Did you turn your face to the sunrise this morning? We are all so enamored with the beauty of a new day. In Florida, this event is sure to bring warmth adding dimension. What we can appreciate is the soothing embrace as a new day begins, almost ensuring us strength for what is ahead. A chiropractor handing over a 12 x 12 ice pad said, “Why are you doctors always choosing heat when it’s ice that is needed for the sore back, knee, shoulder?” I sheepishly took the ice and tried it a few times, before giving up the discomfort. Of course he was right, but there is so much more to warmth than the physical. Witness this week.

Shelly is here with her daughter. Her big, burly, supportive also middle aged husband was lost to covid a few months ago. Her eyes are wide and the fear evident. “Doc, I love you, but hate coming here- you always have bad news for me”. She is correct. Seven years of battling stage four disease, the drama is advancing more than retreating. All therapies tried, then ultimately losing efficacy. Although I have treated some disease, the medical oncologists are in charge now. I am just the bearer of the tidings as we review her scans. Shelly has lost significant weight, so I ask the nurse for a blanket from the warmer, used when we treat patients. Ensconced in the warmth, I am hopeful this small comfort will help the trembling trepidation.

I take no pleasure in sharing this aspect of my expertise. I have reviewed the pet scan and MRI reports. The news is terrible and grim. Checking that indeed Shelly wants to see the scans and have her teen daughter present, I proceed carefully, pointing out what looks normal as to not overwhelm. With years of experience, I am still flabbergasted that this sweet woman I have come to love and admire is still sitting here. Her immune system must be further challenged by the loss of her husband, because the six months between scans has not been kind.

She pulls the blanket tighter. My one hand moves the computer, my other holds hers. The tears form in all our eyes as the pages unfold. We can barely take a breath at the end. The prognosis is poor. Comfort measures are the only therapy. I reach for the window shade and pull up to reveal a bright streaming sun overlooking the lake and preserve. It floods the room and our faces turn to capture the relief. Her daughter stands against the window to warm herself. We exhale and then actually giggle at the young turkeys (five of them) prancing by seemingly for our amusement. I feel as if God has given us respite from the pain for even this small moment.

Shelly has been so very brave for her children and husband. Her daughter realizes she and her brothers will lose both parents this year. The heartache is beyond words. I want to honor her by sharing this story today. If you are caring for someone, be assured that you can help in what seems a simple way. Warm their clothes, blanket, even socks- pop them in the dryer. Put a heating pad in the bed- not against skin. Cradle and cuddle them. Move them into the sun and know that these small gestures will give them comfort and hopefully peace. Thank you for letting me share sweet Shelly with you today. It was a way to warm my own heart and help us care for our loved ones just a little better.