The Five Invitations: Discovering What Death Can Teach Us About Living Fully

by Frank Ostaseski

The physician clearly was upset when she saw the dramatic change in Jackson’s condition—his gaunt body, protruding eyes, and the changes in mood caused by his glioblastoma. Yet she barely made eye contact with him during the entire fifteen-minute visit. She kept her fear well concealed behind her white coat. Speaking abruptly, she suggested a new course of intensive radiation to shrink the brain tumor. Jackson responded by saying that he was nauseous and tired and wanted to rest. The oncologist scribbled a prescription for an anti-nausea medication and scheduled the radiation treatment for the following day. I took Jackson back to the hospice, where he died later that night. It was difficult to watch the doctor’s cool, indifferent, almost robotic interaction with Jackson. She might have paused, taken a beat, listened when he said, “I’m tired. I need to rest.” But she railroaded right over him. She couldn’t let the pain in. And in so doing, she missed a healing opportunity—not only for Jackson, but also for herself. Glued to the safety and privilege of her medical role, she sacrificed a bit of her humanity that day.