Hospice volunteering introduced me to a more compassionate understanding of care, one centered not on curing illness but on honoring the final chapter of a person’s life with dignity, presence, and compassion. One patient interaction in particular shaped my perspective early in my experience.
At the start of my hospice volunteering, I was especially eager and hopeful going into my first visit with a patient I will call “Mrs. L”. After reading her file, I noticed that we shared several interests, which made me excited to meet her. Wanting to make a thoughtful first impression, I brought her a handmade card and sat beside her, ready to talk and listen.
Unfortunately, during the very week of my visit, her condition had rapidly worsened. She was unresponsive the entire time I was there. Instead of the conversation I had imagined, I spent the visit sitting quietly beside her, speaking softly and keeping her company. I did not know if she could hear me, but I hoped that my presence still offered some comfort. As I sat there, I found myself wondering whether I would get to see her again; I felt a quiet sadness knowing I had not been able to meet the vibrant person described in her chart.
Before my next scheduled visit, “Mrs. L” passed away.
Although brief, that experience set the tone for the rest of my hospice work. It taught me that every interaction with a patient is a privilege and that presence itself can be meaningful. In hospice care, moments are often fleeting, and there is no guarantee of tomorrow. As such, simply being there, listening, sitting in silence, or offering companionship, can hold profound value.
This idea resonated deeply with the themes presented in Being Mortal. The film emphasizes that medicine is not only about extending life but also about ensuring that patients spend their remaining time with meaning and dignity. Watching it reinforced what I had begun to learn through hospice: the importance of honoring the patient. As such, the most important question is not always how to fight the disease, but instead identifying what matters to the patient most in the time they have left. My visit with “Mrs. L” reminded me that care does not always look like treatment. Sometimes it looks like presence.
As my hospice experience continued, I increasingly became more aware of how differently patients experience time. During a recent visit, I met a patient for the first time. As our conversation came to an end, I casually said, “I will see you next week.” I spoke the words without much thought, the same way one might when leaving any ordinary conversation.
She paused and responded quietly, “If the Lord lets me.” She then began to pray.
At that moment, I realized how much I take for granted the simple assumption that tomorrow will come. For many hospice patients, the future is uncertain in a way that most of us rarely confront. They do not know whether they will make it to next week, or even the next day. Hearing her words made me pause and reflect on how easily I assume that time is guaranteed.
Through my hospice visits, I have also noticed a shift in my own mindset. Early on, I often felt pressure to fill silence or carry conversations. Over time, however, I learned that listening is often more valuable than speaking. Many patients simply want someone who will sit with them and genuinely value what they are willing to share. By offering my attention and patience, I began to see how deeply meaningful those moments could be for both of us.
These experiences have shaped how I view both patient care and my own sense of purpose. As a student pursuing a career in medicine, I am often surrounded by discussions of diagnostics, treatments, and procedures. Hospice reminded me that while those tools are essential, they are only part of caring for another human being. Empathy, presence, and respect for a patient’s values are equally important aspects of care.
Participating in this hospice program has helped me understand that medicine is not solely about prolonging life, but about supporting people through every stage of it. It has strengthened my commitment to becoming a physician who values not only clinical skill but also compassion and human connection. The lessons I learned through hospice will remain central to the kind of doctor I hope to become.