(Names and details have been altered to protect privacy)
M.T. was the dean of admissions for a large university. He had metastatic colon cancer and I was involved in his treatment. We had long conversations about how selectivity works (I was the DR PD at the time). He loved to fly fish and we shared stories about brownies and cutthroats smashing dry flies.
D.E. was a beloved professor, renown in his field. He was funny and optimistic right up until the end. One of the most difficult conversations I’ve ever had was with him, when it became clear that I couldn’t control his disease despite my best efforts. Against my better judgment, I offered him a “heroic” treatment option. I’ll never forget his grace in saying no, that he’d had enough.
S.F. was a politically active lawyer with three kids. She was one of the kindest and most gracious patients I’ve ever met. She was one of those people who can dispense wisdom and you didn’t even know it until you thought about it later.
V.L. worked in the hospital. She was diagnosed with late-stage pancreatic CA. I saw her in clinic and offered her treatment. I gave her my phone number and told her to call me when she had made a decision about treatment. She called me a few days later to let me know that she would be foregoing treatment; she was leaving town to travel and visit friends. She sounded happy.
Over the years, my cell phone has become a small repository of patients whom I’ve had the privilege to know over the years. Although they are gone, they remain in my contacts list and always will. Every once in a while, I scroll through and remember them- it is a nice way to memorialize the people who have come and gone from my life. I don’t think “digital cemetery” sounds right- it feels impersonal to me. But if you come up with a more fitting name, let me know.