Brenda was dying, and she knew it. Her eyes were sad, and she only spoke in sighs and repeated the phrase “don’t worry about it.” She wasn’t despondent, but willing to smile and cheer up. Despite being admitted into a hospice for Parkinson’s, Brenda retained her individuality and creativity through the puzzles and toys, but she refused to create in under the gawking and quizzical inspection of visitors. She and her life were changing due to her disease, but Brenda was no less human or less deserving of the appropriate dignity.
Hospice volunteering was my existential quest to find meaning and the significance of life by looking at its end. However, I wasn’t the hero or protagonist of this adventure, but a spectator of the lives unfolding before me. My role at first was not an active one; I took the backseat, listening, being present, and witnessing other wiser lives facing the unbeatable final boss called Death. Everyone seemed to be waiting, either for the patient to be defeated or victorious by thwarting Death another time!
In retrospect, my role was not passive, and Death was not the antagonist. Providing palliative or hospice care meant that I served as a patient-oriented advocate for the well-being of people who were facing what no physician can fix: aging and dying. We were not waiting for the patient or death to win, but we were actively trying to meet patients’ needs by eliminating unnecessary suffering and preserving dignity by tending to patients and respecting them. As a volunteer in hospice care, I helped the patients feel more human, connected, and cared for through my interactions with them. Unlike conventional medicine, we weren’t fighting Death at all costs as if it was the antagonist, but we were preserving the patient’s quality of life and well-being at a critical time.
The hospice experience has revealed to me what death and dying look like and how we could better approach them. I believe that I am more equipped in my ability to face death knowing that the alternative of prolonging suffering and an unnatural death is worse. I’ve witnessed the slow decay of memory, identity, self-consciousness, individuality, and freedom in trying to outlast one’s welcome. It’s as if my fear of a natural death has been reduced in light of the greater fear of and loss from an unnatural one.
My time as a hospice volunteer taught me about the impermanence of life, which has given life more significance and meaning. I now understand medicine to be less about fending off Death and more about being patient-centered. I wrestled with the ethical issues regarding end-of-life care, practiced respectful and successful communication with patients with dementia and aphasia, bridged cultural gaps, took care of myself in order to take better care of others, and developed a wiser appreciation for life and death. Palliative care is not the most lustrous vocation. However, it is a meaningful and significant one, and my experiences with hospice care has led me to consider becoming a geriatrician.