The spark of a thousand neurons interconnected creates what we know as “love.” Although it’s rooted in biology, love often transcends time itself, enduring hardship, illness and fading memory. To love and be loved is an essential part of being human. Through circumstances where is most appearance and words matter less, emotion becomes most valued. Love has the power to soften the toughest misfortunes creating the happiest moments even in environments where illness and uncertainty are present.
During my time volunteering at Keystone Hospice through Athena Institute, I had the privilege of meeting many patients, each with their own story. Among them, one patient, whom I will call “Maria,” left a particularly lasting impression on me.
From our first visit, “Maria” stood out. She greeted everyone with warmth and curiosity, eager to engage despite her limited ability to speak clearly. Her words sometimes came slowly, and forming sentences required effort, yet her enthusiasm for conversation never faded. She leaned forward as we spoke, listening attentively, nodding and smiling, determined not to let her limitations become barriers to connection.
In our early visits we mostly engaged in small talk. We spoke about simple things, career, why we were there, traffic, things we enjoyed, or the movie softly playing in the background of the hospice room. Each exchange reminded me that meaningful human connection does not require perfect communication; it requires presence.
One visit, however, changed how I understood the depth of the relationships we were witnessing.
As we sat beside her bed, “Maria” suddenly looked around the room with concern. After a moment she turned to us and asked softly, “Have you seen my husband?”
“Maria” paused. She could not remember his name, nor describe his appearance. Yet she remained certain of one thing.
“I haven’t seen him all day,” she said.
In that moment it was clear that illness had eroded her memory, but something deeper still lingered. The presence of love. Even though disease may affect the brain’s ability to recall names, faces, and events there was still the presence of an emotional bond with someone that had shaped their life that remained embedded deeper.
Experiences like this shaped my understanding of patient care.
Athena Institute provided far more than an introduction to healthcare settings. It offered a window into the human side of medicine. Through patient visits, conversations with nurses, and time spent observing the hospice care team, I began to appreciate the complexity and compassion involved in caring for individuals at the most vulnerable stages of life.
Listening to patients’ stories gave me a new perspective on medicine. I came to understand that medicine is not solely about diagnosing illnesses or prescribing treatments, it is about understanding people. One phrase that resonated deeply with me during this experience was: “You treat a disease, you may win or lose. You treat a person, I guarantee you’ll win—no matter the outcome.”
Hospice care embodies this philosophy. Even when curing disease is no longer possible, there remains an opportunity to provide comfort, dignity, and human connection. Something as simple as sitting beside a patient, sharing conversation, or listening to their stories can bring immense comfort. In many cases, conversation itself becomes a form of medicine. For this I’ve realized that medicine is not only a scientific discipline but also a deeply human one. It requires empathy, patience, and the willingness to be present with others during both their struggles and their triumphs.
Because of this I am proud to say that my time at Athena Institute has strengthened my desire to pursue a career in medicine because it showed me the profound impact that compassionate care can have.