Last night I watched Time to Live from BBC2’s Life Stories series. Twelve people who have a terminal diagnosis share what they have learned about themselves and about life, knowing that it is short. They are people of all ages who have managed to find positives in their terminal prognosis and are making the most of the time they have left.
It is a fascinating, beautiful and uplifting, but also heartbreaking film. We can all learn something from these twelve people who live life with an intensity few of us experience, and who appreciate and celebrate the life they have.
I wrote the blog below as part of a series curated by the London Arts in Health Forum, on art and culture, health and wellbeing. I and the other Trustees are already excited about 2017’s Creativity and Wellbeing Festival which will take place 12-18th June. Excitingly, an edited version of my blog was picked up by The Guardian, who have published it as part of their #BloodSweatTears series. You can read the article on The Guardian website.
The original blog follows.
Last week was particularly stressful; marked by staff shortages, anguished relatives, conflict over complex discharge processes, and pressure to create beds. The amount of time I spent with each patient on my ward rounds was less that what I, or they, would have wanted but despite coming in early and leaving late there are only so many hours in a day. In weeks like these I often feel guilty as I leave work that I am unable to give more time to those patients and relatives facing the end of life.
More than many other people I know, I am acutely aware of the fragility of life.
Posted in Death
Tagged C. S. Lewis, compassion, death, doctor, empathy, grief, health, life, medicine, patient, sympathy, time
I had just told Mr George* that his end-stage heart failure had become refractory to treatment, and I thought it likely he would not survive this hospital admission. He looked at me carefully and said, “Well that’s it then. Can’t you just give me something…end it for me?”
This is not the first time a patient has asked me such a question, and will not be the last. Often the question is more ambiguous, and it is unclear exactly what they are asking for: “can you just put me to sleep?” could be interpreted as a plea to end their life, but could equally be a request for a break from their symptoms or thoughts, with the hope of a more energised remaining time afterwards. It is a constant challenge to interpret such questions appropriately and personalise support and treatment for the needs of the individual.