I will never forget the call from my grandmother, a 75-year-old male, fatigued and short of breath, with a medical history of diabetes, heart failure, and chronic obstructive respiratory disorder. As I rush to his side, he was lethargic, and struggling with each breath. In an attempt to apply his BiPAP machine, his condition continued to worsen at which point I called for an ambulance. The patient was a retired major from the U.S. Marine’s, better known around my house as “Papa”. As I walked into yet another ICU room to see him hooked to a mirage of tubes, wires, and machines, my instinct to help wanted to take over, yet I could only stand and watch helplessly. Hours pass like minutes as his respiration rate continued to decline. Throughout his stay, I helped him with as much as I could to make him comfortable. I had witnessed him fight many battles with death and win, however, this battle seemed different. The morning of August 28th the doctor called to inform us of his condition and that visiting hours no longer applied. As I enter the room for the last time, Papa reached out for my hand. I sat there with him for hours admiring doctors and nurses try their best to keep him comfortable with drugs and medical technology, however all he really wanted was someone to be there with him until the end. As he was unable to speak, I sat there reflecting on rides in his truck and his favorite sweets that I had snuck into the house for him. During these moments, I realized that my compassion for people and serving others was a virtue I had great passion for, and through that experience, I learned that a career in healthcare is a life I desired to pursue.
