One of my most meaningful hospice relationships has been with a patient I will call “SF.” “SF” recently turned 72 years old. He is immobile and constantly suffering from many physical problems, but despite this, he is humorous, kind, and patient. Every time I visit him, he tells me stories from his past, especially about his military experience and his life as a prison guard. When I walk into his room, he is usually energetic and talkative, and it feels like I am stepping into pieces of his history. Listening to him reminds me that every patient has lived a full and complex life beyond their illness.
However, there are moments when “SF” expresses grief about his disability. He often tells me that he never wanted to be in bed for this long. Sometimes he worries that he is wasting medical resources and feels guilty for needing so much care. During those moments, I try my best to reassure him that he matters and that he deserves treatment just like anyone else. These conversations taught me that patients are not only dealing with physical pain but also emotional struggles, including fear, guilt, and loss of independence. Being present for those emotions has helped me better understand what compassionate care truly means.
Besides “SF,” another patient who deeply impacted me was “DM.” He was an older man with a gentle personality and a great sense of humor. Before he passed, I would see him every other week, rotating visits between him and “SF.” “DM” used to be a teacher, and you could feel his kindness and patience in the way he spoke. Even though he had taught many students in his life, I believe he also taught me one final lesson.
One moment with “DM” stands out clearly in my memory. One day, I sang for him the song “That’s Life” by Frank Sinatra. As I was singing, I saw his face brighten up. He looked happy and surprised, and when I looked into his eyes, I felt like I could see stories of his life—joy, struggles, and peace. I began tearing up, but I wanted to give him a good performance, so I tried my best to hold my emotions in. In that moment, it felt like I walked through his life with him, and strangely, I also felt peaceful. It was a feeling I had never experienced before. Every time I said goodbye to him, I would always say, “I will see you next time,” even though deep down I knew that might not be true. Eventually, there was a last time, and that moment became one of the most impactful experiences of my life.
This hospice experience has changed me in ways I did not expect. Last semester, I began doubting whether I should continue pursuing medical school. I started looking for jobs and felt like giving up on that path. However, I never stopped going to hospice volunteering. Through my time with patients like “SF” and “DM,” I realized that I truly want to care for people, heal people, and be there for them when they need support the most. Just like the message in Being Mortal, I learned that medicine is not only about prolonging life but also about preserving dignity and quality of life.
Now, I am fully committed to pursuing medical school after taking a planned gap year and hopefully working as a medical assistant. Over the past few weeks, I have felt happier, more motivated, and more hopeful about my future than ever before. This hospice experience has been truly meaningful and life-changing, and I am deeply grateful for the lessons my patients have shared with me.