She was 80 years old. Multi-organ system failure. She had waited until her family stepped out of the hospital and then departed from this world. I didn't want to see death, but as medical doctors, not only are we trained to deliver babies, we are also required to sign death certificates. So I went with my team, listened for a heartbeat that wasn't there, and felt for a pulse that would never be there again. She was warm to the touch, her eyes half open. Her eyelashes were stuck to her eye, in a way that would cause discomfort to someone living. I prayed for her family - and for myself, that I would have the courage to say goodbye to my patients someday.
I didn't know I would experience moments like this. This is NOT what I envisioned for myself or signed up for when I dreamed of working in medicine. I wanted to laugh, to cry, to make inappropriate comments, but instead, I put my stethoscope back in my pocket and silently followed my team back to the workroom. It was going to be a while before I would be allowed the space to grieve.
I study carefully and diligently and spend hours at the hospital, clinic, library - for what purpose? Death is inevitable. I'm not going to let myself become cynical about my work, but remind myself that life is for the living and to honor and cherish each moment.
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