Every day, I get a chance to look into my patients’ lives. They tell me their life stories. The good and the bad. Most often though, it’s the bad because if they were healthy, they wouldn’t need me. I see them trying to hold on…by a thread.
I see a little bit of me in them. And every time someone tells me their history, I lose a piece of who I am. There are times when I go home bursting into tears. I sit in my car and take a deep breath before going inside and hug him tightly. I am grateful. Grateful that I get to go home, be with my loved ones, and have a life that I’ve crafted.
Everyone has a story.
It’s such an honor and privilege for them to share with me their greatest secrets, fears, hopes, and dreams.
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