A couple of months ago, I read Devra Lee Fishman's Hospice Girl Friday
piece, 'The Loner'. Fishman's column describes her various experiences
as a hospice volunteer; the piece that I read wonderfully captured her
internal struggle to first understand and then carry out the wishes of a
dying patient. (Here is a link to the three-minute read for those
interested.)
'The
Loner' recounts the initial struggle to accept the wishes of a patient.
Not until Fishman recognizes that the struggle stems from her own need
to define the terms of her death is she able to serve the hospice in a
way that honors the wishes of the patient and the patient's family.
The
article reminded me of the first lesson I learned as a hospice
volunteer. My initial assignment was to visit a patient in his home and
sit in the living room while his caregivers (his daughter and his wife)
took a break together and went to a nearby yoga class. Though I was
encouraged to interact with the patient, he was very sick at this point
and often spent hours in bed, unresponsive. So, I introduced
myself, bid the caregivers a good time, and went into the living room to wait.
To
sit quietly in that house and wait for the caregivers to return from
yoga went, to paraphrase an expression Fishman used in her article,
against my instincts as a volunteer. Perhaps a more accurate way to put
it was that it went against my intentions as a volunteer. I was happy to
serve as asked, of course, but I struggled to understand how I was
contributing to the situation.
The training program for new
volunteers had included five three-hour sessions spread over one month.
During these sessions, I had learned how a volunteer is there to serve,
not to fix, and repeated the idea with conviction any chance I had to do
so. But as the hour ticked by on my maiden home visit, I admitted to
myself that talk is cheap. What good was I serving to sit on the couch
and lose staring contests with the cat?
I understood
when the caregivers returned. The house was filled with a renewed
post-yoga energy that contrasted with the grateful but weary fatigue that
greeted my arrival. Plans were made to order pizza during my next visit.
By simply remaining in the home and allowing the caregivers a worry-free moment to
recharge, I had allowed them to return as a stronger presence for their
loved one. The cause of the great sadness in the house could not be
fixed; the buoyant spirit at the end of my visit could lift the patient
during his final days.
The lesson I took home with me that day
was that, no matter what I could do as a volunteer, nothing
would beat the care, attention, or love from someone's friends or
family. It meant that in some cases my most valuable role would be to simply offer my presence to allow others the peace of mind required to re-energize during a difficult and draining time.
The thought ran counter to my original
intent as a volunteer. I think in my mind I envisioned hospice
volunteering as a wondrous world of deep spiritual exploration. There
would be many soul-expanding conversations about the great mysteries of
life and death. If I ever had anything truly important to say, I would
place two hands firmly around a cup of hot tea and make my remarks with
the solemn air of a great mystic.
The reality is much better.
By
lending a caregiver an hour to take care of themselves or helping a
visitor find their way around the hospice residence, I can serve a
patient's wishes for their final weeks in the most important way; by
maximizing the quality of time they share in the company and attention
of dear friends and close family. This was the most important lesson I
learned in volunteering over the past year. By my good luck, I happened
to learn it on my first day.
