The boy with a tumor
From Sep 20, 2008
There was a boy whom I cried over yesterday. Kept my cool while arranging for his clinic appointment, kept my cool while giving mom directions to the hospital, kept my cool when I brought the nurse the fax with copies from the CAT scan showing a HUGE tumor eating up one half of his brain.
When I smiled at the parents, I saw torture in their eyes. Panic. Terror. They were doing the best they could to hold it together. Their son is five. They took him to the doctor when his onset of speech impediment turned to involuntary movements, drooling, and right-sided paralysis.
We’re praying it’s the better kind of tumor. The one that hasn’t yet metastasized to his spinal cord. If it’s the wrong kind of tumor… well the prognosis is… how do I say it?
I lost it on the way back from the clinic. In this child I saw my own step-son.
Empathy in my job is important. It’s what drives me to go above and beyond for every family. My instincts and experience are what push me in the direction of urgency or accommodation depending on the circumstances. My empathy is what will make me a great doctor one day.
Sometimes, though, my empathy drives me to tears.
In every single instance, however, it drives me to my knees, thanking the Universe for the minutest blessings we have in every moment.
