He could not stand Legs weak from the wasting effects of a cruel disease Stripping him of his manhood Denying him his future He could not eat His mouth cracked and dry Saliva having made an untimely exit from his personhood Unable to return again He could no longer dream He would say As I stared at him Longing to do more than hope that his pain patch Would lessen the pain of not just dying but of knowing one is dying. When he slept his eyes would remain slightly ajar Almost peering into my soul Reminding me of the fleetingness of life The forgivable agony of impending death The unapproachable nature of a life hard fought He was and is my first patient My first true friend My first true confidant Through him — a lesson more valuable than gold was achieved in my young mind The power of persistence The everlasting jolt that hopes brings to an awakened soul The belief that medicine may not have all the answers but answers all I saw in him bits of myself The way he would smile Hold his head up And whisper barely audible short phrases that became our one-word language I began to study him To figure out his quirks To unmask his fears To face his reality with him, that hope and medicine can persist in the face of incredible odds His mood surprised me His stance captivated me His body wasting away from inoperable cancer burrowed images in my mind that I can not shake No one is prepared for their first patient, I have come to believe Their first patient that dies That dies intimately That is intimately connected to them As I left the center, the last time I saw him Something in me hoped, prayed, dared to dream, that I would see him again I would visit if he was still there I would show my face I would not hide from the fear that seemed to overwhelm me in the moment I would face his reality with him For he was my father and my first patient Source
