In our dying days, it is not unusual for the patient and family to wish for a miracle. That hope is a way of staying alive under duress. It symbolizes a last-ditch effort to pray for life when it is slipping away far too quickly.
At an event organized three weeks ago by the Hospice of the Chesapeake in Annapolis, I learned that the real miracle is the kindness and care provided by Hospice nurses and volunteers. It sustains the patient when a medical miracle is impossible. It provides peace. Reality strikes hard.
During the hospice celebration, a mother and daughter talked passionately about their deceased husband and father. He had been a well-known, well-respected obstetrician at Luminis/Anne Arundel Medical Center. He was jovial and likable.
As I listened, I thought about the Winnie the Pooh comment, “How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”
This wonderful doctor and person was wont to say, “Every day I attend a birthday party,” in reference to his welcoming profession. His joyful outlook on lives too often shortened by incurable diseases, including his own, underscored his love of life.
Like so many families, the mother-daughter duo expressed gratitude to the Hospice of the Chesapeake staff for their humane treatment of a man succumbing to pancreatic cancer. Their heartfelt story was similar to so many others that I’ve heard and appreciated over the years.
‘We cannot change the outcome, but we can affect the journey,’ Anne M. Richardson, an author and spiritual director, described the Hospice magic.
My father-in-law spent three weeks at Talbot Hospice before dying in 2001 of prostate cancer. Consequently, I, too, join the chorus of grateful family members who marvel at the care and compassion conveyed by the staff and volunteers. He spent his last days surrounded by family love and staff sincerity.
He was touched by grace and God’s love. Family members could feel it too.
Hospice is honest. It offers no mixed messages. The ground rules are simple, albeit often painful: death is imminent, and the caregivers will do everything possible to provide comfort, dignity and attention as life nears its end.
In some cases, the patient fights the inevitable. In many instances, the patient accepts the quickly moving end. And the show of courage by family members is astounding. While anger and grieving would be expected, hospice families face an unwelcomed conclusion with wholehearted support–and a sense of well-being so comfortably provided by medical practitioners.
Prior to his illness, my father-in-law had served as a hospice volunteer, preparing breakfast on Thursday mornings and also visiting hospice patients in their homes. He understood the intrinsic value of listening. He felt no need to talk incessantly. He was a prince of a guy.
Though a treasured resource in communities, small and large, throughout our country, hospice care often is avoided by some doctors and families far too long. Trained to fight death in every conceivable way, doctors refer patients to hospice sometimes within days of their death. Families do the same; they remain fixated on miraculous recoveries.
It is human nature to wish and pray for a medical turnaround—when none is possible.
Nurses and volunteers are miracle workers in delivering large dosages of compassion. They give death a safe berth. They offer sunshine instead of gloom.
They are messengers of goodness. They too display courage under difficult circumstances. They offer an invaluable gift of kindness as unsung heroes.
Columnist Howard Freedlander retired in 2011 as Deputy State Treasurer of the State of Maryland. Previously, he was the executive officer of the Maryland National Guard. He also served as community editor for Chesapeake Publishing, lastly at the Queen Anne’s Record-Observer. After 44 years in Easton, Howard and his wife, Liz, moved in November 2020 to Annapolis, where they live with Toby, a King Charles Cavalier Spaniel who has no regal bearing, just a mellow, enticing disposition.
