"To heal sometimes, to treat often, to comfort always."
This was always shown on our lectures in medical school, always reminded to us when we entered the hospital scene. But i only learned it's real value recently.
It has been days that my parents were constantly updating me about lolo's condition. He was having difficulty breathing. When I got home and saw lolo - i know there and then that he needs to be intubated. But in a setting where we dont have the needed facilities and where we want to respect our patient's and the family's wishes, we are left with one task and that is to make them comfortable and no longer add to the burden that they are already experiencing.
So walking into his room i gave him my biggest smile, and he smiled back inspite of his dyspneic breaths. I know that he was happy to see me. And probably (hopefully) found comfort in the fact that now there are 2 doctors beside him.
My lolo is a fighter. He was part of the military, eventually became part of the police service. He was diagnosed with laryngeal cancer 1 year ago and at 82 years old braved tracheostomy and 39 cycles of radiotherapy.
My lolo is a fighter and i know that he fought for every single breath in his last remaining days. The night before he died, he was restless and he was fighting off sleep. It was as if he knew that it was coming.
As a physician in training, i have seen a lot of patients in their last days. I have seen a lot to the point that when I see them, I know that it's bound to happen sometime soon. And i prepare for the things i have to do once someone's heart stops, trying to revive it.
But witnessing lolo's last breaths and noting that his heart beat's gone was different. There was no panic, no adrenaline, no fear. Instead there was the heart break of losing someone you cherish. And realizing that his physical presence will be gone forever.
As a physician, part of our job description is to be the bearer of news to the patient's family. Telling them that officially, yes their loveone is gone. This probably is the saddest part of our job description. And although we are trained to be empathic, i try to guard my heart so that when that time comes, i wont be crying as i deliver the news.
But telling my family that lolo's gone was again, different. There were no words, instead there were tears.
As much as i am saddened by his departing this world. I find comfort in the fact that he is now at rest, free from pain and suffering.
And i remember him smiling wide on the first of three nights that i was able to look after him - "Okay na ako. Para na akong walang sakit. Uwi na ako."
It was probably because of the pain medications. But seeing him that comfortable is definitely my best memory of his last days.
Today, we laid him in his new home.
Lolo leaving, imparted on me the true value of being able to comfort always. Comfort should not only come from family or care givers but also, always from us doctors to our patients. Because a lot of times, there is no cure nor treatment. Instead being able to brighten up your patient's day with a smile, a pat on the back, or holding their hand is something that we can always do. Truly, this is one valuable lesson that i as a young doctor will bring with me throughout my practice.
Lolo, you will be missed. But i'm sure Lola missed you more. And the thought of you two being together again up there and you probably being scolded for your stubborness down here makes my heart smile.
Lolo, you have lived a great life and i am grateful for every moment that we have spent together. I pray that you find peace as you rest eternally. We love you ♡
This was always shown on our lectures in medical school, always reminded to us when we entered the hospital scene. But i only learned it's real value recently.
It has been days that my parents were constantly updating me about lolo's condition. He was having difficulty breathing. When I got home and saw lolo - i know there and then that he needs to be intubated. But in a setting where we dont have the needed facilities and where we want to respect our patient's and the family's wishes, we are left with one task and that is to make them comfortable and no longer add to the burden that they are already experiencing.
So walking into his room i gave him my biggest smile, and he smiled back inspite of his dyspneic breaths. I know that he was happy to see me. And probably (hopefully) found comfort in the fact that now there are 2 doctors beside him.
My lolo is a fighter. He was part of the military, eventually became part of the police service. He was diagnosed with laryngeal cancer 1 year ago and at 82 years old braved tracheostomy and 39 cycles of radiotherapy.
My lolo is a fighter and i know that he fought for every single breath in his last remaining days. The night before he died, he was restless and he was fighting off sleep. It was as if he knew that it was coming.
As a physician in training, i have seen a lot of patients in their last days. I have seen a lot to the point that when I see them, I know that it's bound to happen sometime soon. And i prepare for the things i have to do once someone's heart stops, trying to revive it.
But witnessing lolo's last breaths and noting that his heart beat's gone was different. There was no panic, no adrenaline, no fear. Instead there was the heart break of losing someone you cherish. And realizing that his physical presence will be gone forever.
As a physician, part of our job description is to be the bearer of news to the patient's family. Telling them that officially, yes their loveone is gone. This probably is the saddest part of our job description. And although we are trained to be empathic, i try to guard my heart so that when that time comes, i wont be crying as i deliver the news.
But telling my family that lolo's gone was again, different. There were no words, instead there were tears.
As much as i am saddened by his departing this world. I find comfort in the fact that he is now at rest, free from pain and suffering.
And i remember him smiling wide on the first of three nights that i was able to look after him - "Okay na ako. Para na akong walang sakit. Uwi na ako."
It was probably because of the pain medications. But seeing him that comfortable is definitely my best memory of his last days.
Today, we laid him in his new home.
Lolo leaving, imparted on me the true value of being able to comfort always. Comfort should not only come from family or care givers but also, always from us doctors to our patients. Because a lot of times, there is no cure nor treatment. Instead being able to brighten up your patient's day with a smile, a pat on the back, or holding their hand is something that we can always do. Truly, this is one valuable lesson that i as a young doctor will bring with me throughout my practice.
Lolo, you will be missed. But i'm sure Lola missed you more. And the thought of you two being together again up there and you probably being scolded for your stubborness down here makes my heart smile.
Lolo, you have lived a great life and i am grateful for every moment that we have spent together. I pray that you find peace as you rest eternally. We love you ♡
"I have fought a good fight. I have finished the course. I have kept my faith."
2nd Timothy 4:7
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