Don't talk about death: we're medical students

He'd been my patient for more than 20 years. In this time, I'd become something more than his family's general practitioner. I was his friend, his confidante, and a father figure of sorts to his children. Indeed, I treated three generations of his family. I was the last doctor he consulted, his family having full faith in my competence. For three weeks, he'd been complaining of quite non-specific symptoms—back pain, general malaise, hair loss… nothing uncommon for a man in his seventies.”

It was not quite the welcoming speech I was expecting. That first day of my primary care placement, the general practitioner's eyes seemed to bore into mine as I listened to him sketch his patient's background. “And this morning, he died. His family called me to the house immediately. Now tell me, what would you have said to them?”

Being a medical student, I am all too used to being put on the spot with questions set by consultants and house officers designed to test my medical knowledge, my ability to think on my feet, or simply whether or not I'm paying attention.

We can answer questions about risk factors for ischaemic heart disease, we know about the pathophysiology of chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, and we may be able to identify the physical signs of someone with rheumatoid arthritis. When our intellect is summoned, we rise to the occasion wonderfully.

Then they ask us a straightforward question about what to say to someone who is grieving. For once, …