When surgery cannot save

I could tell when he came in this morning that it was a big day for him - even from the way he’d combed his hair. Most people don’t bother being presentable if they’re going into surgery - but for him, it was a mark of an important occasion. And I could feel his nervous energy from how he avoided silence, filling in the gaps with any conversation that came to mind.
And as he chatted, while theatre staff finished off their preparations, we quickly became familiar with a sense of his personality. His quirks. His feelings.

And yet after a few hours of trying, the conclusion came that his tumour couldn’t be removed. It hadn’t spread - at least one piece of good news to hold onto. But just thinking about him waking up, after his big, nerve-wracking, long-awaited surgery, to be told nothing could be done...just imagining his heart sink.

Even this week has seen worse outcomes for patients - patients rushed into A&E unconscious, and still remain unconscious. But I find the ones I bring home aren’t necessarily the saddest cases - they’re the ones that you get to meet with their eyes open. And get a small insight into their life. What matters to them, what they’re afraid of, what they’re hopeful for. The people who you can picture trying to take in bad news, because of getting to know a small part of who they are.