I’ll never forget her face—calm, worn, peaceful—as she whispered, “I’m going to have a good death. Please prepare my family. I’m ready.”
She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t in denial. She was ready—with a rare, holy kind of clarity.
As a hospital doctor, I’ve spoken to hundreds of patients nearing the end. But this moment left me undone. Her questions were piercing and unflinching:
“How much time do I have?”
“Will my family be okay?”
“What will dying feel like?”
I answered honestly. I wept. And she held my hand.
What gave her peace wasn’t just information. It was confidence in her destination. She lived anticipating heaven with faith.
I am confident of my destination, and I desperately want that for you. God tested my confidence the very next night.
I was working 12-hour shifts at a hospital about 40 minutes from home. These shifts sometimes stretch into 13, 14, 15, and sometimes 16 hours. Caring for patients and families can’t be rushed, especially if the patient is critical or dying.
Such was the case on the day after the conversation with my patient. Throughout the day the family gathered for a vigil as she entered the phase of actively dying. I periodically checked on her and the family, and just before leaving for the day, I did a final check. Her death was imminent; her family stood vigilant by her side with tears silently falling.
I could not leave. I joined the vigil. Two hours later, I pronounced her dead after her final goodbye sigh. I began completing the endless amount of charting to complete a death summary and death certificate. Family members drifted by, thanking me and the staff.
I walked to my car and stood for a moment, and thought about my very simple theology, “God is good, and I trust Him.” I would miss her, but I also knew we would meet again.
The full weight of my exhaustion from the day was felt as I sank into my car seat. For the first time in all my decades of medicine, I called my husband, Scott, before departing.
“I am so very tired, I will probably go straight to bed when I get home. Please give our guest my apology.”
He understood and merely said, “Be careful and love you.”
Next week, I will show you how I am confident of my good death because of that late-night journey home.
Here with you and for you,
Dr. Pamela
