In the past, my friends would always joke around when trying to persuade me to take a leap of faith or do something outrageous by saying, “What’s the worst that could happen?” Immediately, I would respond with one simple phrase: “I could die.” Before working hospice, death was not a subject that I had ever thought about in great detail nor had any experience with, but I automatically assumed it was one of the worst things that could ever happen to someone. Whether this automated response was a result of how death was stigmatized and perceived within my world or simply a direct outcome from my naiveness, death was not something that I could fully comprehend. If I were asked to define death and the dying process a few years ago, I would have associated it with feelings of defeat, permanence, and sorrow. My disoriented perception of death did not alter until I began working as a volunteer for hospice and witnessed how death affected my patients first-hand.
After engaging weekly with my patients, I suddenly realized that death is not a process which is inevitably filled with darkness, heartache, and despair. Yet, death can emit sensations of relief, acceptance, and joy. One specific interaction that led me to this profound realization was with one of my patients named “Ralph.” Ralph, although visibly declining, tried to remain in high spirits but often times was in a great amount of discomfort and pain. I vividly remember one distinct conversation I had with Ralph where he expressed to me the large amount of pain he was in, as he was losing circulation in his arms and his skin chafing off the tops of his hands. Although there was nothing I could say at the time to relieve or ease his pain, allowing Ralph to speak freely was beneficial to both me and him. In this moment, Ralph openly told me that he viewed death as an outlet of his agony and helped teach me that death provides these expiring individuals with liberation from pain and suffering, which is a beautiful thing for many.
Another experience that provided me with sincere insight on what death truly is, was an experience that I had with an older male patient who was reminiscing about his past that he had with his deceased wife. During the conversation, I was able to see my patient’s eyes light up as he described in significant detail what his wife was like and showed me old pictures of the two of them riding camels together in the middle of the desert. This interaction taught me that death is not merely a mourning process, but is a celebration of a meaningful life. After sharing with me how he wished he still had the chance to tell his wife how beautiful she truly was, my patient defined for me what it meant to never take a moment for granted.
As a result of the hospice volunteer program, I became a better active listener and was exposed to death in a way which I had previously never experienced. By exploring a new side of health care, I was able to gain empathy and compassion skills which I would not have been able to receive elsewhere. I now know that medical care is much more than a diagnosis or a treatment plan. With each conversation and interaction, no matter how minimal or seemingly unimportant, I learned that what may seem like nothing to one person, can mean the world to someone else.