The title of this book is taken from Dylan Thomas' poem, "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night" in which the poet begs his father not to give in to death, to fight it for his son's sake. Part of the beauty of this poem is how we can connect and identify so easily with the poet. We can all appreciate how difficult it is to let a loved one go.
Everything about medical training and practice focuses on making the patient better. Doctors are trained to find the source of the medical problem and cure it, and that's what we at the bedside expect.
What happens, though, with a desperately ill person, when treatments don't work or stop working, when one invasive procedure is tried after another, another medication is prescribed, and infections still surface, organs still continue to fail? Should doctors still prescribe tests, order procedures? Should patients continue to fight? Should loved ones still urge that "everything be done"?
Those are the questions, among others, Dr. Sunita Puri began to ask herself at the end of her medical training. In this carefully written book she traces her medical journey, the grueling hours, doubts, and career decisions while also sharing the profound influence of her parents, India immigrants, her mother, an anesthesiologist, and her father, an engineer. Her training focused on preserving life at all costs, but the temporary nature of human life and the eternal nature of the soul, a recurrent theme throughout the book, taught to her and her brother from their youngest days, seems in conflict with medicine. The stories of her patients, their experiences in the "eleventh hour," are seamlessly woven in as she narrates her journey into palliative medicine and what she learns from them and other palliative care providers. Filled with warmth and compassion, understanding the depths of patients' and families' sadness and grief, sharing her own limitations honestly and openly, Dr. Piri has written a book I will long remember.
Every chapter in this book contains information that most of us would rather avoid or postpone discussion whether the decisions are about us or our loved ones. Dr. Puri shares and spirals information in a way that affirms the reader's fears (and her own as she readily admits she is often overwhelmed and fearful of death) and helps to clarify the reader's thinking about decisions that are best made before the crisis.
Some ideas that resonated with me during my reading include:
Economic and social inequalities shaped her patient's lives and their deaths; her patients in LA had fewer resources and abundant fear.
Along the way, Dr. Piri became an "accidental linguist," helping patients and families to deconstruct the layers of meaning they assign to a word or phrase such as "fighter," "warrior," "do everything," and "miracles." Does the fighter understand the complexity of the battle? What does the fighter know? What was worth fighting for? What does "giving up" mean? Could there be miracles aside from curing disease? What does "everything done" mean?
Dying is still living, "simply a continuum of living this messy, temporary life, human and imperfectly."
Death can't strip away the meaning and lasting impact of a human life.
Wisdom and dignity and strength are "the most essential components of the very private, internal process of making peace with life as part of the process of dying."
From the Bhagevah Gita: "The soul wears the body like a cloth and discards it at the time of death."... "Therefore, because death stirs people to seek answers to important spiritual questions it becomes the greatest servant of humanity, rather than its most feared enemy."
In the end, the question or challenge remains: "How to we accept the lesson of mortality: appreciating what we have now, in the midst of life, knowing that it is all a temporary gift?"