Was the pencil scribbling and other background noise an ironic commentary on the clinician's detachment in end-of-life situations? Jeez, guys, have some class.

Posted by Andrew, 2:57 p.m. Thursday, June 19 2008 Permalink

My mother died of cancer in 1971. It would not have been an easy death under any circumstances but her sisters made it worse. They persuaded us, the immediate family, not to tell her the truth. Their advice was selfish, they were thinking of sparing themselves. I was in my twenties and even though what they said didn't make sense to me, I thought their long life experience (one was in her sixties, the other in her seventies) had given them greater knowledge than I possessed. Eventually my father did speak truthfully to his wife. My mother had early learned that putting on a happy face gained her social approval. She was the master of denial. I now know that you must speak candidly about dying, not hope that gentle hints will do.

Posted by paperpest, 3:26 p.m. Friday, June 20 2008 Permalink