Dissolving into one

The proximity of death pushes on our view of life, warping it like a prism suddenly held over our eyes. Today, I watched a patient falter on the boundary between worlds, every breath a struggle. He was suffering from advanced pulmonary disease – probably tuberculosis, and was in acute renal failure. His breathing sounded like a man gasping through shallow water, his eyes open and unseeing as his body raged to keep alive. He survived the morning, but I don’t know if his illness will claim him soon. All through the day, his face came back to me. Sometimes, especially when I am exceptionally tired, after a call night or an extra long day, I feel the boundaries between myself and the world dissolve. As if a hard push on my skin would simply pass through, to touch what lies underneath. At these times, I feel more connected, but more disconnected at the same time. I feel depersonalized, like my individual experience is meaningless. Instead of death casting my life into sharp relief, or making me more aware of the strength and youth in my bones, I feel that we are all part of a wave of humanity. Images of my patients – the body of a small child a few months ago, the face of my patient, a baby newly born, rise up and seem to be part of a tapestry. The threads, our selves, lose their meaning on their own, but together form a flowing, endless creation. Death seems to clarify that for each of us, it is the same: as I am, so shall you be, and as you are, so was I, for we are one.