Not long ago, I walked into an emergency department room (a cube defined by some walls but mostly curtains) to place an IV. An elderly man was on the hospital stretcher. He was there with his son. I began my normal banter—introducing myself, explaining why I was there, and narrating what I was doing as I went. The man might have asked me about my name, about 30%-50% of patients do because it’s unique. He might have asked about my necklace, it’s a wolf and about 25% or so of my patients ask about it.
“I’m going to raise the bed so I don’t have to stoop,” I said. “I need my back for many years to come.”
The patient and his son laughed. “You know what you need, music. Do you listen to music?” the patient asked.
“Not here, it’s not the right place. But, I like to dance, so I do listen to music,” I said.
“My wife liked to dance. She died a year and a half ago,” the patient said.
“I’m sorry to for your loss, sir,” I said.
“We were together 60 years,” the patient said.
“That’s amazing! I don’t think I’ll be with anyone for 60 years at this point. Did you take her dancing?” I said. I maintained a jovial tone because he seemed merry when he mentioned his wife and dancing.
“I did,” the patient said. I looked down to find him crying. I paused and put a hand on his forearm. Giving him a squeeze. I’d recently visited my grandmother. A big part of our visit was discussing how my grandfather, who’d died 2 years prior, was still with us.
“How lucky she was to have you take her dancing! How amazing it must have been to have had so many years together,” I said.
“Sorry, I always cry when I think of her,” the patient said. He half-shrugged and looked away.
“It’s okay. She’s with us still and you’ll see her again, sir,” I said.
“I hope so,” the patient said.
“I know you will,” I said.
The patient and his son nodded. The tears ebbed. I placed the IV. All humans have stories. Sometimes they find space to share them when they visit us in the emergency department.