Reflection...part I
Mr. W is possibly the most joyful patient I have ever seen. He was admitted three times over the course of my month on GI medicine. He received a liver transplant in 1987 for hepatitis C which has come back and done for his new liver what it did to the original. His kidneys have rebelled after the years of immunosuppressives and 2 bouts with end stage liver disease and the failing synthetic function of his liver means that no matter how much we pump him with FFP he keeps oozing blood from mucosa; needle sticks; and a gastric ulcer. His abdomen is bloated with ascites; skin jaundiced; kidneys in acute on chronic renal failure and yet as we; his medicine team; enter his room each morning he greets us as if he was in a state of perfect health. His smile is radiant. When asked how he's doing his only responses have been "I'm doing great" or "Fantastic; doctors." He has never complained. He has never failed to thank us as we leave his room for everything that we are doing for him. Going to see him each morning became the highlight of my day and also the saddest part of each day. During his current hospitalization we have broken the news to him that he is not eligible for a new liver; nor will he be able to get the kidney transplant that he needs with this liver. He and his family made the decision not to start dialysis. They are coming to terms with the idea of hospice. And still his joy persists. His gratitude continues.
Today was my last day on service; and even though he had not been my patient; I wanted to go and say goodbye to him. I'd never been in his room without the whole team before so I wasn't sure if he'd even recognize me. Yet as I opened the door to his room he smiled widely at me. I introduced myself and let he and his wife know how much his joy had meant to me; how it spoke of the life he must have lived; how grateful I was to have witnessed it briefly. And I am grateful. It has been painful to watch him get weaker; watch his creatinine rise; his hematocrit fall. But seeing his amazing strength has also called me to think about my life and about the person I have to strive to be now; so that I can hope to be as full of life and love as he is on his deathbed.
Today was my last day on service; and even though he had not been my patient; I wanted to go and say goodbye to him. I'd never been in his room without the whole team before so I wasn't sure if he'd even recognize me. Yet as I opened the door to his room he smiled widely at me. I introduced myself and let he and his wife know how much his joy had meant to me; how it spoke of the life he must have lived; how grateful I was to have witnessed it briefly. And I am grateful. It has been painful to watch him get weaker; watch his creatinine rise; his hematocrit fall. But seeing his amazing strength has also called me to think about my life and about the person I have to strive to be now; so that I can hope to be as full of life and love as he is on his deathbed.