A 59-year-old man was hospitalized with a brain tumor. I felt he looked like my father. He had an oval face with vacant eyes and wore black-framed glasses, which reminded me of my father from a few decades ago. His wife bursted into tears whenever I went to his room. She had been fighting immense amount of anxiety every day since he fell ill. She said, “every day I wish this were a dream. When I come to see him, the reality overwhelms me. I hope he will live longer no matter his condition.”
She probably didn’t know how a patient with a malignant brain tumor dies. He will lose something precious piece by piece every day. Once, a young son whose father was in a vegetative state due to a stroke had asked me if his father still had his identity. This patient, too, will someday lose his memory of his wife and his identity. Even so, does she still hope for him to live longer?
I want to support her hope, rather than imposing my reality on her.
WILLPOWER MELTDOWN SOMETIMES 