A few days ago I was in a conversation with a woman who does personal training for people with Parkinson’s Disease. She asked about my medical practice, so I told her a little about what I do.
When I paused, she looked directly into my eyes and asked, “Is this a calling?”
I was caught off guard by the directness of her question, but I could tell she was sincere. I sensed that she already knew the answer.
“Yes,” I said, “It’s a calling.”
I went on to tell her that a few years ago I had an epiphany and felt guided to help people die with more peace and dignity. I followed that guidance, and found a way to make that the focus of my career.
Still looking right at me, her face beaming, she asked, “So it’s a spiritual thing?”
I’d never thought of it quite that way, but in that moment I realized that’s exactly what it is.
“Yes,” I said, smiling in return, “It’s a spiritual thing.”
Our discussion was interrupted at that point, but I was very moved by the brief encounter. I immediately felt even more certain about the “rightness” of my present path.
Being with people who are nearing the end of their life, and helping them experience the greatest peace and comfort possible, is very spiritual. It’s also incredibly gratifying.
Bringing other people who have gifts to share—whether through physical comfort or emotional support—to be part of a person’s end-of-life experience, is also gratifying, because I know how meaningful and valuable it is for everyone—both the givers and receivers.
I’m really not sure how I came to be so comfortable being with people who are facing death, and so committed to supporting them. Perhaps it developed as a result of my close relationship with my grandparents, Leon and Lillian Sadev.
Throughout my 22-year career as an emergency physician I was drawn to caring for the elderly patients and people with terminal illness. I would choose to take care of these patients when I could. The other doctors didn’t mind because these patients were often very complicated and time-consuming, so they were usually happy to allow someone else to take care of them.
I would sit with these patients and learn about who they were, and what they were experiencing. When the nurses came looking for me, they knew they would likely find me sitting at the bedside of the 95-year old patient, talking about WW2 or his grandchildren, or something else of importance to him. I wanted to be near them. I wanted to learn from them, and I wanted to figure out how to make things better for them. In my limited role as an emergency physician I didn’t often have much to offer. What seemed to make the biggest impact was just being with them, holding their hand, and connecting with the ageless and perfect spirit within them, instead of seeing them as an old person, or a sick person.
Eventually I found myself sitting in the middle of the busy ER imagining what it would be like to stop trying to save and cure everyone all the time, and instead focus on just helping them feel better, and helping to gently ease them along when their time was coming to an end. I imagined helping people experience dignity and peace at the end of their life, instead of continuing to subject them to more testing, more procedures, more hospitalizations, more false hope, and more misery.
That’s what I do now. It took uprooting my family, an epiphany, several seemingly coincidental meetings, a few leaps of faith, and the deaths of both of my parents to get me here, but I’m here. I’m doing the work I had daydreamed about in the ER. My work is so profound—so spiritual—that I couldn’t even have imagined it when I was first thinking about becoming a doctor.
Gratitude is flowing in my life. Gratitude for the patients and families that welcome me into their homes and allow me to become part of their lives. Gratitude for my wife who is supporting me in my efforts to make this new model of practice work. Gratitude for the people who work along side me and add so much value to the lives of my patients and families (and mine.) Gratitude for the doctors and other people who trust me enough to refer patients to me so they can get the support they need.
I am grateful for people like you who appreciate reading about the experiences I’m having on this journey and recognize that there is a better way for people to live and to die, and that death is not to be feared.
I believe that together we can replace the fear of death with celebration of life, and acceptance of the natural order of the universe.
Yes, it’s a spiritual thing.
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