Showing posts with label guardian angel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label guardian angel. Show all posts

Saturday, December 4, 2021

Remembering Thu

It's not often you meet a real-life angel, but when you do, you feel certain that you are in the presence of goodness. My friend Thu, who worked for me as a research assistant during 2011-2012, was smart, quick, competent and willing to go the extra mile. Thu the employee was always motivated, always positive, always had a smile. I don't think I've ever seen her angry or be rude to anyone. She got involved in my research project and had timely and useful suggestions for how to improve certain procedures. She worked for the department of pathology doing necessary routine procedures so that the department could function efficiently, but her mind and heart preferred the research side of science and medicine. So it was a huge surprise when she came to me one day back in late 2012 and said she was leaving the work world behind in order to enter the convent. She wanted to become a Dominican nun. In early 2013 she gave up her job and moved into the Katarinahjemmet here in Oslo, which is a convent/cloister that currently houses twelve Dominican nuns. She became a novice and was very happy with her decision. I visited her there regularly during 2013, as did several others who had worked with her. We would eat lunch together and just talk. I remember asking her about her vocation, her call to serve God in this way. She said it was probably always there but just got stronger as the years went on. Katarinahjemmet is a beautiful and serene place in the middle of Oslo, but you'd never know you're in a city once you are inside the building. It is a place conducive to prayer and contemplation and I understood immediately why Thu chose to be there. 

Unfortunately Thu did not get to experience more than about a year and a half in the convent. She was diagnosed with non small cell lung cancer in 2014, when she was 35 years old, and that was the start of seven years of hell for her. The tumor was removed and she started on very heavy chemotherapy afterward (cisplatin derivative) that is very tough on the body. Besides losing her hair, she lost her energy completely. She had a hard time just getting out of bed in the morning. She could no longer pursue her vocation and live in the convent, so she ended up moving home to her mother's house. Luckily her family live in Oslo or right outside of it (they all came originally from Vietnam). Thu did manage to meet me and two other co-workers for dinner a couple of times in 2015. Toward the end of 2015 she asked me if she could come to work for me again, and I arranged for her to work part-time together with our research group. We agreed that she could work one day a week and increase her work time gradually if she felt up to it. We often ate lunch together and talked about so many things; she was always honest about her situation. I know she suffered from the severe effects of her chemotherapy, the downside of chemo, but it did keep her cancer in check for a couple of years. In 2017 her cancer returned, this time with metastatic spread to her brain. There were only a few brain metastases that the oncologists could see, so she underwent a brain operation to remove them, which was successful. Unfortunately, the operation left her partially lame, so that she had to start physical therapy in order to learn to walk properly again. When we would visit her at her apartment (she had purchased a small apartment), she was using a walker to get around, but she was a trooper and managed it very well. She never complained, never whined, never wondered 'why me'. She just did what she needed to do. And gradually she got better at walking so that she could walk unaided to the supermarket and do what she needed to do on a daily basis to take care of herself. But her family was always within driving distance so that they could help her if she needed it. She started taking a new drug (I think it is called Osimertinib) that is given to non small cell lung cancer patients when the cancer has spread or may come back after surgery. This would have been around 2018. The side effects of this drug are fast or pounding heartbeats, swelling in the lower legs, fever, cough, trouble breathing, skin blistering or peeling, vision changes, eye pain, increased sensitivity to light, light-headedness and shortness of breath. Thu ended up having eye problems, especially increased sensitivity to light, so that it was very difficult for her to read, watch tv, or use her computer. The last time we saw her was when we had dinner together in her apartment; that would have been right before the pandemic started in March 2020. She mentioned the sensitivity to light but was otherwise in good spirits. We did not see her again after that, although I have had contact with her via Messenger. Her cancer ended up coming back in June 2020 and she underwent radiation treatments to shrink the brain tumors. By this time she was having severe headaches and was very light-sensitive. The last time we wrote to each other was in December 2020; I told her how much she meant to me and how much I appreciated all the work she did for me. After that point, I don't think she was able to use any devices. We heard from her family that she did not want visitors anymore. 

Thu died yesterday, on my birthday, at the age of 42. I'd like to think that heaven gained an immediate angel. I hope that she will look out for me--that she will be my guardian angel. Rest in peace, my friend. I will miss you. 




Friday, February 27, 2015

Angel wings and pink clouds

On the morning of February 18th, I was lucky enough to witness cloud formations that immediately brought to mind angel wings. I'd like to think that a guardian angel is watching over me, those I love, and the city of Oslo. During the late afternoon of the very same day, I witnessed pink-colored clouds, very unusual and very beautiful. I went online to read a little about the color pink, and wouldn't you know, the meaning of the color pink is unconditional love and nurturing. If I was looking for divine signs that everything is going to be ok again after my brother's death, perhaps these are them. I'd like to think so.

I'd also like to include here an old Eskimo saying that was written in a sympathy card that I received from three of my colleagues; it is beautiful and it made me cry. It's a nice way of thinking about the stars.

Perhaps they are not stars in the sky, but rather openings where our loved ones shine down to let us know they are happy. 

Another friend wrote that when her brother died, the priest at the funeral mass said that her brother was now divine. I liked that too. 

There is comfort in every word, conversation, phone call, email, card, and hug that all the wonderful people in my life have offered me and us. There is also comfort in nature and in solitude. In the midst of sadness, there is also peace. And there is love. 







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