When I started my hospice volunteering experience, I worried about being bothersome to my patients and not having the right personality to provide comfort. I wanted to be a helpful part of their care team, but I doubted whether I could guide conversations or recognize when a patient preferred to talk, listen, or sit in silence. Over time, however, I learned there was no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ way to conduct a visit. What mattered most was not what I said or did, but simply being present and attuned to my patient’s needs.
I visited one patient, ‘Macy,’ throughout my time as a hospice volunteer, and each visit had its own rhythm. During our first visit, Macy was tired, and we mostly sat quietly together, listening to music her daughter mentioned she liked. As I left that day, I worried my presence had disrupted her rest rather than providing comfort. I knew from my training that visits with little conversation were normal, but I still doubted whether I had been helpful.
The next time I visited, Macy was more energetic and eager to talk. As we spoke, I learned more about who she was—a wife, mother, grandmother, teacher, and gardener. She was so many things beyond simply my patient, and it reminded me how meaningful it is to hear people’s stories. Over time, we became more comfortable in our visits, and I picked up on her preferences. She always liked a fresh cup of water when I arrived, preferred the television volume lowered, and wanted her chair adjusted so she could see me while we talked. Small details like these helped me realize I was learning to attend to her needs in a way that felt natural. More importantly, I saw how simply being there—whether talking or quietly providing companionship—helped her feel cared for. This experience reinforced that every patient interaction matters, no matter how small.
Another important lesson I learned was the value of my role in Macy’s care team. At first, I hesitated to ask the receptionist for a cup of water or the nurse whether I was allowed to adjust Macy’s position. I worried about interrupting their work. But as I continued visiting, the nurses recognized me and were happy to answer my questions. I realized we all had the same goal: to improve patient care. My role, however small, was part of a larger effort to make Macy comfortable. This understanding made me more confident in my ability to provide care and reinforced the importance of teamwork in healthcare.
My time with Macy also shaped my understanding of care. Before this experience, I thought of healthcare primarily as identifying treatment to extend life. Through my hospice work, I came to appreciate that care is not just about medical interventions—it is also about ensuring that patients are comfortable and feel valued. My visits with Macy were not about curing a condition but about offering companionship and support in whatever way she needed. This experience deepened my understanding of how small, thoughtful actions—noticing new decorations, closing the door to keep out loud noises, or simply sitting beside someone—can significantly impact a patient’s quality of life.
This realization reinforced that patients are more than medical cases; they are individuals with stories, relationships, and needs beyond physical treatment. As a future physician, I want to create space for meaningful patient interactions by listening, learning about them beyond their health conditions, and recognizing small details that make them feel cared for. While medicine may not always offer a cure, compassion and presence will always be essential in improving a patient’s experience.