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Being a nursing major, or a nurse in general, means often encountering people at what may very well be one of the worst, or most terrifying moments of their lives. Not all patients are in this situation, sure, but many of them are. Many are extremely ill or facing the end of their lives, and regardless of the severity of what they are facing, they are assured to be leaving the hospital with some substantial changes to their lives. Again, this does not apply to all patients. I’ve had some astoundingly healthy patients in my clinical experience, but I have also encountered many more life-altering cases- whether for the patient and for their family.

Two cases in particular really shook the earth for me. So as to not violate HIPAA, I’m being cautious with what I share, but want to provide some background for what these two patients were facing. Both patients were middle aged fathers. Both were happily married. One had multiple kids in college- so, this case could have easily been any of our parents- and the other had one child- an autistic son. Both received terminal diagnoses. Both had their lives turned completely upside down within the span of a month. One of these patients went to the hospital due to pain, and left with a diagnosis of stage four pancreatic cancer. Mind you, pancreatic cancer is known to be one of the worst diagnoses because it is most consistently one of the hardest to treat and these cases consistently result is a poor prognosis. This patient went in for his first ever chemotherapy treatment, and everything seemed fine, until the next day when he had a stroke due to complications from the therapy. Due to the stroke, he could no longer receive chemotherapy. He was shortly informed that there were no longer any options to treat his cancer, and he received a terminal diagnosis. Due to complications from the stroke, he can no longer speak, walk, or operate independently. He likely has a few months left, in which he will be under the complete care of his wife until he passes away. His children are still at college, and will be facing this news in the thick of the semester.

The other patient also reported to the hospital more or less due to pain, only to be sent home with inconclusive results. Shortly after, he fell and injured his hip, and ended up back in the hospital. This time in their examination, they found he had stage four leukemia. They attempted chemotherapy, but it did not work. He shortly received a terminal diagnosis as well. He’s currently facing leaving behind his son, who is on disability, and although he would not talk about it, I could tell he was quite concerned for his son’s future.

Perhaps one of the most tragic aspects of both of these cases is how quickly they came about. Within a month these patients went from appearing to be completely healthy fathers and husbands to having a terminal illness and receiving end-of-life care. In all honesty I have not completely wrapped my mind around it yet. What would I do if within the short span of a month I went from hearing that my mom was in the hospital for a routine, non-threatening complication, to finding out that in a few short months she will no longer be with us? How do spouses respond in these situations? How do we face a finite existence?

We hear a lot about embracing the moment, loving those in our lives fiercely and without abandon, and appreciating what we have. I have never so strongly embraced these ideals than I have since I interacted with both of these patients within three days of each other.

I have seen a wide variety of responses to death and illness at this point. I am sure over my career that variety will only continue to grow. As I continue on in this profession, I can only expect that my interactions with death will continue to shape how I view life. I’ve never been more motivated to live with a little more love, and with a little less care for the things that ultimately really do not matter. There is a certain level of healthy dissociation that must occur when working in a profession that involves a rather intense amount of exposure to death, but I hope we all never grow completely numb to the effects.

Sending extra hugs to you all during this rough point in the semester.