My patient looked at me with tears in her eyes and forced a smile. We had just had a difficult conversation about her Not For Resuscitation status.
'Have you ever met anyone like me?' she asked.
For a moment, I didn't know what she meant.
Then I realized she was talking about her situation, her pain, her emotions, her choices at death's door.
I closed my eyes for a moment and managed a rueful smile of my own. 'Unfortunately, I have.'
Her family echoed their agreement. They could tell I had done this before. They knew the weight carried by one of my calling.
They knew, as I knew, that it was not my first time talking to someone about how they were going to pass on from this world. They knew, as I knew, that it would be far from my last.
I rose and shook all their hands in turn. While before, they had exuded nervousness and careful distance, now they clasped my hand warmly in both their own. Their eyes were filled with tears and with gratitude.
I left them to spend some time together.
I myself was filled with a strange guilt that I was being thanked so profusely for such a painful discussion.
A strange guilt, that for all the hours I had spent studying the exalted Art, and despite the silver-framed declaration with the crimson seal that I had dedicated the better part of my life to acquiring; there was, all too often, so little I could do.