(Photo: Susan’s friend Donna taking Sally to a safe and loving home)

Her name is Susan Popper. We spoke this morning, and she said she is happy to be identified now, and would also welcome from anyone who wishes to write her. The address is Saratoga Hospital, 211 Church Street, Saratoga Springs, N.Y., 12866.

She is in room 309.

Susan requested that I be her patient advocate, and I will be meeting shortly with her and the medical staff so she can sign a DNR and figure out the next step for her.

She has been diagnosed with liver cancer, it is non-operable, and she seems headed for hospice or the hospital’s well regarded Palliative Care Unit.

The staff and physicians at the hospital have been extraordinarily open and compassionate and available. The hospital gives me hope in the possibilities of our health care system.

Susan has no memory or refusing to go to the hospital a week ago Sunday; she does remember my showing up and threatening to call the police if she didn’t get into the ambulance.

She is grateful, she said.

I hadn’t seen or spoken with Susan for some time, and she was so shocked to see me, she did what I asked. I was also shocked to see how sick she was. And glad to see that hospice and palliative care remains a viable option.

She is proud of being stubborn, even though she agrees now that mule-headedness isn’t always a virtue.

Susan, a hospital lab technician in Vermont, moved to Cambridge a year ago in part because of coming to our Open Houses and getting to know us.

The friendship struggled for a time, that is behind us now.

This morning, Maria and I went with her friend Donna Nicosia, who came up from New Jersey to visit Susan and pick up Sally, the painfully shy and timid Shelty who has been Susan’s constant and loyal companion for ten years.

Susan is Sally’s entire life, and it was wrenching to see her head off to New Jersey, she has a kind and loving home there, temporary or permanent.

I can only imagine the disorientation and anxiety the dog is feeling. Susan’s illness advanced rapidly and suddenly, and we realized she was not able to take care of Sally, who has been alone in the house for days. We arranged for her to be walked and visited daily.

She does need some group and veterinary care, that has been arranged as soon as she gets to New Jersey. Susan’s friend Donna is a passionate dog lover, and it was very sweet to see how she handled Sally this morning, the loving way she talked to her and reassured her.

As we got Sally into the car, Donna, a musician, was going over the music they would listen to. I am optimistic about Sally’s future; I did imagine how I would feel if Red or Bud or Fate or Zinnia were taken off to another state to begin a new life.

But Susan will not be home for a long time, if at all and I feel relieved that Sally will be taken care of.  Susan’s cancer is advancing; she goes in and out of reality at times.

I was reluctant to identity Susan as she was disoriented and sometimes incoherent. I wanted to make sure she understood what she was agreeing to when she asked to be identified.

The cancer is virulent and is spreading rapidly. But this morning, she was clear, and I think she would welcome messages and attention.

She asked to see and meet Zinnia, so I’m taking her to see Susan this afternoon (or Saturday, if the winter storm hits hard today.) Susan is undergoing more tests this morning.

Susan shares my distaste for drama, but she seems eager to hear from people. I can certainly understand that. Her medical news is a tough thing to digest.

This has been a wrenching experience for me, and Maria as well. I am not the victim here in any way, I’ve visited sick people for years.

But this is the first time I’ve been so involved in dismantling a life and the many small and poignant details involved.

I know many of my readers have experienced it firsthand.

Susan’s friend Donna has been fantastic; she and I have had a hundred conversations about Susan’s options and aftercare. She has a lot of things happening in her life; she dropped all of them to get up here for two days. I was sorry to see her leave.

Some people dither when there’s trouble; Donna comes when needed. Susan is secretive; she hadn’t told Donna much of what was going on either. I am so glad I texted her.

It seems increasingly clear that Susan is not going home soon, if ever. This morning we cleaned out the refrigerator, helped Donna corral Sally, and got her on her way back to New Jersey to bring Sally to her foster home and get ahead of the storm.

We’ve arranged for a neighbor to take care of her house, talked to her family in California, advocated for her with the hospital, made sure her dog has a good place to go. I will be available to help her as much as I can through the next chapter.

Maria feels the same way.

I’ve witnessed this process many times in my hospice work.

Susan is still processing the implications of the news that her cancer is not operable. It was hard telling her that her dog is gone now.

That will put a hole in her heart; these two have been close companions for many years. Susan has not had an easy life, we have made plans – Maria, me and Susan – to spend some time together this weekend sorting out the options for her.

Last night, I spoke with Susan’s brother, who lives in Silicon Valley.

We had a good talk. He’s coming to see her in a few days. Susan has a wonderful neighbor named Jeff; he is the unofficial “mayor” of the block. I went to his house yesterday to tell him what was going on.

He shoved her walk last night and will check on her house every day. He is a Godsend.

It is curious to go from not seeing Susan to being so intimately involved in her life, but it seems both comfortable and right. We know each other very well.

I have so admired her courage in upending her life and moving to the country, even as I wondered if it was the right choice for her. Maria and I did the same thing, we upended our lives and moved to the country. It was the right choice for us.

I would be lying if I didn’t say this wasn’t a heartbreaking thing to see. It feels like a dagger in the heart. Why now? But of course, there is no answer to that. Radical acceptance teaches me to accept what I can’t control or understand.

The cancer struck just as she was building a new life for herself.

I am relieved to be identifying her. I’ve gotten a lot of messages from people trying to guess who she is or guessing. I have no desire to be her gatekeeper.  And I have no secrets in my life.

I know it’s nice to get letters in a hospital.

Again, her address is: Susan Popper, Saratoga Hospital, 211 Church Street, Saratoga Springs, N.Y., 12866. Room 309.

I was hesitant to do this but then remembered how wonderful the Army Of Good has been for other people I’ve written about when they ended up in hospitals or rehab centers.

Why not Susan?  Thanks.