“Play them games for me, and hit a triple 7! Don’t forget, if it worked for me, it’ll work for you!”

Those were his last words to me.

A few weeks later, after having graduated from residency, I received a text from a former coworker that my patient had passed away. He had always said, “I won’t die on you, doc. You’ve taken much too great of care of me to die on your hands.” I know it was a matter of when I would find out that he passed away. He had, unfortunately, been battling with lung cancer and like many, had an unreal sense of improvement with treatment. It was only coincidence that he passed away after I left. Or maybe he had simply let go after my departure.

I will miss him. Even though I knew it was the last time I would see him in clinic, it was comforting to know he was still around. Some called him “interesting,” others found him “trying and non-compliant” with his medications. I guess I saw all of that, but something more. He was an optimist, a believer. Even though he always came in his wheelchair, breathing heavily even on his 5 liters of oxygen, he always pushed himself around. He never missed an appointment with me.

I know he’s in a better place, a more peaceful and calming place. I feel like he was taken too soon, but that is the eternal optimist side of a physician that wishes perfect health and life for all our patients. I guess all those who loved him will now find comfort in the fact that he’s no longer struggling with life or waking up in the middle of the night gasping for air.

I will miss his stories, his advice and even his reprimanding tone when he said I was a tough crowd on his jokes. I used to tell him I couldn’t always laugh because I kept thinking about his health and how I could improve his quality of life. He was a joker; I wish now that I could have joined you in a few more laughs.

I guess it’s never too late. He used to say, “Why be serious if it ain’t gonna change your condition? You might as well get a laugh out of it.” Even from afar, you continue to remind me to laugh a little more, to take life a little less seriously.

And yes, when I go to Las Vegas, I will pull the lever in your honor, and who knows — I might just land a 7-7-7 and win the jackpot you promised me I would.

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