I had to tell the truth. Eyes locked onto mine, probing, searching for honesty, following my every move, the patient asked me again, “So this is a death sentence?”
The walls of my office came closing in around me. My palms began to sweat, and words, so eloquent in my mind, died as they reached my lips. “Yes” was all I could manage.
His lips trembled with the effort. “How long, then?” he asked.
Before I spoke, I measured my thoughts carefully. “It varies from person to person, but three to five years would be a reasonable estimate.”
I paused. Jerry offered no reply; none was expected. Not wanting to risk sounding trite, I said no more and let the brief exchange come to an end.
There are no guides to help physicians through difficult times with patients. For me as a neurologist, no conversation is more agonizing than the ...
