Abstract
I don't want to think about death,
but realise I cannot run from it.
There are days when I wonder why I chose this career.
What is it that I want from it?
Am I afraid of death?
No! I am terrified of it.
I had a patient, younger than me,
with advanced disease and full of the pills.
She hated them all, easy to guess,
but took them with hope of better days.
“She might die in several days.”
I thought to myself hiding the tears,
“it's gonna be OK, I'm here for you,”
told her the mother of another two,
“it's gonna be OK, I'm here for you.”
I repeated my words like a fool.
At that moment I realized, we also need help not to freak out.
As my feelings were over the top when she was saying goodbye.
“Do not get too attached!”—my mom used to cry.
Easy for you to say, you did not see her try!
It left me broken to see her die.
It took me weeks to forget her eyes.
I can only imagine her mother's eyes dried.
Another patient I loved, an elder woman with death in her eyes.
One morning her husband called, “she passed away in my arms,
she was so peaceful and with her last breath,
she asked me to give you something not to forget.”
“Please make sure to get her something, that will remind her of me till the end of the time.”
I was listening, completely lost,
having no idea how to respond.
“Thank you”—he said
and left me alone to my thoughts.
Why was he thanking me? Isn't it my job?
To make it easier for them to pass,
to make their pain go away
and give them back life that they want?
My “job,” that sounds so detached
from what we actually do for them.
We fight alongside them scared of death,
scared sometimes maybe even of them.
“You've helped them as much as you could do,”
I tell myself unable to move.
“Was it enough? What else could I do
to guide them better and families too”?
Just do your best and calm your nerves.
You won't help anyone if you aren't there.
You wanna run away from death?
Are you really gonna abandon them?,
I ask myself knowing already well
I'm not going anywhere until there's a chance
I might be helpful for someone else.
I won't forgive myself for that.
So what is it that makes me stay, to do my job?
I do get sad, defeated, and shocked.
But at the end of the day, I hear them say
“Thank you” and it all makes sense.