From dying to pepsid

A couple of weeks ago I was asked if I could do a session of teaching on Palliative care. Our mental health team was nearing the end of a course on counseling for local church leaders. I said yes (before being told I was meant to talk for 2-2 1/2 hours) to the date and naturally left the entire preparation to the day before. Things went smoothly (in that I didn't throw up) and at the end one of the pastors asked if I would accompany him to the house of a woman in his church who was dying. She has three children and he was clearly distraught thinking about putting all of the things I had just taught on into practice.
I had gone over ideas for wound care using fabric, help with meals, emotional support, etc... All things just about anyone can do for someone who is dying.
I was excited to see this pastor so intrigued (considering the guy next to him slept straight through the entire 2 + hours).

We got a phone call this week from the pastor asking if we could come.
"Sure, where do you live?"
The answer came as a surprise as we had met him in training down in the city. He was nearly 2 hours away, too far to manage as we try and keep new patients within an hours drive should something happen while we are out.
We asked if he would instead like us to meet him to review what had been taught, maybe print out some helpful points. He agreed to meeting us the next day after his training was complete in the city. We met late in the afternoon and learned this guy had already told the woman from his church about us. She was "so happy" to hear there were people who could come see her and share her burden.
I groaned inside, what to do.
"Do you think she is well enough to travel?"
"Yes, I think so"
"would you be willing, if we covered the cost of the taxi, to meet us somewhere and we can all meet?"
"As a matter of fact, (no, this is not a direct translation. Just go with it) I am coming to the ship tomorrow for a tour, can I bring her then?"
It was set, and I felt relieved as we drove home knowing we would at least be able to meet this lady.

On Friday we waited a little while for the pastor to come. We met a thin woman with bright eyes named Elizabeth and brought her down to an empty ward to talk with her. I asked her what her symptoms were because at this point no one had told us what she was actually dying from.
"My stomach burns, And then my heart burns too, like fire."
I'll spare you the litany of questions that followed to spare you the fun details. Just as a teaser though, and for your wondering minds, no, she does not have blood in her stool.

Basically, she has really bad indigestion. Gastro-Esophageal Reflux Disease to be exact. She's not dying, she has heartburn.
We brought her to meet the pastor who was still touring the ship. He gave me a bone-rattling handshake when we told him the news and off they went to finish the tour.
Honestly, I laugh at the circumstances surrounding this encounter. How can you not? A ridiculously complicated series of events I'm sure holds some sort of purpose, followed by a simple solution.
Berry flavor to boot.