What is as an antidote to loneliness
I was called to your room in the middle of an overnight shift. There you were, breathing quickly, neck veins bulging and oxygen levels hovering despite the mask on your face. I placed my stethoscope on your back and listened to the cacophony of air struggling to make its way through your worsening pneumonia. “We’re going to place a tube down your throat to help you breathe,” I told you. Your eyes were pleading, scared. “We’ll put you to sleep. It’ll help you breathe more comfortably. Okay?” You nodded. You had already told the doctors who cared for you during the day that if your breathing worsened, you would agree to intubation to allow more time to treat your pneumonia. So I called for the anesthesiologists. Minutes later, you were sedated and intubated, silenced — maybe forever. I thought about you recently, when I read a poignant Perspective in JAMA Internal Medicine : “Saving a Death When We Cannot Save a Life in the Intensive Care Unit.” In this piece, critical care