The first thing I remember is the sound of oxygen at night. It was my second week as a hospice nurse. I had just pulled up to a modest home on a cul-de-sac, the kind of place where wind chimes echo off empty sidewalks. Inside, a man in his seventies was dying of end-stage pulmonary
The quiet work of dying: a hospice nurse’s reflection originally appeared in KevinMD.com.
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