Every morning, after rounding on Mr. Gregory, I felt like an imposter. As I reported on the worsening crackles in his lungs, his decreasing urine output, the mottling of his hands, we continued to simply give him Dilaudid for pain and continued to ensure that he was “comfortable.” In this case, I was at a loss for what this “comfort” meant. Mr. Gregory was the first hospice patient I had. And ...


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