Section 3 Care-giving and grieving
Vignette
It's not often that I feel death so close by, ready behind the next corner, an ominous presence whose breath alone announces his place in the shadows. I'm not a trauma surgeon who cracks open chests or one of those soft-spoken internists who walks through the subdued halls of a hospice, priest-like, ministering to the dwindling bodies of the dying. I take care of people with stomach aches and bad knees, and if I rush to the hospital, it's to bring a baby into the world.
During medical school and residency, I encountered death every now and then as part of my hospital work. There were patients who died, late at night, when I was on call. I'd have to get out of bed--I'd be wearing those hospital pajamas--and appear at the bedside, where the motionless body awaited me. I'd put my stethoscope to the chest, bow down, my ear near the cold lips, as though to catch one last faint breath. But nothing speaks so unambiguously of death as the eyes, which cloud over like egg white in water. Whenever I saw those turbid membranes, I'd know for sure the patient wasn't coming back. Then I was ready to 'pronounce,' and thus make death official. Just as the minister pronounces man and wife, we doctors pronounce death. All of life's transitions must have a formal witness.
Purpose: The purpose of this section is to understand bereavement, identify ethical and legal responsibilities of the health professional in caring for the dying, and learn practical aspects of caregiving |
