“Please check on the patient in Room 5,” the nurse repeated, and I was strangely irritated by her clinical tone
As told to Shoshana Gross
Her big, brown eyes were the first thing I saw when I stepped into her room, a lowly med student working on rotation in the ICU. After reading her file, I knew that Mrs. Grassini was dying of cancer, her height and weight, the precise medications she was taking, and much of her medical history. What I didn’t know was that her brown eyes still sparkled, or that she had a sense of humor behind the pallid mask of illness.
“It’s lovely to meet you,” she told me sincerely. “I only wish I had something better to offer than a hard swivel chair!” She grinned, and I couldn’t help but grin back.
In my one-month stint in the ICU, she was the highlight of my day (or night, if I was on night shift). Unfailingly cheerful and polite, she would chat as I administered medicine and tried to make her comfortable. Her two daughters were often sitting in the room with her, and they were always grateful for my care.
When I came in that Wednesday morning, one of the nurses hurried over immediately. “Ayala, I think your patient in Room 5 passed away a few minutes ago.”
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