Lately, I've been lamenting the fact that I barely journaled during my first two years of medical school. Too busy, too tired, too whatever. When I'm traveling, I fill up pages and pages of my moleskin - some of it soul-baring, some of it mundane, lots of it embarrassing - but the process is usually therapeutic and cathartic.

It's been a mere five months since I started my year of core clinical rotations, but oftentimes, I find myself floored and slightly untethered by what my patients are facing, what I'm feeling, and the aftermath of what happens when pathology & poverty mix...

After six weeks of OB/Gyn, I'm currently on my week of palliative care. Think of it as the-cradle-to-the-grave rotation. Literally.

pal·li·a·tive
adj.
1.Tending or serving to palliate
2. Relieving or soothing the symptoms of a disease or disorder without effecting a cure.

n. One that palliates, especially a palliative drug or medicine

Today, I choked back tears about four times during a family meeting with the adult children of a dying Ghanaian woman. (Note: my tears cost negative cents; they're that cheap.) The family reminded me so much of my own immigrant family that while my heart was aching for their pain, I was also projecting into the future, imagining what my own family will inevitably experience when my grandparents pass. I thank that family for sharing their private suffering with me.

It's not about dying. It's about how to live until you die.