Reflections of a Medical Trainee in Palliative Medicine: A Tribute to My Teachers

I walked into the hospice. And down the corridor. That silent, peaceful corridor. Full of pictures. So different from the hospital corridors!

And then, I stepped into your room. Into this new, unknown world.

You were sitting there.

You were in pain. You were breathless. You were vomiting.

You were scared. You were tired. You were angry.

You cried.

But often you laughed; more often than I ever thought possible.

You were alone. Or part of a family.

You were black. And white. You were British. And French. And Greek. And Arabian.

You asked questions; often, similar to the ones I had.

At last, you looked towards me.

And your gaze changed me!

It slowed me down. It made me listen. It made me feel.

I sat next to you. I held your hand. I stroked your hair.

We laughed together. We shared anxieties and concerns.

I found a new reality. I found you; behind the words: cancer, heart failure, pulmonary fibrosis.

You and your beautiful children. You and your colourful garden. You and your adventurous travels.

You gave me an insight into your past.

Into your present and its uncertainties.

Into your future, even. The future that you were walking into.

And you gave me the privilege to walk by your side. On a road that had not been bedded with roses. A road that I might have to walk in my own steps, at some point.

Through you, I found a new, powerful medicine. The medicine for the persons, rather than for the diseases. The medicine of emotions.

Through you, I battled my own fears. My own uncertainties.

Thank you for all the precious moments.

Thank you for making me a better doctor. Hopefully, a wiser person too.

You have not been forgotten. May you rest in peace.