I was on duty in my oncology ward as per usual when I got a call from the medical ICU to assess a patient. The patient was a young male who had been admitted a few days ago with acute respiratory distress. His tests raised concerns about a potential malignancy (cancer). This was the information relayed to me by the physician in the ICU.

Upon entering the ICU, I encountered a youthful male doctor who escorted me to examine a specific patient. He offered a quick history as we walked and led me to the patient’s bedside. Upon arrival, I noticed that the patient was a straightforward young man in his 30s, on high-flow oxygen and evidently struggling to breathe. The young doctor introduced me to the patient, stating that I was his senior from oncology. The breathless young man nodded in recognition and looked toward me. For some reason, he reached out his hand. The young doctor observed my response with interest, as this was an atypical situation for him. I couldn’t help but grin at the intrigued look on the doctor’s face. Regardless, I accepted the patient’s hand. How could I refuse a handshake with a patient in poor health? His hand was cool and damp.

I gestured for the young doctor to proceed with his duties and leave us alone, as I wished to converse with the patient in depth. I settled beside him and inquired about his background; he told me that he was 31 years old, a truck driver by trade, married, and had a 3-month-old daughter. He was quite breathless, making it challenging for him to respond to my questions, but he tried his best.

He communicated that he had been completely fine a month ago when he began to develop a cough, occasional blood in his sputum, and shortness of breath. Gradually, these symptoms intensified, leading him to collapse a few days earlier following a sudden, severe coughing fit. He was then taken to the hospital, where a chest X-ray revealed pleural effusion (fluid in the pleural cavity surrounding the lungs). The pleural fluid was analyzed for cytology, which indicated malignant (cancer) cells were present, but further analysis was required.

After taking the patient’s history and performing an examination, I reviewed the CT scan, which was quite alarming. It displayed a large solid tumor in the abdomen and pelvis, alongside multiple lung masses and pleural effusions. Very little healthy lung tissue remained, contributing to his significant breathlessness. I suggested a biopsy of the most accessible mass, situated nearest to the chest wall. The biopsy was conducted promptly, and the patient was given pain relief, enabling him to sleep. That was the last time I saw him.

A few days later, I reflected on that patient and checked his medical records. I accessed his medical record number and reviewed the biopsy findings. It confirmed that he had leiomyosarcoma. Leiomyosarcoma is a rare but aggressive form of soft tissue sarcoma originating from smooth muscle cells. This cancer can arise in various body parts, but is most frequently found in the uterus, abdomen, or limbs.

I contacted the ICU physician to inquire about the patient’s current condition and discovered that his respiratory distress had worsened since my visit. He could not be stabilized on high-flow oxygen after he fell asleep following the biopsy that day. He was intubated and placed on a ventilator for several days, but ultimately did not regain consciousness and sadly passed away. All investigations yielded no other causes apart from respiratory failure. There was no iatrogenic trauma associated with the biopsy; it simply occurred. He left us, without even a diagnosis.

It’s genuinely tragic and unforeseen. The life he led was short and challenging. He was born into poverty, never had the chance to study or travel, and spent nearly a decade driving a truck. He missed out on playing with his daughter and witnessing her grow up. He experienced so little, and then, in just a few days, he was taken away.

How fleeting life can be. It can disappear so effortlessly and so swiftly. I am unable to articulate my emotions at this moment. I cannot label them. Sometimes, I struggle to understand why we encounter certain people, knowing them for just a moment. We learn their stories, exchange smiles, clasp hands, and then never meet again. He slipped away just like that. He died. He passed shortly after that handshake.

Life is so transient and fleeting; we will not be here after just a breath. Sometimes, I feel that our lives are like stories—intertwined stories. His narrative was like a one-page story. So simple and brief. That’s why we should strive to enhance these narratives, whether they are our own or