Palliation

Three patients died today.  One of them was my most favoritest patient ever.  I fought tears most of the day.  Sometimes to keep myself from crying, I do this weird thing where I suck my tongue into the back of my throat.  Occasionally it causes me to make a grunting noise.  I grunted today. 

So after palliating all day, I am in need of some palliation myself.  So far, that has consisted of angel hair pasta with lots of salt and butter.  And now I'm moving on to the hot chocolate phase of my treatment plan.  I doubled the dosage and put 2 hot chocolate packets into one mug....one packet wasn't going to cut it.  If I'm still symptomatic after the hot chocolate, there's a half full bottle of vodka in the kitchen.  Not that I'm going to drink myself into oblivion, but I might just drink myself into oblivion.  Just kidding.  Sort of. 

Palliative Care

This past week I started my new rotation, Palliative Care.  Oh lordy....when people hear "palliative care" in the hospital, they immediately think they're going to die.  And while this is true on occasion, palliative care docs do whole lot more than give morphine and hand out Kleenex.

Palliative care is a phenomenal service.  This team is consulted for a variety of situations; to help patients figure out what their goals of care are, to help primary medical teams determine if a patient has the capacity to make decisions regarding their medical care, to help with symptom management, and to assist with the dying process - whether that be helping a family cope or keeping a patient comfortable - often both. 

That being said, it is a very emotionally demanding job.  In the past week, I've stood with a family, gathered around their loved one, with tears in their eyes, holding onto frail hands, saying their last "I love you's."  I've heard husbands say, "I just don't want to see her suffer anymore."  I've counseled scared siblings asking if their brother was going to be in pain when he passed.  I've had to hold back tears watching a father gaze across the room at his young son, now nearly brain dead after a severe trauma.  I've stroked a cold, thin hand and said, "It's okay....just rest."  I've stood by the bed of a patient and wondered if she knew she was dying alone.  I've wondered what it would be like for Danny if he had to bring our sweet baby girl home from the hospital without me. 

It's been a hard week.  But it's been a good week.  I think this is something I could see myself doing.

*again, situations have been altered to adhere to HIPAA*