Yesterday I was taking care of a healthy looking 58-year-old man just diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Supposedly, the service had already told his wife about this. She asked me, suddenly, how many stages to cancer are there? Without thinking, I said "four". She about collapsed into my arms. I held her while she sobbed into my shirt. I had no idea what to say, what to do. I tried my best. She went over to him and hugged him and said she loved him so much. I had to get out of there. Later, the team came in and told her she should take him home, there's nothing more to be done. I had to step out of the room lest I burst into tears, too.
See, I work on a floor where we usually send people home, healthier than they were before. I haven't built up a very thick skin for this kind of stuff.
The charge nurse bought me a cookie. Cookies do help.