I went to the hospice today, which is a centre for terminal care. Even before going to the place, I've planted some thoughts on my mind that this trip, is just going to be like the previous trips that I had in previous years when I was shuttled to a hospice. Meaning: Just another educational (potentially fun) field trip.
However, I learnt something today. The visit proved to be something more than just a reprieve from the hustle bustle of a big hospital, more than just a getaway from the familiar classroom at St Elmo, more than just an exciting fieldtrip with my 2 other colleagues..

All of the patients that we saw that afternoon were people at the terminal stage of their cancer. One of those patients was Mrs C. Tonight, hours after I have left that small cream coloured building, my thoughts are still with her.. So, I choose to write this story.



When the troop of us went to her room today, I saw a skeleton figure propped up on a bed. Moaning. A nurse rushed in to move the figure into a more comfortable position. After much grunting, the figure was propped up sitting on her bed, glancing at us, strangers. Finally, my doctor spoke up and introduced the three of us as students. Three curiosity filled, emotionally laden students. The skeleton IS the patient - that took me by surprise.

Her frail little figure was a testimony of how far she had came through in her years-long battle with an advanced pancreatic cancer. So far, she had managed.. not really emerging as victory, but fine enough to survive her surgeon's odds 3 years ago who stated that she only had 3 months to live at that time. But guess what? She lives.. 3 months turned into 13 months and then to 30 months, and now, it has already been 3 years. She was the woman who had beaten the odd and made the medical team running in circles and questioning themselves whether they had made the diagnosis wrong. She was the woman who had her funeral service arranged three years ago but still continue living anyway much to the astonishment of everyone.

It was like a miracle. Her surviving. Her living. Her breathing.
But today, I only saw a shadow of that miracle woman.

I looked at her long fingers. Curious to see her protruding bony prominence. I swallowed hard as my eyes fell on the bright gold ring on her fourth finger. I knew that she used to be a loving wife.. It was so sad to see her all alone suffering in that dimly-lit room. When she finally spoke, her voice was raspy - raucous like dry leaves. And she spoke very very slowly, as if muttering each syllable require such tremendous effort and she was picking up what amount of energy she had left. I had never seen a very sick dying person like this before. I had never seen a living skeleton like this before who was still fighting for each breath she took.

My doctor asked her how she was feeling. She smiled. That beautiful but somewhat empty and sad smile. Finally, a tiny voice spoke up lamenting on her own sufferrings and how, she had not the energy to fight anymore. I looked at the change on my doctor's face which clearly stated that her wish had taken him by surprise too. She had always been fighting her cancer. She had always had the energy to live. But today, she had risen the white flag and admitted defeat, waiting for the cancer to overcome and consume her altogether.

It was one of those emotional moments where I lost my voice. In front of me was a dying person who was quite content to be let go. After that big confession, a barrier was somewhat broken and she confessed another thing that was bothering her mind. Possibly the one thing that made her hold on all these while. Her guilt - for not taking care of herself properly and for not eating the meals prepared by her daughter because she was feeling too nauseous to even swallow anything. My doctor assured her that her loss of appetite wasnt her fault, and it was just another feature of her cancer.

I saw her big blank eyes filled with remorse and contentment at the same time. She talked about how she has had a happy fulfilling life and that she would not have any regrets of having it to end soon. We discussed briefly about physician-assisted euthanasia to relieve her sufferings; she clearly liked the idea but added that she wouldnt ask for it because to kill would get the doctor into trouble. I saw my doctor's reddened face as he looked away from the patient, his own emotions overtaken him. It took him a few minutes to compose himself again.

I sat there in the corner of the room, biting my own emotions and calming my stirring heart. You know, if she was in Belgium, she wouldnt have to suffer so much like that - somehow, legalising passive euthanasia didnt seem such a bad idea after all. Especially when emotions overridden your decision. I was the last person to leave the room, I patted her shoulder and whispered thank you for her time to share stories with us. She wished me well for my medical journey. I felt really small.