For Carl | to pdf >>

By Barbara Gardner, MD

We were in my exam room, where I most always see my patients. This was probably the fourth or fifth time I'd seen Carl. He was always intense, yet despite his intensity, there was a softness to his eyes. I could imagine him having thoughtful discussions with his middle-school students. His voice was soft, but direct and clear and firm.

We finished talking about the latest tack his treatment would take, and for once he didn't seem to have an endless stream of questions.

Instead, he sat and thanked me for always taking the time to answer his questions, and said he really appreciated it, it made him feel well cared for.

I thanked him. If he only knew what a struggle it sometimes was for me talking to him. He had a bad disease, a malignant brain tumor, and I certainly wanted to take good care of him. I had struggled to make it appear that I had all the time in the world to talk to him.

He subsequently died. The image of his tweed coat, his mustache, his clear gaze, and his words of thanks remain.