause, or letting blood and popping on the odd leech to cure a phlegmy cough. Just recently, doctors prescribed cigarettes to cure asthma, tapeworms to lose weight, cocaine for toothaches, mercury for constipation and arsenic to purify blood. In 2025, we have so much more knowledge at our fingertips. We have answers for every question and solutions for every problem, and if all else fails, AI spits out a quick-fix in seconds.
This generation is smarter, healthier, live longer, and there is not a day that goes by that I am not astounded at the brilliance of doctors and how our scientific advances have changed the world. It seems that access to knowledge about disease is without limit, and there are cures for just about every malady. I wonder, however, whether this “always-having-an-answer culture” has made us forget that there are simply some things that cannot be restored? We live in a time where we believe we can fix everything. We think it is our right to have better lives, more money, beautiful bodies, wrinkle free faces, perfect marriages, over-achieving children, instagramable holidays, and to live longer happier lives #blessed?
But it is not true. We still get sick. We still die.
In my world, we live with this reality every day, and my sincere plea comes from a place of huge respect and admiration, without accusations of greed and ego. All I ask is that we all (I include the oncologists, physicians, homeopaths, pastors, ministers, neighbours, best friends) please, please let go of the idea that there is always something to be done. Can we stop thinking that if we stop trying and treating it means we have failed? Stop fighting at all cost. I have lost count of the amount of times, when on a deathbed, someone will say to us “So what are we going to do to fix things?” Death is inevitable for us all, and untimely for many, but it is made far, far worse than it needs to be for so many because of our obsessive need to hold on, to do more, to fix things, even long after everyone really knows that’s not an option.
Whether you are peddling a turmeric drip, yet another round of chemo, a dangerous surgery or even an essential oil, for God’s sake, do it responsibly! Giving a patient and their loved ones false hope is not hope, it is a lie. Suggesting a surgery based on a slight chance of adding a few weeks to a life is cruel. Shipping someone off to chemo in an ambulance for further abuse of a battered body is criminal. Telling someone if they have faith God will heal them is a disgrace. Suggesting black cumin essential oil to cure cancer is simply an irresponsible lie.
A while ago, Sonja was booked in by her husband, Simon. She was discharged from hospital after she had some blood clots, which were a direct result of her chemotherapy. Simon told me she was here for palliative care. It was not end-of-life yet, but because there was so much tension at home, everyone agreed it would be better for her to start her journey towards the end of life here with us. An ambulance dropped Sonja off. She had big blue eyes and I could see she felt embarrassed that she had to be carried in on a stretcher, and that it took both paramedics and two of my staff to get her onto the bed. She was very big which surprised us, because we knew she used to be a professional athlete and additionally, chemo patients are often frail and thin. Looking at her swollen face it was obvious that she was pumped full of cortisone, which explained the bulk. I liked her instantly. We discovered we shared quite a few mutual friends, chatted about her twin sister who died of the same cancer, our love of sparkling wine and authors we both enjoyed.
Our casual chat was interrupted when her dad walked in. He loudly clapped his hands and asked how much she had eaten, if she’d had her medicine and asked why she was in bed rather than sitting on the chair. It was as if he had no idea that she was sick… as in gravely sick! He sat down, ignoring myself and Simon, and discussed the itinerary he had planned for her. She was scheduled to go for an MRI one day, one day she would see a dietician, then if we could get her off her anticoagulants she would go for brain surgery. Her dad was in constant contact with a professor of oncology who read all the reports and requested more and more scans, but had not seen Sonja in months. I wonder if he looked at her – actually took the time to see the human being and not the diagnosis or a problem looking for a solution – whether he would still be feeding this dad hope? A physio was organised and, I kid you not, it was suggested that Sonja enter the 94.7 in November.
Sonja died without ever making it out of bed. She was certainly never going to make it to that cycle competition. The hope-peddlers were not here when the family finally realized that Sonja was never getting better. The professor did not look at her children who were robbed of gentle last days with their mom. The essential oil sellers were not the ones holding hands when everyone was totally shocked that the end came “so much sooner” than they expected. It was my team and I that had to calm the family down when they started blaming each other for the lack of quality time they had with Sonja.
I don’t know if doctors are scared of giving bad news to patients or to say, “There is nothing we can do now.” Surely they cannot be such cowards? Many people suspect they keep treating out of ego or greed, or because the hospitals want people in beds and bodies on operating tables? Perhaps they are just so conditioned to treat illnesses that they cannot stop themselves and keep treating illnesses when they should be treating people. There might be many reasons people keep on treating, hoping and advising, and whether it comes from a good, bad or ignorant place, if it ignores the truth, it needs to stop.
Sometimes love is not about the fight, but about the surrender. Sometimes the greatest hope you can offer is to allow someone peace from beeping machines, needles, the insult of false promises and the frantic search for more interventions. Ending curative care is not giving up – it is simply making a decision for a different type of approach. It is choosing presence over procedures, comfort over cure, truth over denial. I so wish Sonja and her loved ones had chosen the path of this kind of love.