A Bad Day at the Hospice

I biked to the hospice yesterday to find that three of the patients I visited had died. One was very unexpected; I'd left her a crossword from the Times to work on and said we'd do it together Friday if she had trouble with it. She was sitting up in her wheelchair then, she was eating heartily, she was having less pain. I told her I'd take her outside Friday if it was a nice day (and it was the best spring day we'd had in weeks.) I had an article for her in my backpack, walked into her room and it was empty. It made no sense. And then it made the sense that empty rooms there always mean. I have taken to spending a short time in the rooms where my patients last were, as a kind of chapel to say goodbye. In her case I got a better chance because her family was visiting and the social worker introduced us. "Oh, yes," they said, "the crossword guy. She told us about you." Days like yesterday need those kind of reminders that it is really true -- in our small way, we do make a difference. The families always thank you; the patients always thank you. It should be the reverse.