He was the pulmonologist called in when my mother was admitted to Mills Peninsula. The doctor on the floor had mistakenly diagnosed her with pneumonia--a delusional great day leading us to be optimistic, thinking with antibiotics she'd recover and be sent home. After a day or so, he came to consult, read her x-rays ... I met him and instantly liked his demeanor, presence: as he looked me in the eye, he said, "I don't think it's pneumonia," to which I further asked, "What is it?" His candid response: "I don't know." How great it is when doctors admit they don't know, which is most of the time. It's fine not to be omniscient. He continued being the specialist for my mother throughout her stages--she was transferred to the ICU, where he'd follow her. After she was put on the oxygen tube, and then intubated, pumped full of every imaginable med, dialyzed ... on the final day after a brain scan, and after administering a "test" for her responsiveness, the morning he told us she was essentially 'brain dead.' His words have never left me: "I think you all as a family are suffering more than she is." The immense kindness in his eyes, without any pressure whatsoever, he was telling us that we needed to stop trying so hard to do the impossible which was to save her, and let go. Dr. Ho was reliably and consistently kind throughout her hospital stay--before, during, and after her life, he was there, unfailingly supportive and offering expertise at every heartbreaking step. After she died of inflammatory lung disease, I wrote him a note, expressing my gratitude. He wrote back, saying, "When I shook your mother's hand, I knew she was a woman of great dignity." Such a gift for him to say. Thank-you, Dr. Ho--your calling is as a true healer. read more
