“Pasta Puttanesca,” he said with a wink. “The prostitute’s pasta.” We laughed — and ate every bite.
Not everything I learn comes from a chart.
Sometimes it’s a look.
A line.
A moment that lands deeper than diagnosis.
This brief essay is a collection of those moments.
Brief.
Unexpected.
And always real.
This week, a patient shared a poignant realization that emerged after years of emotional distance from his wife.
They had grown apart, but recently discovered a shared need: the simple, profound act of touch.
He reflected on how a gentle hug or a reassuring hand on the shoulder seemed to bridge the emotional gap between them.
“I think we’re wired for this,” he mused, referencing hormones like oxytocin that respond to physical affection.
His insight aligns with scientific findings.
Oxytocin, often referred to as the “love hormone,” plays a crucial role in social bonding and emotional connection.
Studies have shown that affectionate touch can increase oxytocin levels, reduce stress, and foster feelings of trust and closeness.
In fact, research indicates that even brief moments of affectionate touch can lead to measurable increases in oxytocin, a hormone that contributes to an improved mood and reduced anxiety.
This finding underscores the biological underpinnings of our need for physical connection.
My patient’s experience serves as a reminder that sometimes, healing in relationships doesn’t require grand gestures — just a touch of understanding, quite literally.
For more reflections on connection at the edge of life, read my essay: What Dying Men Confessed When No One Was Listening.
In oncology, gratitude comes in many forms — thank-you notes, quiet nods, even tears.
But sometimes, it arrives as a steaming pan of pasta.
One of our patients, an older Italian gentleman with a twinkle in his eye and impeccable taste, has taken to feeding the staff.
Not metaphorically — literally.
Lasagna, tiramisu, and even delicate cannoli are dusted with sugar like freshly fallen snow.
Today, he arrived bearing a new dish. “Pasta Puttanesca!” he announced proudly. “You know — the prostitute’s pasta.”
A pause.
Then laughter. Nurses chuckled. My medical assistant nearly dropped her stethoscope.
He winked. “They say it was made quickly, between clients.”
I’ll leave the etymology to linguists.
But I can tell you this: the olives were briny, the sauce was bold, and the gratitude was unmistakable.
This event was something else entirely in a world often defined by scans and side effects.
A recipe for connection.
Served al dente.
Note: For patient privacy, I have modified some details.
Here are my previous Clinic Notes essays:
Want more stories like these — plus the science behind living longer and better? I’ve distilled the most powerful lessons from oncology, aging research, and patient wisdom into my new ebook: Extending Life and Healthspan.
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