It quickly became clear that hospice work is incredibly intimate and vulnerable. It was intimidating, and letting that intimidation color my actions led to an experience of personal disappointment. At the same time, overcoming that intimidation and opening myself up to genuine connection has been intensely rewarding.
About four months ago, I chose to delay my visit to the hospice center. I had some time, but decided that I didn’t feel like going. I said it would take too much time, or I was too busy, but in reality I felt intimidated by the prospect of going back. I chose to visit my patients the following day. When I woke up the next day I had received an email informing me that one of my patients had passed away.
I had the chance to see him, to talk to him, to make him a little happier maybe, and I chose not to go that day. And I won’t get the chance to do any of those things with him again. How busy was I, really? Did anything I “had” to do that day outweigh that opportunity? No, none of it was truly important. Just school, just work. I feel like even trying to make that comparison, to rationalize my decision, is an insult.
And it was a conscious decision. I even knew the consequences. I understood what it meant for a patient to be in hospice. He wasn’t my first patient to pass away. And still, knowing all this, I put him, and all my patients, second. “To do it tomorrow.”
I am still disappointed in myself, for making that choice. I am disappointed that I will never get the chance to make it up to him. I am sad and disappointed that I will not visit him again. I am disappointed that we won’t see each other, or talk to each other again. And I will do my very best to not make that mistake again.
I have a female patient who recently turned ninety seven. She is my most lucid patient, so it has been special to me to get to talk to her. At first, it was hard to find a topic she wanted to engage with, but as we warmed up to each other it became easier and easier. When she turned ninety seven her family came to the center and held a birthday party, and I was grateful to be able to attend. She really wanted to make sure I ate some of the party food. It was fun.
Through my conversations with her, I think I have learned a bit about how important connection really is. One of the things she loves to talk about the most is her family, her dog, and just generally the people that have touched her life. I am thankful to have the opportunity to be one of those people. I’ve also realized that, as a doctor, I will have that opportunity for an incredible wealth of individuals. It both excites and scares me. I feel I’ll need to make the most of those opportunities, and take no one and no thing for granted.
In working with my patients I think my perspective has changed pretty dramatically. I think I know a bit more about what I should do in order to be an effective caretaker. If I want to help people in the best possible way I can, then I need to connect with people, clinically, sure, but also at a personal, empathetic level. Everyone has a story, and I truly want to hear them.