“Death is very peaceful” – What it is like to work in the hospice at 21

“Death is very peaceful”
What it’s like to work in a hospice at 21

I honestly don’t remember exactly why I did it. Maybe I wanted to face my fear of loss. Perhaps I also underestimated how existentially the time in the hospice would shake my foundations. When I was little, I often cried in the evenings because I was afraid of losing my mother or my older sister. It seems that I understood very early on that there is death and that it threatens the stability of life. Then I met him during my training as a nurse. Death came sometimes quietly, sometimes unexpectedly and violently. I still remember the first time after a failed resuscitation I stood in front of the monitor and stared in disbelief at the straight line that had just shown the steady heartbeat of a man who had talked to me and joked. Five minutes ago.

I wanted to get to know this stranger better

Death confused me. I met him too often to deny him like most of my peers, but too seldom to get used to him. He was like a stranger who fascinated and disgusted me at the same time. That was probably the decisive point. In order not to break against him, I had to face him. Completely. I volunteered at my hospital’s hospice. I wanted to spend the last months of my training there and I have to say: I don’t regret it. Nowhere else would I have come to appreciate the value of a moment more than there. Because what I was told first was: Forget everything you know about care. None of these people will leave this house alive. All that matters here is the moment.

Death can be very ugly

I had seen death from its ugliest side in the hospital. Here he showed himself differently. Our guests (nobody called the people in the hospice patients) had the opportunity to come to terms with their fate. Some of them were torn from the middle of their lives, but they had time to mourn for this life. They could still resolve a dispute, write letters, share knowledge. And that gave them a peace that I didn’t expect here. But this peace takes time. I was caring for a woman who had a huge tumor in her stomach. “You know,” she told me one day, “when I found out, I screamed. I cried. Complained. I cursed my God and doubted him and hated him. But then there was this one day when I understand that this tumor is going to kill me. It will. Whether I scream or not. So I’ve accepted my fate. ” I still cry when I think about this moment. This helplessness and the acceptance that followed touched me deeply. Even if a quick death might be easier, I wish I had the time to accept my end before I leave.

What I have learned

I have not become a different person. If I had absorbed all the knowledge of the dying when I was 21, then I would have been too ahead of my time. I still wanted to stay young. Fooling around. Make mistakes that I would eventually regret on my deathbed. After all, I am human. And I didn’t get to know anyone in the hospice who wasn’t a bit troubled with the priorities and decisions of their life. That’s part of it and I’m not going to get any better. But one thing I have internalized deeply: Happiness is easier than you think. Sometimes I just sit there and enjoy having two arms that can take care of myself, legs that carry me wherever I want and a mouth that I can use to communicate. Every heartbeat, every brainwave, every movement is a gift. I think I’ve become more relaxed. If I have a big minus in my account after a great vacation, I don’t care. I’ll make up for that again. Real wealth is what you experience. When I’m old or when my time comes, I want to be able to say: I’ve lived. Completely. I may have done stupid things. But there were always moments of happiness and gratitude. If I can say that, then death can come. Then he doesn’t scare me.

People are not just their fate

Today I work in a cardiac catheterization laboratory. There, too, we sometimes have to look death in the eyes. I still find it difficult to deal with grieving relatives. I wish I could explain to all of them what I saw. That death usually goes hand in hand with a peace that transcends our horizon. And that a person’s energy is never buried with his body. The energy remains. This is not a belief but a physical law. I know for myself that people cannot be reduced to their fate. Not even when they are dead. Not when they are grieving. Not when they are sick. People are far more complex than what we see of them. A terminally ill person sometimes has an irrepressible strength. And it stays. Far beyond death.

Barbara