My Hospice Experience
Last Friday, I
had an experience I won't likely forget. My
friend Melanie & I went to Odyssey Healthcare,
a hospice organization, to take a training from our
friend Lorrie about how to work with hospice patients
as I go volunteer with them, doing StoryKeeper
work.
We started off with several little pieces of paper in front of me. She had me write 3 people I love (I wrote Scott, Mom and Dad.) Then 3 things I cherish (I wrote my home, my scrapbooks, and my new car). Then 3 things I like to do (I put yoga, singing, and running). Then 3 traits that I like about myself (I put well-organized, compassionate and brave).
I'm thinking to myself "ooo, fun, I love games!"
Then Lorrie began, "One morning, you notice a lump. You go to the doctor and your worst fear is confirmed: it's cancer." And she asked me to rip up 3 of my little sheets of paper. I picked my new car, running, and well-organized. I figured those things arent' going to be of much value or use to me now!
I'm thinking to myself "ok, this isn't a game. I don't like this."
She continues... "It's now 4 months later and the cancer is getting worse. You have no choice but to try chemo now. You feel awful." And again, rip up 3 more papers (the papers are seeming more like valuables now). I chose my home, yoga, and compassionate.
I figure the time for being compassionate about others is past. And all that yoga did me no good, I still got cancer. And I can live without my home, so long as I have my loved ones, my memories (scrapbooks), and I am brave enough to fight this cancer.
I'm thinking to myself "wow, this really sucks." I have a lump in my throat and I'm holding back tears.
She goes on... "It's now 4 more months later. The chemo didn't take, and it is inevitable that you're not going to make it. Hospice comes in to help make your last time more comfortable." This time she came over and chose which 3 to rip up. She ripped up scrapbooks ("good thing I made time to create those when I was healthy"), singing ("not gonna be doing much singing now") and brave ("apparently my bravery wasn't enough").
I realize that her taking the papers this time signifies the lack of control that dying people have over their lives. Sometimes they don't get to die in peace in their home. Sometimes their loved ones can't handle the emotion, and drop out of their lives when they need them most. Sometimes they can't sit up and enjoy the company that comes to visit.
At this point, I'm unabashedly crying. I don't care that there's other people in the room, I can't help it.
Now, Lorrie has us write down 3 things we want to do with the precious little time we have left. I choose:
1. make sure my personal life history is recorded
2. write letters to my kids to be read at significant monuments in their lives to come (graduation, wedding, first child, etc.)
3. have my family nearby doing anything
This was a poignant exercise for me, and brought some things into focus that I hadn't realized before.
With Gramma Torrey's passing last Decem ber, I realized that I was trying so hard to do all the right things. I called Gramma often, I helped Mom make big decisions, I helped arrange the travel plans for me, Mom & Jeff, and I helped with the funeral plans, and I made amends with Laurel after not speaking for about a year. It was a big, emotional time. Yet, I was so busy doing all the good things I knew I needed to do and should do that I don't think I ever really just grieved Gramma's passing.
Sure, I cried at the funeral. But on Friday, I really grieved. I felt sad that I don't have her in my life anymore. I felt sad that our society is such that families don't live close together anymore. I felt guilty wondering if I did enough for her. Did she leave this earth knowing I loved her? Was there more I should've done?
And then I thought about those final "picks" that I didn't rip up. If life was coming to its end, the only things that matter are family. All I wanted to keep was my family.
If, heaven-forbid, I died a premature death, would I leave things on good terms with my family? That's all that matters. Would Shadd remember me as the mom who constantly nagged him about his homework and church responsibilities? Would Brendon feel all alone in the world now, like it's him against Scott, Shadd & Chance? Would Chance remember me as the mom who said "not tonight" to his request for a bedtime story more than "glad to honey"? And would Scott really mourn me, or would he put on a strong happy face and never deal with the pain of losing the only person who ever really believed in him?
These are horrible thoughts, that I wouldn't wish on anyone. But then again, given the soul-searching it's caused me to do, perhaps I would wish it on EVERYone. If you're reading this, go home today and be a better spouse, a better parent, a better child, a better grandchild.
I know I will.
We started off with several little pieces of paper in front of me. She had me write 3 people I love (I wrote Scott, Mom and Dad.) Then 3 things I cherish (I wrote my home, my scrapbooks, and my new car). Then 3 things I like to do (I put yoga, singing, and running). Then 3 traits that I like about myself (I put well-organized, compassionate and brave).
I'm thinking to myself "ooo, fun, I love games!"
Then Lorrie began, "One morning, you notice a lump. You go to the doctor and your worst fear is confirmed: it's cancer." And she asked me to rip up 3 of my little sheets of paper. I picked my new car, running, and well-organized. I figured those things arent' going to be of much value or use to me now!
I'm thinking to myself "ok, this isn't a game. I don't like this."
She continues... "It's now 4 months later and the cancer is getting worse. You have no choice but to try chemo now. You feel awful." And again, rip up 3 more papers (the papers are seeming more like valuables now). I chose my home, yoga, and compassionate.
I figure the time for being compassionate about others is past. And all that yoga did me no good, I still got cancer. And I can live without my home, so long as I have my loved ones, my memories (scrapbooks), and I am brave enough to fight this cancer.
I'm thinking to myself "wow, this really sucks." I have a lump in my throat and I'm holding back tears.
She goes on... "It's now 4 more months later. The chemo didn't take, and it is inevitable that you're not going to make it. Hospice comes in to help make your last time more comfortable." This time she came over and chose which 3 to rip up. She ripped up scrapbooks ("good thing I made time to create those when I was healthy"), singing ("not gonna be doing much singing now") and brave ("apparently my bravery wasn't enough").
I realize that her taking the papers this time signifies the lack of control that dying people have over their lives. Sometimes they don't get to die in peace in their home. Sometimes their loved ones can't handle the emotion, and drop out of their lives when they need them most. Sometimes they can't sit up and enjoy the company that comes to visit.
At this point, I'm unabashedly crying. I don't care that there's other people in the room, I can't help it.
Now, Lorrie has us write down 3 things we want to do with the precious little time we have left. I choose:
1. make sure my personal life history is recorded
2. write letters to my kids to be read at significant monuments in their lives to come (graduation, wedding, first child, etc.)
3. have my family nearby doing anything
This was a poignant exercise for me, and brought some things into focus that I hadn't realized before.
With Gramma Torrey's passing last Decem ber, I realized that I was trying so hard to do all the right things. I called Gramma often, I helped Mom make big decisions, I helped arrange the travel plans for me, Mom & Jeff, and I helped with the funeral plans, and I made amends with Laurel after not speaking for about a year. It was a big, emotional time. Yet, I was so busy doing all the good things I knew I needed to do and should do that I don't think I ever really just grieved Gramma's passing.
Sure, I cried at the funeral. But on Friday, I really grieved. I felt sad that I don't have her in my life anymore. I felt sad that our society is such that families don't live close together anymore. I felt guilty wondering if I did enough for her. Did she leave this earth knowing I loved her? Was there more I should've done?
And then I thought about those final "picks" that I didn't rip up. If life was coming to its end, the only things that matter are family. All I wanted to keep was my family.
If, heaven-forbid, I died a premature death, would I leave things on good terms with my family? That's all that matters. Would Shadd remember me as the mom who constantly nagged him about his homework and church responsibilities? Would Brendon feel all alone in the world now, like it's him against Scott, Shadd & Chance? Would Chance remember me as the mom who said "not tonight" to his request for a bedtime story more than "glad to honey"? And would Scott really mourn me, or would he put on a strong happy face and never deal with the pain of losing the only person who ever really believed in him?
These are horrible thoughts, that I wouldn't wish on anyone. But then again, given the soul-searching it's caused me to do, perhaps I would wish it on EVERYone. If you're reading this, go home today and be a better spouse, a better parent, a better child, a better grandchild.
I know I will.
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