
This article was exclusively written for European Sting by Mr. Hermann TCHAKOUNTE, a Cameroonian, 5th year medical student at Université des Montagnes, passionate about global health, Surgery and medical education. He is affiliated with the International Federation of Medical Students Associations (IFMSA), cordial partner of The Sting. The opinions expressed in this piece belong strictly to the writer and do not necessarily reflect IFMSA’s view on the topic, nor The European Sting’s one.
As a medical student in Cameroon, I’ve often found myself reflecting on what it truly means to care for someone. In medical school, we are taught how to treat disease, to fight for life at all costs. Yet, I’ve come to learn that sometimes the greatest act of healing is not in curing, but in caring. Especially when life is nearing its end.
I remember this patient I met last year during my internal medicine rotation. She was living with a terminal cancer, and by the time I met her, the disease had spread far beyond what medicine could reverse. Despite the pain, what struck me most was her quiet strength and her simple wish: « I just want to go home and be with my children ». At that moment, I realized that dignity is not found in machines or procedures, but in listening, presence, and allowing patients to spend their last days on their own terms.
Across the world, millions still die without access to basic palliative care. In many African settings, including Cameroon, families struggle to afford palliative care, and discussions about death are often avoided. This results in silent physical and emotional suffering. But it doesn’t have to be this way. Hospice and palliative care should not be a privilege. They are a human right. Governments and health systems must integrate these services into primary care, ensure access to essential medications, and support families through education and community programs.
But change also begins with us: the caregivers, the medical students, the doctors of tomorrow. It starts with how we talk to our patients, how we hold their hands, how we respect their stories. Because even in death, there is life in love, in connection, and in dignity.
Dignity in dying means being seen and heard even when medicine has reached its limits. It means making space for the person beyond the patient, their fears, their hopes and their faith. It means training future doctors like me to approach death not as failure, but as a sacred moment that deserves tenderness, honesty, and care.
In the end, what matters is not how long we live, but how gently we are allowed to leave. Ensuring dignity at the end of life is not just a medical duty it is a moral one. And as I continue my journey in medicine, I hold this truth close: to heal is to comfort, to comfort is to dignify, and to dignify is to honour humanity itself.
About the author
Hermann TCHAKOUNTE is a Cameroonian, 5th year medical student at Université des Montagnes, passionate about global health, Surgery and medical education. He actively participates in community health initiatives and student-led medical associations that promote access to healthcare and health equity. Hermann believes in the power of empathy and human connection as essential tools in medicine. His interests include Research, Surgery, and health system strengthening in low-resource settings. Through writing and advocacy, he aims to inspire young health professionals to see medicine not only as a science but also as a profound act of humanity.
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