David Solomon lay in bed, a sheet draped over his legs.<\/p>\n
His darkened bedroom was silent, except for the ticking of a clock on the wall. A box of tissues sat on a bedside table; a Hebrew-and-English siddur, or prayer book, rested on his lap. <\/p>\n
The cancer that the 70-year-old cosmetics merchant had held at bay for 12 years was no longer responding to chemo. His breathing was labored, and his morphine-addled gaze wandered. It took all his effort to focus on the white-jacketed medical student who stood next to him. <\/p>\n
\"Even though we're done treating your lymphoma, we're still here to help,\" the student said, gently. <\/p>\n
\"I want to talk about hospice,\" Solomon croaked. <\/p>\n
He had signed paperwork urging doctors to withhold interventions such as a feeding tube during his final weeks and thought he wanted to die here, at home. At the same time, he worried how his decision would affect his family. <\/p>\n
\"Do I want my family to walk into this room and the last memories be saying goodbye to me?\" he asked. <\/p>\n
The room fell quiet again. The medical student was still. Two of his classmates, in chairs nearby, dabbed their eyes. One reached past Solomon, grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. <\/p>\n
\"Time out!\" their instructor shouted. <\/p>\n
The patient sat up in his bed, pulled a canary-yellow yarmulke off his head and smiled. <\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Read the rest here:<\/p>\n
Medical school gig a healthy challenge for actors<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" David Solomon lay in bed, a sheet draped over his legs. His darkened bedroom was silent, except for the ticking of a clock on the wall Continue reading