Over the past four months, my time with my patient has defined my experience as a hospice volunteer. While our relationship has not been particularly deep in the traditional sense, my presence in her life, while it is fleeting in her memory, has given me an appreciation for the subtleties of patient care. My patient struggles with significant memory loss, often forgetting not just me but also her family members. Still, each time I visit, she greets me with warmth, a brief but genuine moment of recognition and happiness. Her joy, even in its transience, has been a quiet reminder that presence itself holds value, even when its impact is impermanent. Every time I visit, she asks who I am here to see and is equally as surprised to learn I am there for her.
My time with my patient has also been intertwined with my time with her husband, who recently passed away. Though he was not my assigned patient, his presence in our visits was unavoidable and, over time, meaningful. His passing was not just an absence in my patient’s life but a visible void—his name was removed from their door, and their double bed was replaced with a single one. Through her, I witnessed not just the loss of an individual but the transformation of a shared life into solitude. It was a stark reminder that hospice care is not just about attending to the patient but also about acknowledging the life they have built, the relationships they have nurtured, and the dignity they deserve in their final days.
This experience has not drastically changed how I see myself or my role in patient care, but it has refined my understanding of what it means to “make a difference.” Initially, I struggled with the idea that my presence did not have a lasting impact—after all, my patient would forget I had even visited. But there was a moment, after her husband’s passing, when she actually recognized me. She was happy to see me, not because of who I was specifically, but simply because I was there. That moment taught me that making a difference is not always about grand gestures or transformative change; sometimes, it is about consistency, about showing up, about offering comfort in small but meaningful ways.
Reflecting on my hospice experience in the context of my future in medicine, I see its value not just in how it shaped my understanding of patient care but also in how it has prepared me to approach my future patients with compassion and presence. The reality of terminal illness and end-of-life care is not just about treatment but about dignity, connection, and presence. Watching Being Mortal reinforced these lessons, highlighting that medical interventions can only do so much and that often, what matters most to patients is how they live in their final days rather than how long they live. At the end of the day, everyone will pass away and doctors are not Gods, but just there to help to the best of their ability.
As I prepare for a career in medicine, I will carry this experience with me. My patient may not remember me, but she has left an imprint on my understanding of patient care. In medicine, just as in hospice, it is not always about curing; it is about caring. Sometimes, making a difference means simply being there, even if only for a moment.