My patient was sweaty and unsettled. He denied pain but reported thirst, taking a grateful sip of water from the glass I held up to him. We had spoken earlier in the week about his limited lifespan after the failure of multiple lines of chemotherapy.
During that conversation, he had searched repeatedly for hope of a specific type – that there was some other chemotherapy I could administer. I had gently, but repeatedly, denied him that specific hope, telling him that I would do everything in my power to help him feel better but there was no chemotherapy left. Dreadful as the exchange felt at the time, I reminded myself that my patient had always valued honesty.
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