I wish you knew how many thoughts and words that were flooding my mind as I stood up to walk towards your room.
I wish you knew that I have spent countless hours reading articles, sitting through lectures and seminars, I even spent an entire month learning how to do what I was about to do.
I wish you knew that when I heard the news, my heart, my body sank.
I wish you knew that inside, I wished more than anything ANYTHING that I had an ounce of good news to tell you.
Because I wish you knew that as I walked down the hallway, past other rooms of critically ill children, the only thing in my mind was the video you showed me of your beautiful child playing, laughing.
Interacting.
I wish you knew that ideally, I would have had a chair to sit on instead of kneeling on the ground, shifting awkwardly side to side as I confirmed all of your deepest fears.
I wish you knew that I wish, with every fiber of my being that I could offer some hope.
I wish you knew that today when I was awkwardly trying to explain the complexities that is human pathophysiology, I desperately hope I was being clear, helpful and certainly not distant.
I wish you knew that I was second guessing every word that I said.
And that me not entering your room until this moment was not because I was avoiding you, but I was trying to piece together the exact phrase I was going to use that would ultimately shatter your dreams.
I wish you knew that with each breath and pause in my words, were small, inaudible prayers.
I also wish you knew how impressed I was with your composure, your strength.
I also wish you knew it was perfectly acceptable to cry.
And that I was holding back mine as you were holding back yours.
I wish you knew that walking into your room today, the empty room with your child gone, was the hardest and most terrifying experience of my life.
I wish, I wish I could have been better, had more encouraging words, been softer, been more available to you.
I wish you knew how my insides turned as I watch your world fall apart.
But ultimately, I wish you knew that the opportunity to serve you and your child was one of the greatest privileges of my life. Your child has taught me to be a better doctor, and for that, I am so unbelievably thankful.
And I am so deeply, deeply, deeply sorry.
