In her defiance of statistics, my longest-living cancer patient was dignified, composed and magnanimous | Ranjana Srivastava

By the time most people read this, the funeral of my longest-living patient will probably be over.

We first met when I was pregnant and she found out she had cancer. You might think that the juxtaposition of life and death discomfits patients, but children make for a happy point of connection.

Children entered our lives together. As I figured out motherhood, she began caring for a grandchild whose mother was unwell. Cancer on one hand, full-time parenting (as a grandparent) on the other. Without complaining, she took both in her stride.

Things worsened all at once. Her cancer progressed and the grandchild needed permanent care. She had no choice but to develop a singular focus to her visits: to stay alive for him. She loved him with a burning intensity that made her eyes shine and her voice quiver at the thought that he could be left without her.

Her interest in the outside world made for memorable conversations.

Over the years, we talked books, fashion and friends. She taught me quietly about the sacrifices of parenting. For the last few years, I told her that I admired her dignity and courage in the face of a terminal illness.

My days contain memorable patients but I have seldom met one more composed. Over many hundreds of hospital visits, I met her husband once and her grandchild never. She came alone to receive good news, bad news and awful news, explaining that her husband had his hands full at home.