I was called to the home in the morning, but couldn't make it there until after office hours. Lisa waited for me, not because she needed me, but perhaps because she knew her family did. They who had lovingly cared for this lady at home for more than eight years attended her. Her rabbi had come to sit with her. A friend had brought a homeopathic remedy to aid her swallowing.
“Ah, I see where we are,” I said, entering the room. Lisa sat quietly in her fancy candy-apple-red wheelchair, draped in colorful shawls and blankets, her breathing noisy in her throat but her face peaceful. She was on her way. The family and I talked about the potential difference in perceptions between our discomfort and her discomfort. A few drops of morphine, then later more homeopathic drops were gently placed under her tongue.