I realized yesterday that I have two blog posts with the same title within less than a week of each other. While that can, in part, be chalked up to sleep deprivation, it is more likely a reflection on what is high priority right now. While I would still consider it early in the academic year of my current HPM fellowship, of the rotations I've done over the years, the one place I am always sad to leave is hospice. I realize to some that will sound crazy. The thought of hospice typically conjures ideas of deep, soul-wrenching sadness on a regular basis. How could someone want to be in a place such as that? I think part of it, for me, is that I've seen the light and hope that hospice can bring back to a person and their family. My paternal grandmother was a testament to that. She went from being someone who suffered with severe nausea and fatigue from her chemotherapy to someone who could travel to enjoy her grandchildren. I remember going to visit her as a kid, and having to go for two weeks at a time just to make sure we got one good week with her. I remember the day trips my parents would take us on that I later learn coincided with "bad days" post-chemotherapy. At the time, I was unaware of her suffering because she and my parents worked diligently to hide it from us grandchildren. I realize now that, while those day trips were fun, they were one less day spent with my grandmother. It is a shame that we lost them, but I am so thankful for the days that we got back through hospice. I don't know that there would have been any other way for her to make the drive to Virginia to visit my brother, sister, and me. Even though she required IV medications to treat her symptoms, she was comfortable and happy with us. She was able to laugh and play and teach us the skills she had to share. I could never be more thankful than for those days with her. The thought of being able to do this for other grandchildren and grandparents is so unbelievably important to me. This is what hospice is to me. It is sad in knowing that I typically have such a short time with my patients to give them this opportunity, but the fact that I may be able to give them enough peace to enjoy their loved ones is unquestioningly worth it. Even for those who are too close to death, we can help to ease their suffering. It's a team effort, but it is so important to show patients, their loved ones, and other health professionals that death does not have to be the enemy or a failure. It is as natural to life as our own birth. Certainly, we all hope for more time than we have, but if life was unlimited, it would have very little meaning. No matter how long my time is, I want to be able to use it to help the most people I can. If I can ease a person's suffering, comfort their loved ones, and help support my fellow medical team, then I will have done what I set out to do in making a meaningful career.
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