Normally I'd be thrilled to have a three-day weekend. But my patient was still alive when I left today, and chances are he won't be when I arrive at the hospital on Monday morning. "Go home, enjoy your weekend," said my attending. But I had to walk past his room on my way out, and I couldn't leave without saying goodbye...
He asked for apple juice on the rocks, his beverage of choice. It took me two ice machines, but I delivered. Then he confided in me that he was depressed, and wasn't ready to die yet. I held his hand, and we talked about music instead. He loves all the Mozart operas, especially Don Giovanni, and he had a CD player there with a modest selection of music. He was looking forward to his party the next day, to seeing all his family and friends again.
I asked if he did hugs. He said yes, and we embraced. I wished him well, and he told me I'd been wonderful. I told him to get some rest so he'd be strong for the party.
But I just couldn't do it. My voice wouldn't speak that much finality: I left without saying the word "goodbye."
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