Compassion in medicine is an art

By Ruth SoRelle, M.P.H.

Time has pared down the extraneous from his face. In his late 80s, his brows are still black, his eyes bright blue. His cheeks are hollow and lines score them in some places.

He is a testament to the advances of modern medicine. He has survived two cancers, months of radiation and years of chemotherapy. He has undergone a coronary artery bypass, received an artificial knee and a pacemaker. He has had surgery on his gallbladder and a hernia. The list goes on and on, and most of the treatments he has received were perfected in the last 30 years.

For the past week, he has been a patient in the hospital – one of the city's finest. Much of what is now wrong with him are the sequelae of successful treatment for other diseases. The doctors and nurses are doing what they can to keep him going. He enjoys life, and their efforts are directed at making that possible longer.

Their talents and skills vary. They are doing their best, and he is feeling better because of it. Yet he is old, and sometimes they do not know with whom they are dealing.

He is the mischievous youngster whose pranks amused the laconic neighbors of his small New England hometown. He is the loving son who helped his mother make ends meet during the Great Depression with an assortment of odd jobs. He is a small town athlete whose prowess at baseball-throwing set a long-time state record.

World War II marked him as a young man, and although the war he fought was long and hard, he is still loathe to discuss what he saw and did. His experience led him to oppose war as an exercise in futility.

He is a father who sent four children to college and who still mourns the death of another who died as an infant. He was a nurturer to whom parenthood was important. He gave his children everything they needed and most of what they wanted. Yet he taught then the important lesson that material possessions are not the source of happiness.

He and his wife fell in love at first sight, and the romance continued for 57 years. As confusion clouded her brain at the end, his devotion and compassion remained firm to the end. She died cradled in his arms.

Today, he is tired and he is sick. He is always a good patient, and he deserves compassion and respect.

To the doctors and nurses who are tempted to do their jobs without taking into account his humanity, I would ask that they remember who he is. Without his hearing aids, he cannot always hear you. Speak up and look him directly in the face when you talk to him. His mind is fine, but his ears are failing him.

Even though members of his family may ask questions, remember that he is the patient. The answers belong to him.

He is not cute. He is not to be ignored. His body is failing him, but he has never failed anyone else. When you as doctors, nurses and social workers fail to acknowledge him as a human being, as well as a patient, you fail him as surely as his body.

He is much loved. Do not ignore him. He never ignored you.

When the government or others in high places in the world failed to acknowledge other people as human beings, he was there to fight for their rights – whether at war or in the changing social milieu of the past 50 years. He would never deny you your rights as a human being. Just because he is old and ill and in the hospital, do not deny him his.