For the better part of 18 years, I’ve had the privilege of serving people in the community as a hospice RN. This time in my nursing career has been more of a blessing to me, I’m sure, than to anyone I’ve served. People have asked me a thousand times, “Isn’t that depressing?” The answer is “no”. The other question was “How can you do that?” The answer is “Because people are amazing to their very last breath, and everyone has an equally amazing story to tell”. Sometimes, always, it was sad, but never depressing.
It’s just never a good feeling, never a hoped-for thing to get a hospice referral, because it means something terminal is going on in the body, something which, in the best judgment of the doctor, cannot be fixed, and eventually, despite the best efforts of medicine, will likely end in death. No one comes home from a doctor’s appointment with a big, old smile on their faces, to announce “I get to start hospice!” Of course not. It’s a confusing, anguishing, mind-reeling time, filled with thousands of questions, not the least of which are, “Maybe there’s been a mistake. Maybe a second opinion. Maybe it’ll be different this time. Maybe I’ll beat it.” And, sometimes that happens. Sometimes people do beat it. And sometimes they don’t. But, I’ve learned not to diminish the power of the human spirit in things of this nature. Ever.
It was amazing to me what people could do if they had to do it. The worst and the best in people came out. But people always came through, one way or another, and I had little to do with it. I saw things that were awe-inspiring, amazing, uplifting, heart-rendering, and some things that were simply unexplainable. I certainly felt helpless at times, and I wanted to fix it, or at least explain why it couldn’t be fixed. Nurses always want to fix it, and to give an answer to “why?”. But sometimes there is no answer and there is no fix. In the long-run, it’s kinder to just say so. ”Ifs” and “maybes” can be very unkind.
Some things that shouldn’t be, were, despite what the doctors and the labs said. Sometimes the impossible was possible. I saw animals respond to the illness and loss of their masters. And the dying spoke of things they saw or heard or knew, things that I couldn’t explain. I never doubted what the dying told me they saw or heard or knew: so many told of similar things. I learned that often the most helpful thing to do was to be silent, and I came to understand how heavy something as weightless as silence can be. Sometimes, doing nothing is the hardest thing of all to do. Just sitting and being in the presence of grief was the most needed thing of all.
If I could go back in time, knowing what I now know about hospice, I would make the same choice. I would become a hospice RN. I would choose to make those journeys, again, filled with wonder and sadness and grief and awe. I would walk the walk, again, with those amazing people who I have known, the people who I will never forget, the people who allowed me into their lives at a most vulnerable time, who shared their hopes and dreams and fears and grief with me. In doing so, they gave me the greatest gift of all: they taught me how to live, how to love, and then how to let go.
© Janet Mitchell. September, 2011.
Quite a few of the points associated with this write-up happen to be good nonetheless had me personally wanting to know, did they really indicate that? One thing I have to mention is certainly your publishing abilities are very good and I would be coming back again for any fresh post you make, you may well have a brand-new admirer. I book marked your main website for reference.
Thanks for reading, and for taking the time to comment! And, yes, they really did indicate those things in the post.
Thank you for taking the time to read and to comment. And, yes, they really indicate those things in the post!
This is a beautiful post! As sad as the content is, hospice is amazing.
I had a brief chance to work a hospice case. It was my first assignment as a home health aid. The gentleman was in hospice, I was to work a 12 hr shift. I knew when I came on that something was not quite right. Soon I realized that he was actively dying. I had never worked with anyone dying before, only after the fact. It was the hardest day of my life, but I would never trade it for anything.
This man had many who loved him, I found out he was fun and full of life, this illness took him unfairly.
I stayed with the family for the entire process, it was 16 hrs. For some unknown reason I was the one comforting friends and family as they paid their respects, just after his youngest daughter made it to see him, he took his last breath.
I was exhausted at the end of the day, but the love and the hopes and dreams shared with me was priceless.
I never worked with another hospice patient again, but it will forever be a special memory that I hold dear.
What you did for that man and his family will never be forgotten, I can assure you of that. One act of kindness from you made so much difference in that family’s life. Just know that.
Janet, this post touched my heart. You answered questions I also have asked, “is it depressing?” “how can someone be able to do this?”. It takes an angel on earth to do what you do. However, I understand how your patients are also great teachers on living and dying.
I have tweeted this post!
Thanks for the Tweet !
Thank you. The purpose of writing about hospice is to share the wonder of empathy, which can move people in ways that surprise, most of all, the person whose heart is touched by it for the very first time, in a very deep way, in a way that literally takes one’s breath away. Empathy is like unconditional love and grace: once felt, it’s forever a gift. It is never forgotten. It is something that is accepted as freely given, rather than being earned. Its power changes a person forever. I’ve certainly not earned the grace or the love or the empathy that so many have, without expectation, given to me, but I do accept it. Hopefully I can find a way to pass it along to someone, someday.
I have a lot of respect for what you do – it takes a special person to do it.
My grandma was in hospice care before she passed away late last year. The nurses were so attentive and understanding during our family’s difficult time.