It’s been almost a year since I received a message containing an opportunity to volunteer in hospice care, and I took a few months of thinking before I decided that it would be good for me. One night, I came home so late that my dad had already woken up for the day. I could have chosen to go to sleep, but instead, I spoke with my father about my decision. He explained to me that he and his patients must encounter difficult news every day. I realized that if I would ever become a good doctor, it would be because I had come to understand as much of life as I could, which includes the end of life and death.
Throughout my visits, I encountered different environments, challenges, and stories. Helping each patient was challenging in their own ways, but I learned how to provide a positive presence in each room. One particular encounter I found very challenging occurred in a rehabilitation center in Squirrel Hill. I walked into the facility and the first thing I noticed was a beautiful bird cage in the middle of the lobby. The birds’ singing gave me a hopeful feeling that winter would pass soon. After signing in and passing the birds, I took the elevator up to the second floor. Though there are usually always butterflies in my stomach before I see a new patient, this feeling dissipated the moment I knocked on his door. There was no response. As I cracked the door open, I saw a kind stare drift across the room and connect with my own gaze. He was exhausted. His fight for life had depleted his energy.
The esophageal cancer was in its end stages and he had his trachea intubated. There was no exchange of words that could be shared. I saw a pen and note pad, but he was too weak to write. His dinner came. He had no strength to eat. We relied on guessing and faint head nods to understand one another. I fed him a few spoons of soup and he needed no more. He could not stay awake any longer. I worried that I had done a bad job. As he lay asleep in his bed, I began to observe the room. It was filled with messages of hope. The windowsill had no extra space for another caring card. The walls displayed many awards from his work. A hanging tapestry depicted a colorful tree full of life. He was an avid member of the Jewish community and he helped many people with his work. He seemed to have a warm life, filled with people that care deeply about him. I sat with him as he slept for a few hours. Before leaving, I took his hand and said it was an honor to have met him. With this encounter, I understood that each patient carries a story with them, and learning their story allows you to carry them with you.
Only three days after this, I received news that he had passed away. I was not shocked, but I was still filled with momentary sadness and then relief that he moved on. Each of my encounters helped me learn something new about life and death. Without this program, these lessons would have been delayed many years. I feel that because of the experiences I have accumulated, I have been able to engage in conversations about death. Regardless of who you speak with, death comes to everyone. The way I see it, this is an opportunity to provide warmth to anyone when their time comes or when someone faces loss. Each hand I held, and each hand I will hold, have been made warm because of this program.