Powerless

Every morning, the students on my team ask, "How's your grandpa?"

The answer is that he is not good. He has no energy and his legs are very weak. While walking through the yard the other day, his legs gave out and he fell into a bush. His friend Steve, the big, strong police detective, was with him. He scooped him up and sat him on the porch swing. Then, Grandpa cried. Not because he was hurt, but because he is frustrated with his lack of energy, and he's scared that he's going to lose all his dignity.

The other day, Grandpa asked Steve if he could have an officer patrol the neighborhood at night. He and Grandma live on a quiet suburban street, but Grandpa said he's not strong enough to protect her should anything happen. Someone else will have to do that from now on.

In the middle of rounds last week, my grandma called with lab results. His primary care physician had ordered a little blood work. When it came back abnormal, he didn't know what to do with it. He said as much and referred him to a specialist. That appointment is on Monday, but he's going to see a different family doctor tomorrow--someone who will, hopefully, know how to interpret these results. Frankly, they aren't mysterious. He has cancer. His white blood cells are crowding out everything else in his bone marrow. He's terribly anemic, and he'd feel a hell of a lot better with a few units of red blood cells.

I spoke to Grandpa briefly this morning. I had just finished seeing my patients and had a few minutes before rounds started, so I called to check in. He said, "Well, we go to that new doctor tomorrow. I'm just hoping they can do something to get me half way back to normal. Just half way."

He sounded so incredibly sad. I found myself leaning into the wall as I listened to him, as if the weight of his sadness was falling on me. I am incredibly frustrated by knowing what to do without the power to do it. I can see the note I'd write if he was my patient. I know the few tests I'd order, and I know what I'd do for him to make him feel better.

He's not looking for a cure, just half way. I wish I could get him half way.