Diane Tose 1942-2020

 

In part, Diane’s passing marks the end of an era. The end of a time in history when the work in HIV research was experimental and run by mavericks. Diane was a ‘maverick’ in the truest sense of the word. We all were no matter the discipline we worked in. We were trailblazers.

Diane was a complex woman. If you didn’t come to know her she was just a tall British woman who put the fear of God in you. She was pragmatic, demanding, and proudly British, even though she confided in me that she felt much more American than British.

Diane liked things just so. An inch either way would be enough for her to voice a strong opinion. Opinionated women can often be alarming, but in Diane I found a heroine. I admired and looked up to Diane. She was no-nonsense. I can remember her calling patients into her office for pelvic examinations with a loudly overheard: Let’s have a look-see, or a get those feet up in the stirrups. I am sure that had she been a man she’d have been reported into oblivion, but she made the pelvic exam fun. There is almost no position a woman can be in that is more vulnerable or humiliating than a pelvic but she made the experience as close to fun as possible. Her patients adored her. And Diane loved them back. I remember one former patient sent her a text message, long after she retired, wishing her a Merry Christmas and it brought her to tears that she had been remembered. She deeply missed being a midwife. It was a profession that made her feel wanted, useful, and needed. Delivering babies allowed her to live vicariously through these woman by bringing babies into the world, babies she would never have herself. 

Touchy-feely was not Diane’s style and on the surface, if you didn’t know her, one might think she didn’t feel deeply but Diane cared about things immensely. She was a loyal friend and the last of those that sent cards for a birthday or holiday. Living in Mexico, I received my Christmas card around my February birthday and my birthday card in the summer months but they arrived every year like clockwork. They were most often the only cards I received on these occasions and I cherished them. 

Diane took pride in her loyalty to her friends. Decades ago I remember her saying: No matter what, you never give up your women friends-- they are the ones that will see you through, come what may... 

I watched and listened as she tended to the last years of her dear friend Janet. She was frustrated and loyal. Frustrated, I think, because it was hard for Diane to accept that Janet couldn’t muster the same sort of ‘carry on’ stiff upper lip outlook that she herself had. I think it was hard for her to accept that the people she loved couldn’t fight in the same way she fought. She was pragmatic. Her philosophy was: Do what you have to do to pull through. Part of that philosophy came from a place of not wanting to be left alone in this world without the ones she loved. Something that all of us feel as we enter our older years: We don’t want to be the last one standing. 

When I returned from Denmark last year -- the last time I saw Diane, I watched her as she bawled her eyes out, weeping that she was loosing Janet and feeling helpless that she couldn’t fight this battle for her dear old friend. In that moment I felt her pain and I also felt her vulnerability. Yes, Diane was vulnerable too. I don’t imagine many people saw her as such but she and I also bonded over the fact that we were single women with no spouse or children. We bonded over my Canadian British upbringing, my fervency over the British Royals, my German upbringing and our stoicism. In our younger years we bonded over who could get laid and competed with men. When I was hospitalized Diane was a balm to my soul. She was just what I needed at the time and I remember, years later, when I told her how much she had meant to me and all that she had done to help me, I remember her silence on the other end of the phone, as I thanked her for her kindness and know-how. Her silence convinced me that it had been a long time since she had heard she was valuable --that she had made a huge difference to me. She loved that I was a woman with strong opinions as well. The women that stood up to her and saw past her armour where the women she trusted. Women who could fight back and accept her the way she was, were the women she felt sure of. She knew she was on sturdy ground with anyone who was sturdy within them self. She respected those of us that could push past her bravado.

It can be a lonely life to be a woman who is that full of bravado, but when one can’t be tamed because you’ve decided to be true to self, there is no turning back. She inspired me: To keep going when giving up seemed plausible, to not dwell on what one doesn’t have, and instead focus on what one does have. I have taken many of her lessons to heart.

I can tell you funny stories about the fear many of us had getting into a car with her if she was the one to drive. It was a miracle she wasn’t pulled over more often and given a good thrashing. She drove a car as though she was on a bumper car amusement track and it was all fun and games. Sliding over into other lanes, yelling at anyone who honked a horn in her direction notifying her of impending death. She got away giving the ‘finger’ because no one recognized the British equivalent of two fingers pointed up like a proctologist getting ready for an exam. She had hands the size of a catcher’s mitts, huge and suitable for catching babies. Meals at her home where lovingly prepared but you had to endure food devoid of flavour. How anyone lives without garlic is truly beyond me but having researched British cuisine I know, in part, this was her culture and yes, I’ll go on believing that flatulence story...

The contents of her refrigerator were in alphabetical order. I’ve never seen a refrigerator so neatly ordered. I can’t find a thing in my refrigerator and lord knows I tried to emulate her style but try as I did, I was never able to master this trait. I will remember how she smacked her lips upon the first sip of her gin and tonic. I’ll remember how she always cut in to your talking to give her opinion and you often had to wait until she calmed her own liver to return and try again with your own opinion. But mostly I will remember her loyalty. Her determination, her steadfastness, and her quiet kindness towards me. 

I am sad that she battled her last time on this earth during Covid perhaps never fully knowing that, in place, we collectively battled alongside her. I hope that she felt us with her and knew we were rooting for her. I am sad that I couldn’t say goodbye with a hug and a kiss. I am comforted by the notion that where Diane is now, close to God, she is giving God advice on how to do things better with this God business. She is putting things in order and making things right for that time when we will meet again.

God Speed Dear Diane. Until we meet again.