Over the course of the past eight months, I have had the pleasure of growing close to an 84-year-old woman suffering from congestive heart failure. With her being hard of hearing, initially I struggled quite a bit to grow close to her using my typical communications skills. At first, I tried using whiteboards and notebooks to attempt to communicate but began to feel a gap between us as a patient and a volunteer. As much as I can use a pen and paper to communicate, at the end of the day it is still just ink on paper, lacking the true emotional intimacy of human conversation. Using our shared interests and personal history, I took it upon myself to adapt my verbal communication and body language techniques to talk person-to-person rather than paper-to-person, growing far closer in the process. Though, in the end, longer conversations were still difficult, I realized that not every patient interaction is defined by verbal communication alone, and I know now that my patient can feel comforted by my presence alone.
As my patient began to reach the end of her life, I became confronted by her tangible fear of death in a way that I had never experienced before. Our conversations about our life and interests began to shift to her personal worries and confusion about her declining mental and physical state. As her health began to change, so did her room and the environment around her, and these stark differences began to take a true toll on her mental state. During this time, I struggled to find the right words to ease her anxiety and inner turmoils, and the gap in our communication began to feel a lot wider. To reflect on the words of Atul Gawande, properly addressing end-of-life and failing my patient altogether were worries that were constantly stuck in my mind. I began to realize that being a vessel to listen to her worries and being able to find the words, whether they properly reached her or not, were enough to give her relief during these times. The value of human connection was really paramount in these moments, and the time I had spent growing closer to her in the months prior became invaluable.
Working in hospice showed me a level of health decline, emotional vulnerability, and human intimacy that I had never quite experienced before. These people, regardless of beliefs and background, embraced those around them, including me, for closeness in the face of death. Every visit created excitement on the faces of the other patients around me, and being able to not only comfort my patient but also those around her was very fulfilling for me. Just a single conversation was enough to bring change to the daily routines of these people, and I learned the real value of emotional connection during a time like this.
Death and talking about death are always going to be challenging topics, but I now feel confident to be able to comfort those around me who may be struggling with it. Emotional intimacy and human connection will always be important, and when facing death, it is all the more relevant. I will continue to hold these values in mind during patient interactions and become the support they need to find peace in passing.