By Laura Creel
As part of their undergraduate medical education, students discuss end-of-life care; they hear lectures about valuing the lives and deaths of future patients; they are instructed in the legal issues surrounding advance directives and care planning. They see death, too—see it in the cadavers that they incise, see it in patients who die surrounded by family members and in patients who die alone. Sometimes these experiences with death are personal; many times the experiences are stripped of emotion because they occur in clinical environments. But although students see death in medical school, some recent research shows that approximately half of residents do not feel well-prepared to deal with the deaths of patients.[i]
I do not see death in the way that medical students, residents, or physicians do; my experience working in medical education is limited to accreditation. But I have long listened to Death reminding me that one day, he will take me. Memento mori, Death whispers; he will not let me forget.
I have spent half of my 28 years reeling—recovering from and sinking back into the claws of major depressive and generalized anxiety disorders. And Death was present there. He was present on a visceral level in a brain and body wracked by fear and sadness; one would expect him to be there. But death is present even now, when the SSRIs and cognitive behavioral therapy have done their work. And, I posit here, the memory of my own mortality can be a good thing.
In my own experience, the reminder of my eventual death encourages me to live with purpose.
The views, opinions and positions expressed by these authors and blogs are theirs and do not necessarily represent that of the Bioethics Research Library and Kennedy Institute of Ethics or Georgetown University.