Life Lessons from Working at a Hospice

In July 2023, I will have been working on the Marketing Communications team at my local hospice for two whole years. It feels like I’ve been there so much longer than that, though. I don’t want to be dramatic, but t’s the first job I’ve ever worked in where I actually feel happy. I feel part of something special. Admittedly, when I first joined, I knew very little about palliative care, and the concept of death scared the hell out of me. I was aware that hospices aren’t necessarily places where you go to die, but a large part of me would always steer towards that view, as I’m sure is the case for most of us. I knew that this particular charity had a fantastic reputation within our community, and I knew a number of people who had been supported by them. But that was it. That summer feels like a lifetime away now. Since then, not only have I made some wonderful friends, but I’ve learned so much. I’ve learned things that I probably wouldn’t have even considered had this not been my job, so today I want to share some of those lessons with you.

Death shouldn’t be taboo

It’s the age old thing – no one likes talking about death. I’ve always had a morbid sense of humour, so the topic of death wasn’t exactly a no-go for me, although there was always a jokey element about it. However, it would often follow with an awkward silence as people quietly questioned whether or not I was okay. I was (okay, I still am) that person who takes a joke about death too far. But, humour is my coping mechanism.

Since I started my role, I’ve learned more and more about the fact that death shouldn’t be one of those topics we shy away from. Yes, it’s not a pleasant topic, but the more we actually do talk about it, the more it’ll be de-stigmatised. It means that we start those conversations about the things we wouldn’t normally think about until it’s too late – what we want at our funeral, who we leave our possessions to, even the smaller things like what happens to our social media accounts when we die.

Here’s a casing example – it was only in 2022 (after seven years of marriage and two years of living in the house we bought together), that my husband and I made wills. I can honestly say it probably wasn’t something I would have pushed for us to do if I hadn’t been working in the job I’m in. Looking back, I feel stupid that we didn’t do it sooner.

There’s an episode of How I Met Your Mother where Marshall and Lily make ‘death folders’ after they get married. The comedic element comes from Marshall writing a letter to Lily that she would open in the event of his death. After putting tons of emotion into his letter, he becomes curious to see what she’s written in hers, and decides to peek in her folder. However, he’s shocked to find that her letter consists of account numbers and basic instructions like “cancel Vogue,” and naturally, hilarity ensues.

Sitcoms aside, you’ve got to admit they have a point. My job has certainly got me thinking more about this sort of thing, and while I haven’t made a “death folder” yet (give it time – it’s one of my 30 After 30 goals), it’s certainly something I’d like to do in the future. Not even because I have a morbid way of thinking – I want to do it because I should. I want to make sure that I’m cremated rather than buried, and on a lighter note, I want to make sure that Taylor Swift is played at my funeral, that everyone donates to Cats Protection, and that the wine doesn’t stop flowing.

My point is, let’s not be afraid to talk about death.

Hospices aren’t just places where you go to die

This is one view that needs work. For many people, the idea of a hospice is that you go in, and you don’t come out. It was certainly the case with my dad – when we realised his illness was terminal, the idea of him going into the hospice came up a few times, and he was really against it, but it was purely to manage his pain so that we could get him home.

Yes, it’s true that someone might go into a hospice to spend the last few days of their life. But that’s not the only reason. Someone might go into a hospice to get their symptoms under control. They may go in for a few days to give their carers a much-needed break. They may go in for pain management.

On top of all that though, many hospices offer so much more than inpatient care. They can offer day sessions, psychological support, bereavement support, and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. So many people hear the word “hospice” and think “death” – but anyone who actually works in one will tell you that there’s SO much more to it than that. It’s more about living than we all realise.

A “good death” is possible

We’re all going to die. As they say in my favourite musical, Avenue Q: “except for death and paying taxes, everything in life is only for now.” We’re programmed to see death as this horrible, horrible thing. As someone recently bereaved, I can say that’s 100% true – death sucks. But whether we like it or not, it’s going to happen. Again, I’ve witnessed a lot of these conversations in my job, and one of the truest things I’ve heard is from Dr Kathryn Mannix:

“We’re going to die. And it’s not going to be your best day. But it’s probably not going to be your worst day, either. You’ve probably already had your worst day.”

So, if we know that it’s definitely going to happen, why not do what we can to make it as good as possible?

Covid restrictions when I started my job meant that I didn’t get to see much of the patient side of things. However, that doesn’t mean I haven’t had the privilege to hear some of the most incredible stories over the last 18 months. Leading on social media has meant that I’ve read and watched so many stories and interviews from patients, family members and staff. From these stories, and even simply from chatting with other colleagues, it’s clear that a ‘good death’ is possible. Dignity, being surrounded by loved ones, feeling safe, comfortable and free from pain – they’re all things that contribute to a good death.

It’s the best place to work at after a bereavement

I’ll throw my hands up and say that this may not be true for everyone, but for me, working in a hospice while dealing with my dad’s illness and death was a godsend. People just got it. The messages of support and love from my colleagues were overwhelming, and I felt as though people had my back the entire time. I was encouraged to take as much time as I needed before coming back, and my colleagues checked in on me the whole time that I was off.

When it came to my retail job, in which I was working in a few years prior, Dad would have died on the Tuesday, and I would have been expected back at work on the Saturday. Because it was a Saturday, there would have been no exceptions, either. There was no time for illness or bereavement or family trauma on a Saturday. There would have been no time for me to get emotional on my return because there would be a queue of customers waiting, and if I was struggling, I wouldn’t be allowed to go home because it would be too busy. I wish I could say that was an exaggeration, but sadly, it’s not.

I’ll be honest – I was worried about going back. Working in an environment where death is essentially your day job doesn’t sound all that helpful when you’re returning after a bereavement, but strangely, it actually helped. It really did. People were far more open to talking about what I’d been through, and I felt as though I could bring him up without feeling as though everyone was thinking “oh great, she’s talking about death again.” I feel incredibly lucky to work for such a special place and to be part of a team with some of the kindest, loveliest people. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to be when I was going through one of the worst experiences of my life.

Cut to almost a year later, when I attended a performance of The End of the Road Show with two of my friends and colleagues while we captured content for social media. I knew the show was inspired by real-life conversations on death and dying, but what I didn’t expect was to be sobbing my eyes out before the show was even halfway through. Thankfully, I was in the best company. On one side, I had an arm put around me, and on the other, I had a hand grabbing mine that didn’t let go until the end of the performance. Hell, we were even sitting behind two of the nurses who worked on our Inpatient Unit, one of which passed me a tissue because I was a disgusting, snotty mess. So much for being professional.

After the show, we were invited to leave tributes to those we’d lost by placing pebbles and writing messages on a memory tree. The three of us went back into the performance area together, where we shed A LOT of tears and had the biggest group hug. I left one for my dad and one for Ter, who was a huge part of my childhood. I’d known already that these two gals were my friends and that they had my back, but this event cemented it more than anything.

Apologies if that’s cheesy, but sod it, I’m at an age where I don’t really care about being “cool” anymore (who’d have thought it would take just a mere 20 years). I do cross stitch, watch constant re-runs of Frasier, read smutty romance novels that give me unrealistic expectations of men, work tirelessly to keep my dad’s bonsai trees alive and watch Bo Burnham specials on repeat. Oh, and I’m a massive Swiftie that’s obsessed with cats. Do with that what you will, but I’m embracing my quirks for once.

Oops, I went off topic. My point is this. My job has led me to meet some of the most wonderful people. People who have instantly become friends for life. Admittedly, when I took the job offer in 2021, if I knew what was going to happen would happen, I’m not sure I would have taken it. Yes, I was miserable in the job I was doing, but I knew what to do, and it was easy to coast through without any drama.

But, when I was offered the job – the job that I was certain I’d messed up any chances of getting in the interview – I took it. I guess that’s a perk of not knowing what life holds for us. I knew working for a hospice would have its challenges, but I was willing to take it on. Little did I know, less than a year later, the place I worked would be considered an option for my dad in his final days.

It turned out I was probably in the best place to be dealing with everything that happened. I knew what a syringe-driver was. I knew that hearing was allegedly the last sense to go. I knew that it was likely Dad would go when we were out of the room because people often do. I knew the rule of “thank you,” “I forgive you,” and “I love you.”

I’m ashamed to say that I was glad my dad never made it to the hospice. Selfishly, because if he died on the Inpatient Unit, just a short walk from my office, I’m not entirely sure I could have gone back to the job I loved so much. I mean, I might have been fine. But the fact I cried at a carton of pineapple juice in Tesco three months later (just for context, he was asking for pineapple juice in the early days of his hospital stay) indicates otherwise.

At the same time though, a hospice wasn’t where he wanted to be. He wanted to be at home. It was just a shame things progressed as fast as they did and he ended up dying in the hospital. Having said that though, he wasn’t alone. He wasn’t in pain. He was comfortable. It was peaceful. It was as good as it could have been given the circumstances. And I like to think he would have approved of the two hours that followed – myself, my brothers and my step-mum, sitting around, laughing, and sharing stories about him. Humour was always his thing.

Again, apologies for another fairly death-heavy post. Actually, I don’t. We should talk about death more. Death, death, death. My point is, I’m not sure I would have learned any of these lessons had it not been for the job I do. I’m grateful to be where I am right now. For the first time in years, I’m happy with my job. I enjoy it. I’m good at it. There’s no place else I’d rather be.

References

Choosing Where to Die – Macmillan

What is Hospice Care? – Hospice UK

Disclaimer: All views expressed in this piece and across this website are my own.