I noticed that my hospice patient and her young adult daughter were unusually quiet as I settled on the couch for my weekly visit; it felt as though they were hiding something, which was highly unusual for this chatty twosome.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cWhat\u2019s up?\u201d I asked. \u00a0The patient, a woman in her fifties who was dying from both cancer and the affects of aggressive cancer treatments received twenty years before, averted her eyes to avoid my gaze. \u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

And her daughter answered, \u201cGuess who went to Walmart the other night \u2013 all by herself? \u00a0We woke up in the middle of the night, and she wasn\u2019t here!\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

Finally, I caught my patient\u2019s eye; our faces both broke into smiles that quickly turned into full-on laughter, the belly-hugging, tear-wiping kind of laughter that can be so healing.<\/span><\/p>\n

Her daughter was mortified, and I understood why. \u00a0It had been a very dangerous adventure. \u00a0Somehow, with her 86-pound frame, this woman in advanced heart and kidney failure, her torso riddled with tumors, had performed a small miracle. \u00a0She had lugged her oxygen tank and the yards of tubing (she always had football field-lengths of tubing, because she loved to be mobile) out of the house without a single member of the family knowing. \u00a0She had loaded it all up in the car and driven, while on a lot of medication, the few miles from her home to the megastore.<\/span><\/p>\n

Yes, it was rash. \u00a0Something awful could have happened \u2013 a car accident, a fall, confusion about her way home.<\/span><\/p>\n

But nothing did.<\/span><\/p>\n

What happened was that she had one last great adventure by herself. \u00a0She was able to walk up and down all the aisles, looking at the startling amount of merchandise and wondering about the level of consumerism in our country. \u00a0She was able to drive there and back, alone \u2013 with no one to help pull her oxygen tank or remind her to \u201cslow down and take it easy\u201d. \u00a0She got to smile at the few strangers also wandering around the warehouse setting in the middle of the night.<\/span><\/p>\n

She got to participate in an outing that many of us complain about, even avoid, but certainly do not view as an adventure.<\/span><\/p>\n

While I could not condone her choice to do something so potentially dangerous, I could feel it. \u00a0I could understand it. \u00a0And I could empathize with her desire.<\/span><\/p>\n

You and I might not choose Walmart as our late-night destination. \u00a0We might pick a bench by a lake, the library, a coffee shop, or hiking trail \u2013 anything that reminds us that we are still here, living out the rest of our days.<\/span><\/p>\n

She died the next month.<\/span><\/p>\n

I still picture her shuffling along in her slipper-shod feet, slowly pulling her oxygen tank behind her as she looks at items and people and smiles. \u00a0And I feel filled with gratitude that she took the opportunity to escape to Walmart one last time.<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I noticed that my hospice patient and her young adult daughter were unusually quiet as I settled on the couch for my weekly visit; it felt as though they were hiding something, which was highly unusual for this chatty twosome. \u201cWhat\u2019s up?\u201d I asked. \u00a0The patient, a woman in her fifties who was dying from both cancer and the affects of aggressive cancer treatments received twenty years before, averted her eyes to avoid my gaze. \u00a0 And her daughter answered, \u201cGuess who went to Walmart the other night \u2013 all by herself? \u00a0We woke up in the middle of the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":0,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"","meta":{"episode_type":"","audio_file":"","cover_image":"","cover_image_id":"","duration":"","filesize":"","date_recorded":"","explicit":"","block":"","filesize_raw":"","footnotes":""},"yoast_head":"\n