“It’s been 10 years but it still feels like yesterday.” The other day, while I was conversing with my brother, we found ourselves reflecting on our father’s passing. Recalling the time when we were adrift in a sea of despair, our worlds turned topsy-turvy in the blink of an eye, we couldn’t help but acknowledge how far we had come. Time, a relentless force, had undoubtedly played its part in easing our pain, yet it was our resilience, our steadfast refusal to yield to the overwhelming adversity, that I consider our most commendable feat. However, I wish to recount here the sequence of events that inflicted the deepest wounds upon us during the tumultuous early years of our arduous journey.
A year preceding my father’s passing, he received the agonizing diagnosis of cancer. This particular malignancy targeted his platelets, crucial for clotting in the event of injury. It was a cruel twist of fate that led to his suspicion. One evening, as he returned from his jog, a sudden, agonizing pain gripped his toe. Initially dismissed as a trivial injury, we hoped it would subside on its own. However, as the pain persisted, a routine blood test revealed extremely elevated platelet levels, shattering our illusions of normalcy. Moreover, a mutation known as JAK2 mutation turned out positive which was commonly associated with Myeloproliferative Neoplasms such as Polycythemia Vera, Essential Thrombocythemia, and Myelofibrosis, further complicating matters. However, amidst the overwhelming medical jargon, as a medical student at the time, my primary concern was grasping the severity of the condition and understanding the prospects of survival. Despite consulting numerous doctors, clarity remained elusive. Some communicated in abstract terms, others merely stated that time alone would reveal the outcome, while the devout among them cloaked their responses in religious rhetoric. Yet, none provided the solace or guidance we so desperately sought. What we yearned for most were words imbued with tranquility, empathy, and solace. We simply wanted a certain acknowledgment of our plight. Yet, patience seemed a scarce virtue among those we encountered. What cut deepest were the pitying glances from the doctors, their expressions a dagger to our hearts. We didn’t seek their sympathy; all we desired was their unwavering support. If my father was to confront cancer, then let him face it with dignity and serenity. That, at least, was my fervent wish. Furthermore, we found ourselves bereft of opportunities to make informed decisions about his disease. The prevailing approach seemed paternalistic, with many clinicians prescribing treatments based solely on their assumptions. For instance, despite the necessity for my father to undergo multiple bone marrow biopsies, not a single doctor possessed the capacity to elucidate the procedure to him beyond reciting procedural instructions and potential side effects, all while seeking his compliance without genuinely understanding him or his family members. Would it have changed the course of his death? Maybe not. But we would have been more at peace if not for the partially apathetic nature of the medical fraternity.
I do not attribute blame to everyone, as some extended genuine kindness to us, particularly during my father’s passing. Among them were doctors who were our own family and friends, whose support we gratefully embraced, alongside strangers whose empathy transcended the boundaries of familiarity. What set them apart was their ability to comprehend our inner turmoil and simply listen. Their willingness to lend an ear made an immeasurable difference. After almost a decade immersed in the medical field, I find dismayingly minimal progress in the approach adopted by the majority of doctors when it comes to delivering difficult news. Hence, I am compelled to delve into the intricacies, highlighting the foremost shortcomings and merits that have persisted over time.
Exercise vigilance and sensitivity when addressing the deceased or the afflicted individual
To a doctor, it may seem like just another person lying in a hospital bed, but to the family members, it’s a beloved individual who provided both sustenance and affection. In an instant, these two fundamental pillars of their lives are mercilessly snatched away. The moment a doctor broaches the subject of death, they come under intense scrutiny. I can still vividly recall the expression on the face of the doctor who broached the topic of my father’s demise, as clear as if it were a distinct picture etched in my memory. The most heart-wrenching moment was hearing my father referred to as a “body,” whether by family or friends. Just moments ago, he had a name. Why couldn’t they address him as such? He remains vivid in our memories even to this day.
Be patient with bystanders. It only takes a moment.
Reaching the crossroads of breaking bad news often brings uncertainty. The most valuable course of action is to stand alongside those affected, offering a listening ear. If speaking proves fruitless or fails to provide comfort, it’s best to remain silent. Sometimes, words simply cannot convey solace. I recall a poignant moment when a doctor summoned his junior to attend to another case, allowing him to dedicate additional time to us. These may appear trivial to most, but they serve as poignant reminders of his compassion.
Step into their shoes. This can provide valuable perspective.
This is definitly a skill you learn over time and can be influenced by multiple factors including your upbringing, readings, influences. Being in their shoes is difficult if you belong to a different social strata. In such situations, it’s crucial not to rely on imagination alone. Instead, it’s better to inquire and gain insight into their family dynamics. This approach helps break down barriers and prevents false assumptions. For example, in a hospital setting, the person who appears the least emotionally attached may actually be the closest, as they’re able to maintain composure during a crisis. I vividly recall informing one of my father’s colleagues about his passing. He was visibly stunned and unable to react, prompting the doctor to relay further information to distant relatives with whom we were not comfortable. Unfortunately, this led to significant miscommunication between the doctor and our family.
Hospitals need to be homes
It may sound irrational, but when I learned that my father had been hospitalized, the first thing I did was urge my brother to order a sandwich. In the midst of the chaos, I felt a sudden urge to indulge, thinking that once my father passed away, I wouldn’t have the appetite to eat. It was a frantic, almost surreal moment where I felt disconnected from my body, and logic seemed to elude me. Looking back, it seems absurd—I even tossed away my sandwich, momentarily forgetting that I was in a hospital, not at home. Yet, strangely, the hospital cafeteria provided a sense of comfort and familiarity. Had it felt otherwise, I doubt I would have been able to express myself in quite the same manner.
Upon receiving the news of my father’s passing, my initial reaction was to take a stroll in the hospital premises. Standing beneath the sky, I screamed at the top of my lungs. Why? Because at that moment, all I could hear echoing in my mind was the regret of never having the chance to tell him one last time that I loved him. In fact, I couldn’t even recall the last time I uttered those words to him. The hospital garden became my sanctuary, offering a place of solace where I could sit in quiet contemplation. As I observed each passerby, I found myself immersed in memories of the love and affection my father had bestowed upon me.
Your Loving Son
silverliningsdoc 