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Abstract
On morning rounds, we would stand in dimly lit hospital rooms, watching elderly couples hold hands in silence, their faded, scratched wedding rings that were missing a few stones here and there overlapping in perfect, worn harmony. Fifty years of marriage, and now they were facing the impossible: one of them would likely be gone soon. They had all spent double my lifetime together, unable to remember what it was like to be without each other. There were often entire unspoken conversations between them through only glances. There were no grand declarations of love, no dramatic sobs—just the quiet weight of a life shared, now measured in months instead of years. This was life on the oncology floor.