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The Greatest Gift: How a Patient's Death Taught Me to Be a Physician.

The package was in plain brown paper wrapping. The note enclosed read, “Thanks for everything you did for my father. It meant more than you can ever imagine.” I teared up, remembering the day I helped the father of a colleague die peacefully. When I opened the wrapping and saw the picture of two saplings planted side by side and a certificate saying that the family planted one in my honor next to the one in their father’s, the single tear turned to a river. Although I never thought that a patient’s death would be one of the best clinical experiences of my then young career, that day increased my love for practicing medicine significantly. Medicine wasn’t always a joy for me. In my medical residency, I existed in survival mode. I was a smartass, justifying anything that would get me through the days of sleep deprivation, overwhelming workloads, and soulcrushing sadness, even if it meant gallows humor and finding hilarity in tragedy. Early in my second year, I admitted a patient with an emphysema exacerbation. I was supposed to bring him with me to morning report and present his care to the chief of medicine the next day. But the patient’s