My initial understanding of hospice care, and what it entailed, was through the Being Mortal documentary. It had provided an excellent framework in understanding the importance of end-of-life care and its priorities, but I always worried that any effort I made might not have been enough. Even if I were certain in my intentions, in ensuring the quality of life for a patient, would my actions be enough?
The first time I met “Jane” was when she was playing bingo. She greeted me warmly, and with her permission, I sat next to her and watched her play. When the game is over, I help transport her back to the common room.
“Jane” asks about my family and where I went to school. Although she repeats the same questions she might have asked seconds before, she listens with rapt attention each time I answer her. In turn, I asked her about her school, her family, and her hobbies.
In the following weeks, I visited “Jane,” and I learned a lot about her. “Jane” had grown up in Philadelphia, her parents being a pharmacist and a science teacher. She loved classical music, and during her school years, she learned to play the violin. Later, she tried to learn piano, though she reports that it was to varying success. Aside from music, she enjoyed embroidery and handicrafts, some of which I got to see as one piece was hanging in her room. Each visit I had with “Jane” started and ended with a warm smile.
Some visits started with “Jane” experiencing sundowning, when she could not remember where she was or why she was at the facility. Throughout my visits, I had found that answering her questions directly and providing assurance that there were people around who would help her seemed to provide a lot of comfort to her. By the time I had to leave to get dinner, “Jane” would always be more content than she was at the start of my visit. It felt nice, knowing that I might have helped her in some way.
Unfortunately, from the end of December to the end of January, due to various external circumstances, I was unable to visit “Jane.” When I resumed my normal visits to “Jane,” we were in a familiar scenario, in which “Jane” did not remember where she was, and was worried that she had done something wrong. As usual, I pulled up a chair to sit next to her, and talked to her, assuaging her of any fears that she might have had, and redirecting the conversation to something that was less distressing. Then, I reintroduced myself, fully expecting that “Jane” had forgotten me.
To my surprise, “Jane” had not.
“I remembered you because you were very kind,” she said. And when we moved back to the common room, talking about familiar topics, she remembered details about my life that I had told her before.
Volunteering in hospice has given me a deeper understanding of patient care, particularly in the importance of the connection between patients and their healthcare team. Interacting with “Jane” has helped me realize, on a deeper level, how much that simple human connection can improve a person’s life. I am incredibly grateful for the opportunity to meet “Jane,” not only for her kindness, but in the way she helped me learn how to listen better, to connect better. And as I continue my journey as a pre-med student, these are lessons that I will cherish and remember, as long as I can.