by Jay Baruch
“Two medics roll Mrs. M into the emergency department. Sweat drips from her forehead. Her chest heaves in and out as she tries to suck every last oxygen molecule from inside the oxygen mask. I introduce myself and she opens her eyes but her glassy stare lands beyond me. “She has metastatic breast cancer,” says one of the medics. ‘She’s in hospice. But her son wants everything done.’
“‘Doing everything isn’t a plan that’s compatible with hospice,’ I mutter.
“‘We didn’t know what to do,’ says the medic, shaking his head. ‘She wasn’t this bad when we arrived at her home. She was working to breathe, but not like this.’”
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