Hospice: The Lesson - Chapter 3: A Different Path
By Joan Morris
TIMES STAFF WRITER
Published Tuesday, May 22, 2001, in the Contra Costa Times Newspapers.
Orginal Link Addresses:
http://www.contracostatimes.com/health/hospice/
http://www.contracostatimes.com/health/hospice/stories/daythree_20010522.htm

SFBAPPA.ORG Award of Excellence:
Bob Larson, Contra Costa Newspapers, "The Lesson" - Corresponding Photos.

the lesson

CHAPTER III: A Different Path

Visitors see tiny miracles
Diane Sheffield, though ill, keeps her calendar full

By Joan Morris
TIMES STAFF WRITER

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They sit in the garden, surrounded by camellias, their decades-old friendship as comfortable and familiar as ever. They talk of families and gardens, of old friends and young children, of weddings and funerals.

They do not talk about the cancer that is slowly killing Diane Sheffield. And they don't talk about the real reason Bobbie Irwin, one of Diane's oldest friends, is visiting from Hinsdale, Ill.

"She thinks the reason I come to Walnut Creek every three months or so is to see my mother," Bobbie whispers. "Don't tell her the real reason is that I come to see her."

Later, while Bobbie is distracted by Diane's garden, Diane makes her own confession.

"I know she's really coming to see me," Diane says. "Don't tell her I know."

By the spring of 1999, this is what Diane's life has become: pleasant visits with pleasant friends that end with the uneasy feeling that this might be the last time they see each other.

Even though Diane's condition is stable and she shows few outward signs of illness, she treats each day as if it's her last, while adopting the attitude she will live forever.

"I have a very strong faith, and I believe in miracles," Diane says. "I pray for a miracle, and I pray for understanding. I imagine, though, that I'm going to die -- maybe in four months, maybe six, maybe eight. But not today. I'm not going to die today. Today, I'm going to live."

Diane's routine is carefully recorded on the pages of a worn calendar. She schedules visits from friends, doctors' appointments, trips to the store. Every day is filled.

Her friends have created a strong support system. They have worked out their own schedule, which includes driving Diane to weekly appointments. She attends Wednesday morning Mass at St. John Vianney Catholic Church in Walnut Creek. On Fridays, she goes to Healing Touch, a soothing form of therapy that involves deep relaxation and focuses the body's energy on self-healing and pain control.

During high school football season, Diane goes to De La Salle games, cheering the team on its record-setting winning streak: a streak that, oddly enough, started the same month Diane began working as a college counselor for the Concord school.

Sprinkled among her regular trips are outings to the mall; to the Palace of the Legion of Honor and the de Young Museum in San Francisco; to parties and lectures -- places Diane's friends think she will enjoy.

Everyone seems to follow the path Diane is blazing, and her family settles into a routine. Diane's husband, Bob, tackles the role of caregiver, doing for Diane what she will permit.

Diane lets Bob help her organize the dozens of pills she takes each day. Bob happily accepts the task, glad to be able to do something for his wife. Sunday becomes pill day, with Bob sitting at the kitchen table, bottles and lists and pill boxes laid out before him.

Bob worries that Diane pushes herself too hard. Before Christmas 1998, their first after Diane began hospice, Diane and Bob have an argument about the traditional party Diane wants to have. She'd always cooked a huge dinner for 30 or 40 people and used her best china, silver and Waterford crystal. She doesn't want to change it. Bob thinks that it is too much and that no one cares about what is on the table.

Janet Saafeld, Diane's hospice chaplain, finally steps in as an intermediary, offering a compromise of paper plates and ready-made finger foods. Diane still gets to use her silver, and the guest list remains the same: family, neighbors, cousins, old friends.

"It taught me something," Diane says. "Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph, I don't need all of that for it to be Christmas."

Diane also is learning something about her children. She spends a lot of her time studying them, looking for indications that they are faltering, rejoicing in signs that they are growing on their own.

Robert, her eldest, has a successful orthodontic practice in Antioch, Diane's hometown. He married his high school sweetheart, Cristie, bought a big home in Clayton and, much to Diane's great pleasure, he would give her grandchildren: Courtney, born in April 1998, and Ryan, born in August 2000.

Daniel, who no matter his age will always be Diane's baby, is more of a work in progress for Diane. She sees him as sweet and sensitive, easily hurt. But Daniel has hidden strength, and after a few restless years, he's decided to return to college for his teaching certificate, following in the footsteps of so many of Diane's family.

Diane has plenty of work to do on herself, too. She relishes the time she had been given -- the gift, she calls it -- to strengthen her already strong faith and to come to a better understanding of life and death.

And each day, she celebrates her life.

But as 2000 nears its end, Diane feels a change. The sleeping monster that is her cancer seems to be stirring and gaining strength. She senses that time is growing short. There is still one thing she wants to do.

Although everyone is worried for her, Diane decides she will fly, on her own, to Israel, where a friend will take her on a journey through the Holy Land.

It is a leap of faith, but she is going to do it.

Wednesday: Chapter IV: A return to hospice

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