Meaningful Use

Iwalked into room 473 at Methodist Hospital to check on Mr. O'Donnell,* a 73-year-old gentleman from Ireland with stage IV metastatic cancer. He was hospitalized for complications of his illness with significant pain and other symptoms that had now improved. His discharge to home was pending and I was checking up on him to be sure he understood his medication regime and that he knew where to find me to review his medications and symptoms in a few weeks at the outpatient palliative care clinic.

He was in better spirits now that he felt better, despite his diagnosis, but happily pain free. I gave him my card and said good-bye in my best Irish accent—which brought a broad smile, a lilting laugh, and an official Irish-accent-rating of 8 out of 10 from him, of which I am still proud.

Weeks later, he turned up with his family at my palliative clinic. He was weaker now, knowing time was getting short, and reflective of the life he had lived, his accomplishments, and his family he loved. We talked about how hospice could now offer great care and benefit—both for him and his family. The mood was somber but had clarity for Mr. O'Donnell in the moment and truth of life's journey. He paused and then hummed a little Irish tune from his childhood—his eye's brightening a bit as he finished.

I waited for his melody to fade, and then turned to him and said in the best Irish accent I could muster, “And so Mr. O'Donnell! Would ye’ be so kind and willin’ to bless us with wee’ bit of a song?”

There was a moment of silence as he first looked at me—and then at his family.

Then he smiled, took a breath, and began to sing:

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen and down the mountain side

The summers gone and all the roses dying

‘Tis you, ‘tis you must go and I must'bide

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow

Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow

And I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow

Oh Danny Boy, oh Danny boy I love you so

As he sang, his voice echoed and hung in the air as tears filled all in the room and spilled over into the cancer center itself with nurses and staff paused in the midst of his singing. As he and his family left, I said good-bye thinking I don't believe I will experience a more poignant or meaningful moment during my tenure at the Frauenshuh Cancer Center.

I believe moments like the one with Mr. O'Donnell lie beyond constructs of medicine and healthcare. For me, there are windows available for us to open if we pay attention to our shared humanity and the sacred space between ourselves and the patients we serve. Perhaps it could even be considered creative space of performance art that we have opportunity to enjoy with every patient encounter—on the grand stage of what matters most. Encounters that always contain elements of the unknown, opportunity to shape-shift experience, and process that finds its own way with outcomes that are awe-inspiring in the midst of life's mystery and magic of connection.