Closure for the unspoken business

Gosh...it has been nine years since my last post! Reading through my old posts makes me reminisce about the good old days when the ultimate stress is passing the exams.

Nine years on...I am still facing the ultimate stress of exams (but actually appreciating the importance of it) and the stress of making the 'right' decision for God's most precious possession in the world...human's life. Some decisions are easy with no big consequence, like antibiotics, fluids, antihistamine. But some came with big consequence, like thrombolytics, chemotherapy, etc. There are so many stories from every person that I have encountered. How I wish I have recorded all of them as everyone has a unique story to tell.

I want to record this story of a man that has moved my heart. **Some of the details will be omitted for confidentiality**.

He has acute myeloid leukemia. He is a bit of a recluse and has been estranged from his family. But I really like him. Despite his unique personality, he has a quirky sense of humor and that 'loner vibe' which makes you want to pour out extra compassion on him. He sailed through two courses of chemotherapy with not a single complaint or infection. The only issue that he ever raised is a guarantee for a single room. Well, he is a bit of a recluse so that is understandable. He did not have any visitors or support person throughout the entire stay in the hospital but he is the most well person in our ward.

On his third course of chemotherapy, he developed 'THE flu' - influenza pneumonia.  He became rapidly unwell with respiratory failure. It was decided that he was not for ICU or intubation (don't ask why, there is a valid reason behind this). We tried the maximum non-invasive ventilatory support for him but watching him gasping for every single breath was heart-breaking. I knew there is nothing else we could do and he is just reaching the end.

I picked up the phone and called his son. He lives a few hours away. I told him his dad is not going to make it to the morning. There was a silence, then an uproar, then a stifled voice: "How long?".

"Not very long. His is tiring out," I said.

"Can you tell my dad that I called and to wait for me? I am coming."

"Yes. I will."

I went to my struggling patient. The tip of his nose is blue. I told him "Your son called and he wants you to wait for him."... and I added, "He said he loves you."

He rolled his eyes as if to say 'whatever' in his quirky way. He could hardly say a word now. But there were tears at the corner of his eyes. I charted a few 'comfort medication' and told the nurse: "Make sure he is not in too much distress. His son will arrive in a few hours." That was the end of my shift.

I arrived the next morning. His name was no longer on our list. I read the notes to see if the son make it. He did.

"He passed away peacefully in the presence of his son."

Mission accomplished. Although the ultimate goal is to keep him alive and cure his leukemia, in reality, that does not always happen. When I knew he is not going to make it, my mission is to reunite him with his son. I don't know what had happened to him in the past that he chose to withdraw to himself and it is not my business to know anyway, but a father always loves his son, and he needed to know that his son cares about him too.

P.S. Get your annual flu vaccination. Influenza infection is no joke. It can kill even a healthy 20-year-old.