Why Hospice?

A couple of days ago, I got to attend a nurses' meeting at work, where a bunch of dedicated professionals gathered, all passionate about nursing. At the meeting, we each received a piece of paper with a big question: "Why Hospice?" This really got us thinking about our personal reasons and experiences in hospice care. We were asked to jot down a sentence that summed up why we chose this important area of nursing. For me, the answer was simple but meaningful: hospice is my calling.

The Essence of Hospice Care

Hospice care goes beyond regular healthcare; it's all about focusing on comfort, dignity, and quality of life for people dealing with terminal illnesses. It's a special way of caring that looks at the whole picture, taking care of not just the physical symptoms, but also the emotional, spiritual, and mental needs of patients and their families. From what I've seen, hospice really lets me feel like I'm making a real difference for the people I help.

The Importance of Companionship

One of the toughest parts of hospice care is seeing how many people face their last moments without much company. From what I've seen, the end of life can be really lonely, filled with fear and doubt. Patients often end up surrounded by medical equipment in settings that feel cold and impersonal. That's why I feel grateful to be there, offering a hand to hold, someone to listen, and just being a comforting presence. These experiences remind me how crucial human connection is in easing their suffering.

Making a Meaningful Impact

Being involved in hospice care isn't just about giving medical help; it's about guiding people and their families through a meaningful journey. It's my job to make sure they feel supported and appreciated during one of the toughest times in their lives. This role is both an honor and a big responsibility. I aim to create a space where patients can talk about their fears, share their stories, and find comfort knowing they're not alone. Ultimately, my dedication to hospice care comes from wanting to bring comfort and peace to those transitioning from this life. It's a calling that needs empathy, strength, and a deep understanding of what it means to be human. Every interaction and shared moment strengthens my belief that everyone deserves dignity and respect in their final days, and I'm thankful to be part of that journey.

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When I chat with people about hospice care, a lot of them think our main job is to end lives. It's a common misunderstanding I've run into many times. But let's clear this up: we're not about ending lives; we understand that everyone’s life will naturally come to an end. Death is just a part of being human and happens to all of us, no matter what. In hospice care, we know that while someone might get a final dose of morphine to ease their pain, this doesn't cause death. It's all about managing pain and making sure life is as good as it can be in the final stages. We're not here to speed things up; we're here to bring comfort and support to patients and their families during this tough time. As hospice caregivers, our job is to help people pass away as peacefully and painlessly as possible, surrounded by loved ones in a setting that respects their dignity. We create a space where patients can share their wishes, thoughts, and find peace in their final moments. This way of caring looks at the whole person, addressing not just physical pain, but also emotional, spiritual, and psychological needs. Hospice care also includes the family. We offer resources and support to help them deal with the impending loss and guide them through their grief. This caring approach helps love and connection to thrive, even in such a tough time. So, hospice isn't about ending lives; it's about honoring life’s journey and making sure that when the time comes, people can transition with care, comfort, and respect. We’re committed to making the last chapter of life as meaningful and peaceful as possible, allowing our patients to leave this world surrounded by love, dignity, and peace.

Working in hospice has really changed how I see death and dying. At first, I was pretty scared of death, seeing it as a dark, scary thing that meant losing people and feeling sad and unsure. The idea of losing loved ones or thinking about my own end was overwhelming, so I usually avoided talking about it, hoping that by ignoring it, I could somehow keep it away. But my time in hospice has totally shifted my view, helping me see death as a natural part of life that we don’t need to fear.

In hospice, I've been lucky enough to be there for patients and their families during their last days. It's been both eye-opening and humbling, showing me all the different ways people deal with knowing they’re going to die. Watching how bravely and gracefully many patients handle this has taught me a lot about accepting life’s fleeting nature. I've seen people find peace by looking back on their lives, sharing stories, and showing love and gratitude to those around them. This reflection often helps bring closure, not just for the patients, but also for their families, who are dealing with their own feelings of grief and loss.

Working in hospice has really shown me how crucial it is to talk openly about death. Having honest chats about what people want for their final days, their fears, and hopes lets patients take charge of how they spend their last moments. This sense of control can hugely improve their quality of life, even when facing a terminal illness. I've realized that talking about death doesn't take away from life's value; instead, it makes life richer by building stronger connections and understanding among family and caregivers.

Also, seeing the care that hospice teams provide has convinced me that dying can be a peaceful and dignified experience. By focusing on comfort, pain relief, and emotional support, patients can pass away in a way that honors their wishes and maintains their dignity. This comprehensive approach to end-of-life care has shown me that it's possible to die without suffering, and it gives me hope that the end of life can be a time for reflection, connection, and even joy.

Overall, working in hospice has changed my view of death from something scary to something I accept and understand. I now see it as a natural part of life, a phase that can be handled with grace, dignity, and love. This new perspective hasn't just changed how I see death; it's also deepened my appreciation for life, making me cherish every moment and the relationships I have.

Working in hospice has really changed how I see not just the human body, but also the mind and spirit. Spending a lot of time in a memory care facility has given me insights that have totally reshaped my thoughts on life and death. Many people think dementia is just something you catch or inherit, but I've realized it's not a hereditary condition in the usual sense. Our bodies naturally go through a life cycle, kind of like climbing a mountain: when we're young, everything is vibrant and full of potential as we reach the peak of our abilities. But once we hit that peak, we start to decline, especially in the brain. Dementia is like the brain hitting its limits and starting to go backwards, almost like "dying" in reverse.

While working in hospice, I've had the chance to watch people go through different stages of dementia, spending countless hours with them since I started this journey. I've learned to figure out what stage they're in based on how they talk and act. In the early stages, many people wander around, trying to convince others to let them go home, often sharing stories about recent vacations or their grandkids. As things progress, they start talking about cooking dinner for their kids, even though their kids have grown up and have their own families. This regression continues, and I've seen some patients acting like teenagers again—one patient would dress up for school and sometimes didn't want to go, as if she were still a student. As dementia progresses, people might regress further into childhood, talking about having dinner with their parents or asking where they are, longing for those simpler times. I remember one patient who had vivid hallucinations, sharing past memories in great detail, showing how the mind can hold onto bits of the past even as it fades away. Over time, as their cognitive abilities decline, they often have emotional outbursts like toddlers figuring out their emotions. Eventually, many become bed-bound, completely relying on others for their needs, similar to infants. Despite these huge changes, I've found that many people still stay aware of their surroundings and engage with others, experiencing a unique kind of life regression while still being present. I believe they spend a lot of time in a sleep-like state, maybe reliving their lives like a movie playing in their minds, but stretched out over years instead of seconds.

My Nana went through this tough journey for three years, with nature taking its course on her 92nd birthday. I'm so thankful for the caring hospice nurse who came to her funeral; back then, I was confused and sad, not yet a hospice nurse myself. I wondered how someone who barely knew her could speak so beautifully at her funeral. But now I get it—the bond formed between hospice caregivers, patients, and their families during such a critical time is really special. You're there during one of the hardest times in their lives, offering support and comfort as they deal with the slow decline of their loved ones. It's a deep honor to be trusted with this responsibility, helping people and families stay afloat in the face of such profound loss. This experience has shaped how I understand life, death, and the connections we make, highlighting the importance of compassion and empathy when facing life's toughest challenges.

Here's something interesting: if someone used to know another language but stopped using it, they might start speaking it fluently again when they regress to a time in their life when they still spoke that language. Take my Nana, for example. She hadn't spoken much Italian since her sister passed away years ago. But I remember when she hit that stage because she suddenly started chatting with everyone in Italian. At my workplace now, there's a resident who only speaks Spanish. Before she got to this point in her regression, she also spoke English, but she doesn't anymore.

I talk about all this in a post called “Why Hospice?” because it really ties into my reasons. Not all our patients have dementia; some are dealing with cancer or other issues that brought them to hospice care. I mainly work with those who have dementia, probably because of my Nana. It's scary to start reliving everything, thinking it's real, and then constantly being snapped back to the present without knowing what's going on. To me, that sounds terrifying. When they start wandering without knowing where they're going, it's because they're following a path in their mind, not the one in reality. That's why you hear stories about them walking into traffic.

Being there for these patients and their families, helping them through their tough times, makes me feel fulfilled, like I'm doing something amazing with my life and have a real purpose. That’s my why!

Here's a video of my daughter spreading joy among the residents at the place I visit. She has such a big heart and welcomes everyone, no matter their age or background. She just loves people. That's what I wish for everyone in this world—to love others and support them.