This Day
I just met with a 48-year-old woman with ovarian cancer and her sister. The woman came for a tour of our hospice house and wants to move in after she makes a trip across country to say goodbye to some friends. She is five years older than me and has two daughters: ages 22 and 10.
The prospective resident (let's call her Annie) was very matter-of-fact about why she was visiting. Her sister was less so. Annie is the youngest of four sisters and the baby in the family. Her sisters are used to taking care of her. Now she will be guiding them through her death.
I spent about an hour and a half with them, showing them around and trying to answer their questions. I have adopted a bit of a Tour Guide persona when introducing prospective visitors to our hospice house. If I think they can handle some levity, I'll throw in a couple light-hearted remarks about the "healthy snacks" on the goodie bar, the hospital beds that do everything but drive down the interstate... that sort of thing. Although they've come to tour a hospice house, it doesn't have to be a grim visit. My job is to be friendly, welcoming, helpful and kind. I try to meet people where they are in the process.
This woman stumped me a couple of times. Once was when she asked, "When I am close to death, is there anything you can do to help me along?"
Ummmm. Is she asking what I think she is asking?
I settled on, "Our nurses are experts in symptom management and can help you be comfortable until the end." That's all. We do not hasten anything along.
Later on she asked, "In your experience, do you think I will lose my cognitive ability at the end?"
Oh, my. I played the I'm Not a Medical Professional card. "That's more of a question for your doctor," I added.
Throughout the conversation, her sister sat nearby, weeping. I try to let people just cry when they need to, and not rush to give them handfuls of tissues. Tears can be good for people, and healing, but there is part of me that wants to help them stop. And, it gets unnerving to have someone steadily crying in your presence.
At the end of our meeting, I hugged both of the sisters and assured them we would be here when they needed us. Annie's sister held on to me for a few extra seconds. "It will be okay," I whispered in her ear.
She nodded, and mouthed, "I believe you."