Recently I was asked if I would work as a palliative care physician. The question reminded me of the first teaching I received on the topic, way back in pharmacy school.

The lecture remains the most frank and honest presentation about any aspect of medicine I have witnessed. It was raw.

It was timetabled as a double, a rare occurrence in pharmacy. My colleagues and I were expecting a pretty challenging lecture. Pharmacists aren't taught to cope with death in the same outright manner that Med Students are. The consultant giving the lecture was in his late fifties. He was softly spoken and emanated a warmth that reached the back row. After introducing himself, the doctor (let's call him Dr Weatherbury) apologises in advance that the lecture may be interrupted; he places his phone on the lectern.

Dr Weatherbury goes on to explain that today his father, who was in his eighties and had cancer was being admitted to a palliative care facility. He was doing some of the organisation, and hence his phone may ring throughout the lecture.

He then outlined his plan for the lecture; a brief introduction to palliative care and the theory behind it, then a refinement of the general theory to his concept of palliative care, finally followed by several of his own experiences and question time.

I will, very briefly, recount a hackneyed version of Dr Weatherbury's concept of palliative care.

He emphasised that palliative care was an acceptance. It allowed for spiritual and emotional resolutions, and for the patient to make the most of their remaining life. To foster inner peace and to reduce pain.

Within the context of pharmacy, the analgesia aspect of palliative care was briefly discussed. Dr Weatherbury also emphaised the importance of tailoring and establishing the patient's end of life goals. He made a strong point about not 'digging up' long-lost relatives just because you were aware of their existence.

As he was summarising the theories of palliation, his phone rang and he dashed out. We sat. Ten, twelve minutes passed. No one changed seats. No one left.

When he returned, he was apologetic.

Dr Weatherbury began to recount his first palliative patient; an elderly man with End Stage Renal Failure. Dr Weatherbury would pop in each day, 'just to balance the meds'. When the patient eventually said,

"Harry, you can come around here without changing my pills, y'know."

Dr Weatherbury attended every day until the man died.

Among the other stories he recounted was that of a twenty-six year old woman with breast cancer. The was so weak she could barely stand. She had been at the hospice for several months and was depressed and initially despondent. Dr Weatherbury admitted having a hard time talking with the patient. She wanted no sympathy. As with most of his patients, she requested Dr Weatherbury assist her sucide. As always, he refused and opened a discussion with her. Eventually, they talked about what she wanted to do before she died.

She wanted to feel the grass between her toes as she walked on the lawn.

A simple enough request, but one that required strength and some good weather. Otago is known for its harsh, cold spring. She and Dr Weatherbury worked to improve her state of mind, and she became stronger and more resolute. She would achieve this. One day, the weather cracked, and the cold, blue, southern sky bathed the lawn in sun.

The young woman was wheeled to the edge of the lawn, and a nurse took off her woollen socks. Dr Weatherbury helped her up, carefully, slowly. She tottered. She put out her foot and righted herself. She took a few steps.

She looked to the grass. She looked to the sky, and smiled. And cried. The nurse and Dr Weatherbury cried too. He spoke of the reward, the pleasure in a simple act, we all take for granted.

Dr Weatherbury's lecture is etched in my mind. Here was a man whose own father was heading down a path he'd seen so often, yet his compassion was so emphatic and complete. Not through storytelling, but through pure empathy. He brought students to tears.