Nurse here: I did an oncology externship in a major city while in college. Quite often I'd hear bits and pieces of people reminiscing about their past throughout the day.

One time I was working on St. Patrick's Day and had a guy with brain mets from metastatic esophageal cancer. He was trying to figure out if he wanted to continue treatment or not. The esophageal cancer was from drinking. He was recovering from an esophagectomy. Had the usual stuff: chest tubes, maybe an addition drain, NG tube. The guy was miserable.

I ended up clocking out for the day and walked past his room. I stopped by the door to say goodbye and we ended up talking for a bit. He grew up in the NE United States. Only child, middle-class family. He ended up being drafted during the Vietnam War.

He told me quite a few stories about the war. He said he hadn't mentioned most of them to his family. If I recall correctly he was divorced and had two adult sons. They never visited him, or so he said. He mentioned how during Vietnam he'd sit on his helmet to "avoid getting one in the ass cheek."

He mentioned how when he returned to the States he met a beautiful woman. They had two kids. He had a blue collar job he eventually lost and his drinking increased. Self medication, I suppose. Wife left with the kids, he drank more. He was diagnosed and the family basically didn't give a shit. We got to discussing slightly more pleasant topics like sports and travel.

I remember him asking me how my day went and (being an idiot) I said "I could use a drink right now." It's still one of my most cringe-worthy moments working in healthcare. I guess his story stuck with me because I ended up staying in that night. I bailed on my plans to drink myself half to death with friends.

He died about two weeks later, if I recall correctly. It's not the most exciting story, but it sticks with me because I realized my fear isn't just dying. My fear is dying alone, stuck in a dimly-lit hospital room as basically a shell of my former self.