wow it's been a long time since i last blogged. so much has happened - pros, movies, the start of family medicine posting. stuff outside of medicine are taking place too; developments and steps back taken.

we had lectures on death and dying today as part of our primary care education. it's an area that somehow connects with me, and it's a pity that palliative care is not recognised as a specialty in singapore. we build casinos, stage "artistic" nude shows and make television serials about singles sleeping around, yet we aren't open enough in dealing with something as fundamental as death. how ironic.

anyway, as part of our tutorial we were shown clips from a wonderful film called Wit starring emma thompson and directed by mike nichols. this straight-to-video film was written by both of them and is based on the play by margaret edson. it tells the story of vivan bearing, an english professor with fourth stage ovarian cancer, who has to deal with her last days. i wished i could have viewed the entire movie, though i'm sure i would have bawled my eyes out by the end of it. just that last segment where she is being coded despite having a dnr order was so heart wrenching that i could barely hold back my tears.

it's a pity that this movie never made it to the big screen because emma thompson would have surely won some awards for her heartfelt portrayal of a dying woman. loved the part where bearing's mentor, professor ashford, reads her the story of the runaway bunny. it's a wonderful retelling of psalm 23 and i can imagine it must have been very comforting for bearing to hear that.

in the end bearing dies, and in her voice over she recites john donne's poem:

DEATH be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not so,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then;
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.

something to think of when visiting the homes of patients on palliative care tomorrow.