“Do you want some of this pie?” – a question that I would normally say yes to every chance I get. This time, though, I was asked by the brother of a dying patient who was denying that this was the end, who was offering to give me the same key lime pie he was going to smash onto his brother’s face. I was interning at the Medical University of South Carolina, and this was only minutes into my shift. But what does working in a hospital have to do with my academic story?

I was stuck in this situation – as a Palliative Care volunteer, I have to realize my place. I blur the line between friend and physician, but I have to try to keep my decisions closer to that of a legal advisor. Being offered a slice of pie was more than just a slice of pie: it was shattering the picture that the brother had. But it’s not my job to destroy any hope that he had. My job is to explain the reality of the situation and to help offer ways to create a healthy and meaningful exit.

So what did I do? I took that slice of key lime pie, said thank you, and told him not to give it to his brother. I explained that he was in a comatose state, and that he was very close to death. I gave the brother a moment to think, feeling the dry pie as I swallowed. While he was trying to come to terms with everything, I offered some words: it is thought that many comatose patients can still hear what is going on around them, even if they can’t respond. I spent the next hour talking with the patient’s brother about some of their best memories and praying with him. 

This is one of the most important experiences I have had as a volunteer, College of Charleston student, and person. The only reason I feel that I succeeded in that situation is because of my time as an interdisciplinary English major. Some degrees focus entirely on getting a job and nothing else, but English prepares us for life. As Richard Bolles states in his job-hunt book, “What Color Is Your Parachute?”, the job search is “no longer an optional exercise. It is a survival skill” – which, yes, is a bit ironic compared to this literal life-and-death situation I am writing about, but he’s right. We are prepared for survival — as the market changes, as technology takes over, and as we grow as individuals with different interests and desires.

Studying English has taught me three core values: anti-apathy, focus, and the power of words. I have learned these each day studying, but there are three main projects in which I learned the skills necessary to succeed in the end-of-life work field, and to succeed as a person – my papers for Third-World Literature and African Women Writers, my interview with David Popowski, and my internship with the Office of the Attorney General for Virginia.

Anti-apathy is the first skill that was vital to this situation. In today’s world, we are inundated with information. From the moment we wake up to the moment our head hits the pillow, our phones and computers flood us with happenings, and more often than not, they’re pretty bad. From school shootings to bombings in Gaza, the horrible actions have become tiresome to us. We grow accustomed to seeing these atrocities and our levels of caring plummet. We cannot care for a thousand causes at once, and it is even harder to care for something that does not directly affect us. That might sound horrible, but it’s the truth. There is simply too much to always pay attention to – but studying English has helped me to avoid this failure. Writing papers in Third-World Literature and in African Women Writers has allowed me to deeply study something far away that shouldn’t matter to me. As a white Jewish male from the South, why should I care about sexual violence in Jamaica or self-immolation in Zimbabwe? What link do I have to these problems? Does knowing about them affect my daily life? What I’ve learned is that it is one of our great gifts to care about others, and studying these topics allowed me to walk into that hospital room and care for the patient and his brother. After the patient passed, I have not seen or heard from the brother or the family. I do not plan to. It is simply that I was allowed to care, even if just for a small amount of time. The patient and his brother will always be important to me, but it does not affect my daily life – and that’s the point. It doesn’t have to. 

The next important skill was focus. Let’s be honest – how many of us can really focus on something anymore? You’ve probably checked your phone at least once while reading this. And that’s okay! We live in an attention economy, and everyone and everything is fighting for yours. As part of an Oral Histories of the Holocaust course, I was able to interview David Popowski, a descendant of Holocaust survivors in Charleston, and was able to contribute to the Shoah foundation housed at the University of Southern California. I believe that everyone spends half their lives planning what they’re going to say next, rather than listening. During this class, I practiced for months how I was going to guide the interview and how I would respond to each and every type of answer. I quickly learned that was not realistic. As soon as the interview began, David took over. The thirty minute interview quickly became two hours, and I learned how to let go and to simply focus on each and every word. Instead of thinking about my own goals, I struggled to let my ego sit back and relax. I always want to get ahead, to say something smart, to be seen as important and successful. But I was simply the recorder of someone else here – and it taught me how to work with the patient’s brother. I am simply an anonymous helper, someone to offer a moment of respite for someone dealing with death. It is not my place to input my own beliefs or thoughts – in fact, I never put forth my Jewish beliefs unless the patient is Jewish. I often find myself saying Hail Mary’s or praying in Christ’s name. Without this class and this interview, I would have forced myself into the conversation, making the situation harder for the patient’s brother. 

And lastly, the power of words. This is important not only to this specific situation at the hospital, but for life. As an intern with the Attorney General, I worked with victims of violent crime. I was the one stepstone between them and an unhelpful and often confusing government – yes, a kid with no real legal experience. What I often ended up being was simply a voice with words of comfort and resources. And that’s often what people need – not someone to walk them through the intricacies of a legal decision, but someone who would make them feel okay. And that’s what I did with the patient’s brother at MUSC – I didn’t give him false hope, but offered words that might be a shining light at the end of a tunnel. 

Anytime I eat key lime pie, I will be reminded of this experience. What I’ve learned is that being an English major has taught me skills that are helpful not only in the academic world, but in the professional world and the plain life world. As a major faced with constant insults, it is important for me to “take an inventory” that will give me “something solid to stand on.” Further, the second chapter of “What Color Is Your Parachute?” is largely focused on self-care – as the characteristic bumper sticker the author quotes says, “Don’t Believe Everything You Think.” Not only do the insults get to me, but the innate depth and stress that comes with working with people at the end of their lives gets to me as well. I have learned through lots of experience that there are ways I need to treat myself in academia, at work, and in life. These skills will help me be a better lawyer, social provider, and most importantly, a better person.