There is a difference between healthspan and lifespan, and at some point, one has to ask oneself when to stop trying new treatments if it comes at the cost of their overall happiness and well-being. What does it mean to aspire to live as long as possible if such days, weeks, months, or years are filled with pain? Ever since my hospice training in the fall of 2019, I have begun to realize the complexity of success and failure in the medical field and the sigma of death in the Western world. We prioritize time over quality and have come to view death as a loss of life rather than a celebration of it. Before becoming a hospice volunteer, I admittedly avoided thinking about death. My mind was a hand, and death was the hot stovetop it accidentally came into contact with; any accidental contact sent the hand retreating more and more discouraged to reach out again. Death was something I have always thought of as something to think about for “later,” but as much as I hated it, it filled the world around me.
I was drawn to hospice volunteering because I never knew if that “later” would come sooner than I wanted to accept, and I was ready to be uncomfortable. I, along with another student at Swarthmore, was placed with two wonderful patients, one of whom we will call Rose. The first thing I learned about Rose, the quieter of the two, was that she loved to color, and over the course of a few months, I learned of her impeccable choice of nail polish, wonderful jewelry, and subtle yet groovy dance moves. We always found her in the common room with her friend, Clove, and spent time with both of them. While Clove was always the more talkative of the two, Rose’s quiet company and bright smile always lit up the room. Her presence made me appreciate the many forms communication and companionship may take form; being there for/with someone does not necessarily entail lengthy discussions, as sometimes just being there to sit with someone may move mountains.
Each visit, I saw Rose’s condition progress, with her being the quietest during our last visit. A couple of days ago, I learned that Rose had passed overnight. I wondered if our visits made her happy, or if we did “enough,” but then I caught myself and reminded myself not to think in terms of failure or success. Even though I have only known her for a few months, I know her smile and quiet presence will always stick with me. She was such a sweet, gentle person and was the first human face I could attribute to my larger aspiration of pursuing a career in the medical field. I want to be there for people like her, people whose families may or may not visit, people who at the end of the day are just people who deserve love, care, and acknowledgment.
I would recommend hospice volunteering to students passionate about the medical field and interested in exploring another side of it. I do not think any experience will be able to truly emulate the sense of loss doctors must feel at their hands, but I appreciate the ways in which this program has allowed me to confront my relationship with death. Besides that, I appreciate having been afforded the opportunity to be in Rose’s life for even a short time and know there are many more patients like her who deserve companionship. That in itself is a wonderful reason to volunteer.