Mindful
Diamond Member
- Banned
- #1
Too many elderly people have no real relationship with their grandchildren. They are completely alone.
I couldn’t get him out of my mind. He woke me up at 2 a.m. and I paced the room, blew my nose and stared into my bathroom mirror studying my own aging features. He wasn’t my patient.
He belonged to my emergency physician colleague, Dr. Brian Thomas Fletcher, who posted the case for some of us to read. It simply stated, “Saddest case ever.”
95-year-old male comes in for suicidal ideation. When asked why, he said, “My last friend died last week. I don’t know one single person on this earth anymore. Not one.”
My heart stopped when I read it, pausing a few beats perhaps, but I’m fairly certain it stopped. Now the words woke me up.
I tilted my head under the faucet and took a long drink and laid back down. I didn’t take care of him but I could see him. Thin, balding in a shirt and slacks that once covered a robust six-foot frame now five-nine, a face etched by more than 34,000 sunrises that perhaps saw the decks of a destroyer, or the inside of a bomber somewhere over the Pacific or Italy. His silver, wire-rimmed frames magnify eyes with wrinkles that held tears for perhaps the first time in years, the last being when he buried his wife.
I Don't Know a Single Person on this Earth Anymore
I couldn’t get him out of my mind. He woke me up at 2 a.m. and I paced the room, blew my nose and stared into my bathroom mirror studying my own aging features. He wasn’t my patient.
He belonged to my emergency physician colleague, Dr. Brian Thomas Fletcher, who posted the case for some of us to read. It simply stated, “Saddest case ever.”
95-year-old male comes in for suicidal ideation. When asked why, he said, “My last friend died last week. I don’t know one single person on this earth anymore. Not one.”
My heart stopped when I read it, pausing a few beats perhaps, but I’m fairly certain it stopped. Now the words woke me up.
I tilted my head under the faucet and took a long drink and laid back down. I didn’t take care of him but I could see him. Thin, balding in a shirt and slacks that once covered a robust six-foot frame now five-nine, a face etched by more than 34,000 sunrises that perhaps saw the decks of a destroyer, or the inside of a bomber somewhere over the Pacific or Italy. His silver, wire-rimmed frames magnify eyes with wrinkles that held tears for perhaps the first time in years, the last being when he buried his wife.
I Don't Know a Single Person on this Earth Anymore