It's some weeks now since my friend and doctor Chris Morgan died, but its taken me this long to be able to write in honour of her, without getting weepy. I first met Chris in the mid-nineties, when she and another lady doctor came to work at the Medical Centre owned in partnership between my husband and another male GP. The arrival of the two Chris's - Christine Morgan and Christine Hutton - added a richness and breadth to the quality patient care and family medicine there. Dr Hutton left after a couple of years but Dr Morgan stayed on for many more years, and so became my GP of choice.
Chris was always professionally competent, and asked the right questions in her history taking and examinations. But what I treasured about her was an astute ability to see beyond the presenting issue to the hopes and fears of the soul. During a particularly difficult long-standing conflict in my employment situation, she listened and cared, and even wept with me. But she was also stern, and assertive about my pastoral supervision and other means of selfcare. One day, after insisting I take a "mental health" day off work, she disclosed to me some advice her own supervisor had given her, which was relevant to me. So when she got sick, I missed her heaps. These days I only go to the doctor about once a year, but to not have Chris available for that consultation was a huge wrench. But of course I only wished her well as, in 2008, she took time off to battle a period of illness that turned out to be a chilling diagnosis of metastatic malignant melanoma, the primary lesion for which was never found. She tried everything the doctors offered, and many things they didn't think of, but she sadly couldn't beat it. I visited Chris and James at home a couple of times, and enjoyed her garden, her dogs and her hospitality, but in recent months I had relied on others to bring me news of her gradually declining health. She knew she was upheld in prayer by me, and many, many others; "I'll even accept Buddhist prayers" she told me! But despite our intercessions, she died on New Years Day at the Howick Baptist Hospital, where as a visiting GP she had cared for many others over many years.
Chris was a committed Catholic, and her family of husband James Conquer, and children Laura, Frederick, Henry and Thomas, were regularly involved in the life of the St Luke's parish based at Sancta Maria College in Flatbush. So it was no surprise to me that her funeral Mass was held in the school chapel, overflowing into the gym, and led by the school Chaplain Father Ezio, who had also led Chris's father's service there a few years before. I blogged after attending that service about the way this engaging priest included everyone by describing the Mass as a family dinner, and how he explained the symbolism of incense, candles and baptismal water in a way that helped us all understand the rich heritage of Catholic faith.He did the same on that sad Friday in early January 2012. What was different about Chris's funeral though, was the explicit and positive way Father E linked her suffering with the suffering of Christ. I have never heard this said at a funeral before, and in fact in Protestant circles it would be seen as insenstive, perhaps even offensive. But in the Catholic tradition, human suffering is seen as having a redemptive purpose; of course our Lord's death on the Cross provides the model for that. I'm glad that Chris has now moved beyond the pain and suffering of death by cancer to the new resurrection life of which all who follow Christ are assured.
The eulogies were fascinatng. They were carefully planned and tightly timed, so as not to squeeze the Eucharistic liturgy, but the four speakers gave us some wonderful insights into this amazing woman who gave herself unstintingly to others. We learned of her social conscience - bringing the homeless round to her varsity flat for a cup of tea - and of her love for fashion and horses, as well as her academic and professional commitment. I was not surprised to learn that she sometimes found it hard to set boundaries around the draining people in her life, but I was surprised to hear that it was from her teens, that she displayed that initutive sense of what was going on deep in the souls of others. I thought I was special, but it seems she gave to many others what she gave to me. I don't know why she died at such a young age - 54 - but I do remember her saying to me, after she and another of the lady doctors at the Centre were found to have tumours:
"We doctors were the women who tried to have everything Viv. We worked hard at our career for years, and then we married and raised a family, and in our forties we were juggling all that and it wasn't easy. Perhaps we are seeing the fruit of that now..."
We sang one of favoutite hymns that day - one that has been sung at a number of my commisioning services, and has been included in this blog site before. But here it is reprinted as a tribute to someone who made herself available to her family, to others, and to God, in a unique and blessed way. RIP Christine Marie Morgan-Conquer.
I, the Lord of sea and sky,
I have heard My people cry;
All who dwell in dark and sin
My Hand will save
I who made the stars of night,
I will make their darkness bright,
Who will bear My light to them?
Whom shall I send………..
Here I am Lord, Is it I Lord?
I have heard You calling in the night.
I will go, Lord, if you lead me;
I will hold Your people in my heart
I, the Lord of snow and rain,
I have borne My peo-ple’s pain;
I have wept for love of them -
They turn away.
I will break their hearts of stone,
Give them hearts for love alone;
I will speak My word to them.
Whom shall I send?
Here I am Lord, Is it I Lord?……..
I, the Lord of wind and flame,
I will tend the poor and lame,
I will set a feast for them,
My hand will save
Fin-est bread I will provide
Till their hearts are satisfied;
I will give My life to them.
Whom shall I send?
Here I am Lord, Is it I Lord?……..
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