Keith Lobello
I signed the paperwork for my patient in trauma ten. The old lady had slipped away peacefully as her weak heart stuttered to a halt. Her middle-aged daughter had been there by her side, holding her hand, stroking thin, white hair away from her face lovingly. The patient was DNR/DNI so we did nothing for her medically, except make her passing as comfortable as possible. It was never good to have a patient pass, but if they had to go, I thought it was better this way.
The nurses had escorted the daughter into the family room, and I had to go talk to her. She was still sniffling and crying into a wad of tissues, her eyes swollen and the tip of her nose bright red. I took a deep breath and faced the awkward and uncomfortable task of trying to console a grieving family mem
