Abstract

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:I Saw My ReflectionAdrienne Feller NovickI saw my reflection as I looked through the window of the isolation room. The image caused me to pause and look again. The reflection of sunlight had merged my image and the patient's together. For a moment, we seemed to be one person.She was pale with translucent skin, her bald head obscured under a colorful scarf. Her three children sat as still as statues, staring at their mother wordlessly. Then, I realized her children appeared to be the same ages as my children. I felt a surge of emotions jumbled together, a mother should not die like this, leaving her young children motherless. She and I shared the exact same birthday; it could have been me in that hospital bed. However, I did not have a terminal diagnosis and my children were safe at home, complaining about doing homework. In the blink of an eye, without even recognizing what had just happened, I was face to face with my mortality.I tampered my emotions and held them back. I collected myself, and remembered the reason I was there. My professionalism took charge. I am a member of the Medical Ethics consultation service at a large healthcare system. A request was made to help with the ethical dilemma of a patient with a grave prognosis unwilling to discuss a hospice referral. The dilemma here represented two issues in conflict: patient autonomy and provider beneficence versus non-maleficence. Respect for autonomy allows each person the right to make informed decisions about their care that respect their values and personal beliefs. Provider beneficence is balanced by non-maleficence: beneficence is the expectation that physicians make treatment decisions in the best interest of the patient and non-maleficence guides physicians to minimize harm. This case called for analyzing the balance of autonomy with proportionality, weighing the risks versus the benefits of treatment decisions.I knocked on the door and they all turned and looked in my direction. The patient signaled me to enter. Although she was smiling, the sadness in the room was palpable. I introduced myself to the patient and her children and diplomatically explained the reason for my visit. I turned to the children and asked if there was anything I could get for them. I got three weak "no thanks." I asked the patient if I could stop by later. Then, I went to see my next patient. When I returned, I listened with rapt attention as she described the mosaic of her life story. When she finished, we sat together for a long time, neither of us speaking. Out of the blue, she told me she was not afraid of dying. She said she would welcome death to end her pain. She continued, explaining that her fear was that her children were not ready to accept her death. She was worried about how her death would hurt them, and all she wanted to do was to protect them. She reiterated her wish to be kept alive with all aggressive medical treatment possible. She communicated [End Page E6] that she understood and appreciated the severity of her condition. Her reason for continuing treatment was to give her children precious time. She said, "I would lie in front of a car to protect my children." As I was heading towards the door, her eyes welled up with tears. She thanked me for listening and for my kindness. We said our goodbyes. She remained full code and died four days later during cardiopulmonary resuscitation. I walked past her empty room later that day and kept walking.I was not prepared for how her death changed me. Throughout my career as a healthcare professional, I have primarily worked with patients at the end of their lives. I have seen many empty rooms following the death of a patient and helped countless people journey through their stages of grief towards acceptance. After I complete a consultation, I move on to the next patient. I do this every day. This time, something was different. After she died, I was not sleeping well, I had a hard time concentrating, I was not eating well, and I was...