22 Years Old

I just lost another patient.

I watched over that patient, stayed at his bedside for more than an hour the night before. I had a conversation with his son and learned that he has just graduated from BS Biology. He told me he wants to become a doctor. He is thinking of applying at the school where I am teaching, and I encouraged him. 

I also learned that he is the eldest of two siblings. His younger brother is in senior high school. Their mother is an OFW, working as a housekeeper in Saudi. 

I did my best to save his father's life. He was showing improvement when I left for the night. When I made rounds early in the morning, he even recognized me. I went back at 2PM, shortly before I went to my clinic, and he was stable. Two hours later, he had seizures followed by sudden cardiac arrest that the team was unable to reverse. Because I was with patients at the clinic, I arrived at the hospital too late. He was already pronounced dead. 

The boys were on the floor, sobbing. Their hands on their faces, the floor wet with their tears. 

I didn’t speak. I didn’t try to explain. I just sat on the floor with them. In my scrubs. On the floor.

The eldest finally looked up and whispered the words that crushed me more than the silence ever could: "Doc wala pa kabalo si Mama. Doc, unsaon ko man ni?" 

He is 22 years old.

No one prepares you for that kind of moment in medical school, even in residency and fellowship training. We learn how to manage cardiac arrests. We memorize ACLS algorithms. We recite differentials like they’re poetry. But this -- this is the real medicine. Being a witness to the exact moment someone’s world splits open. And having no choice but to feel it crack inside you, too.

After some time, I stood up. I wrote orders for post-mortem care. Completed the paperwork. Scribbled what needed to be scribbled on the chart.

Then I walked to my clinic and saw my next patient. It was almost seven in the evening. They had been waiting for hours.

Because life, for most of us, must go on.

I hope, in time, it does for them too.