Personal Narrative: My Hospice Care Building With My Grandfather

I spent a good part of my childhood visiting my grandfather in the hospital. Those will be the best and worst memories of my childhood. I loved going to visit my grandfather but I also hated it. I loved going to the hospital because I loved seeing the doctors and nurses in action. I loved seeing how they handled their patients and I looked up to them because of how they took care of my grandfather. But I also hated going to the hospital because that’s where you would see so many people spending their last few days or hours with their families and that just made me have a mournful feeling deep down in my chest. I have always looked up to my grandfather. I was his right hand man or in this case his “right hand granddaughter.” He was my best friend, my hero and a second father figure growing up because even though he was battling cancer he still was the

On May 11th 2013, my grandma passed away due to pancreatic cancer. A little later that year on September 25th, my mom received a call from my aunt in Guam that my dad had passed away in his sleep. Then on May 14th 2014, my grandpa passed from complications of an allergic reaction to a medication. So within a year, I was left to deal with three immediate family deaths, one right after another. Losing such important figures in one’s life could leave someone depressed and unmotivated to move on with their own life and to rise above those challenges is difficult, yet possible. During this time of hardship, I grew discouraged and saddened, but over time I became motivated to set aside these struggles and make a change.

I vividly remember that chilly night in March as I walked out of Fifer, the building my father now calls home, for the first time. I had goosebumps, but they were not from the cold I felt hit my skin. Instead, they were from the sickness in my stomach. As I got in the car, I began to cry and had to stop myself from running back inside. My entire world had turned upside-down. How could I go home without my father? How could I leave him in a nursing home, a place where he was too young and mentally fit to be confined? I had to fight the feeling that he didn’t belong. I had to remind myself of why he chose to be there, and I hated it.

It was another restless Friday afternoon in the small-town nursing home. Overworked nurses buzzed around, itching to start their weekend. “Ann,” a late-stage dementia patient, stared out her bedroom window. Her eyes focused on nothing in particular. As a hospice volunteer, I had been visiting Ann for three months. She spent our time together lost somewhere in her mind where I could never seem to reach her. I reminded Ann who I was and began one of our familiar conversation topics. As usual, she never spoke. As the visit went on, however, something changed. Ann slowly shifted her gaze toward me. I paused. She gently reached for my hand. Her hand felt weak, but her grip was firm. She looked into my eyes, and for a moment her face was clear with recognition. “You’re here,” she said. “…You are here.” She struggled to get out the words as she brought my hand to her face and kissed it. I was so touched I could not speak. For a moment, Ann connected with me. She trusted me. In that moment, I knew I had made the right choice.

    At some point in a terminally ill person 's life, there comes a time when all treatment options have been exhausted, and patient comfort is the number one priority. During this process, hospice care comes into play to ensure quality of life of a patient. Pain management and supportive services are provided to anyone who is willing by Medicare, and other government assistance programs, for individuals and families that cannot afford private home care. These services are provided by a trained group of professionals, including; Doctors, Nurses, Counselors, Social workers, Physical therapists, Volunteers and Chaplains. There are different types of hospice

Today, I shadowed at the Linda E. White Hospice House. This building is brand new and was opened earlier this year. The purpose of hospice is to keep patients comfortable as they near the end of life. The Linda E. White Hospice House features seven suites for patients and their families. Each room includes a patient bed, a pull out sofa, a restroom, a separate guest room with a bed, and access to an outdoor labyrinth. These amenities are meant are accommodate the patient’s family and also keep the family and patient at peace.

As a student-athlete who has been involved in multiple research activities for the duration of my undergraduate college experience, free hours have always been precious. During my time as an undergraduate student, I have helped coordinate an annual race to raise money for mesothelioma research with over one thousand participants each time and have helped tear down and build a house for Habitat for Humanity. Further, I have volunteered, deferring payment, as a peer tutor for several undergraduate courses. However, my most meaningful volunteering experience has been the time that I have volunteered with AseraCare Hospice. Prior to the beginning of this academic year, I had only volunteered with AseraCare for around two months as a junior following

In the autumn of 2013 my beloved grandmother suffered from many medical complications. After discovering esophageal cancer, surgery to remove it caused a tear in her esophagus, which led to numerous health hazards. As a result, the cancer spread throughout my grandmother’s bloodstream and it was impossible to maintain her health. By October of the same year, she fought to maintain her optimistic personality that I admired so dearly as a child. There was nothing more the doctor’s could do and while she wasn’t able to speak clearly, she understood the circumstances completely. As my mother asked her if she was ready to rest she pointed up to the heavens with her eyes closed. As we said our goodbyes she was given morphine until she was no longer with us. To force my grandmother to suffer and endlessly wait for healing would have been selfish of us. It is hard for those of us who are healthy to consider death as a logical option in crucial situations. While it is a difficult concept to grasp, in certain circumstances it is the better

Sometimes, the sorrowful events in life bring out the best in your life and yourself. Two years ago, I went through true maturation through a traumatic event that immensely affected me as a person. As pencils were being sharpened and the sounds of school filtered back into my life, I found out my Grandma had Cancer. In an effort to provide better treatment, she came to live with us for four months. That time was incredibly precious and special as I saw my Grandma in a whole new light. I saw her strength, her tenacity, and her positivity.

It was officially time to take my grandma down to the operating room. We walked down the hallway on the 5th floor for the last time and made our way to the elevator. Once my family had made it downstairs, we helped walk my grandma’s bed into the hallway of the operating room. We hugged goodbye and then went to the waiting room.

Only 2 years prior, we had received news that my grandmother had been diagnosed with lung cancer, already in its late stages. Why is this happening? Is the only thought I could muster after having my seemingly well-grounded world shaken up. Only being barely 14, it was one of the first problems I had to be submerged in, at an age where I should be free of worries. So when we got the call we had all been dreading to receive for 2 years, we immediately went to Dallas to see her, for one last time.

The cold October wind blew the drizzle right to my face as I get out my car and remain preoccupied over the fog that coats my glasses as soon as I walked into the Hinsdale United Methodist Church. I was invited by the church’s music director, who was also my school’s pianist, to play my violin at one of the church’s ceremonies.

The childhood memory that vividly can't be erase out of my mind when my grandmother died from cancer and diabetes. It was sad day, as my family seemed clam once everything has been planned for my grandmother funeral. My aunt and uncles rushly have gotten ready, but no one seemed to have told the children to get ready.The memory of that day will forever hunt me for a while ,knowing that my grandmother loved me so much. I was not able to attend her funeral. While everyone seemed occupied. I took it upon myself to get dress, maybe they had forgotten about me with everything that was going on. I was one of my grandmother favorite grandchildren. My grandmother had a lot of grandchildren but I felt in my heart I was one of her favorites. I my mind I told myself that I needed to be there to say good bye to my grandmother and this was the day that I needed to be that big girl my grandmother told me to be. I decided to get creditable myself with what ever efforts to get dressed. Running to the laundry room looking for that floral dress my grandmother bought me, was like looking for a needle in a hay sack. Big black bags appeared all around me, of smelly mildew clothing. Family members implicitly walked around the house with not a care of the children. I impatiently waited and asked my aunt " have you seen my flower dress that my grandma bought me with flowers all over it?" I said

On Monday, October 12, 2015, I went to the local nursing home with a few girls in my class. We planned on playing games and painting nails with the elders; but when the girls and I arrived, Leon informed us that our task would include painting parking lot lines. Leon directed us outside and provided the materials we would need. He then took us to the parking lot that needed to be painted. Quickly after, the girls and I divided and conquered the task. Myself and one other girl painted lines, while the other two scraped the old lines up and swept away the debris. My friends and I all dressed up for this occasion because we expected to stay inside, but we went with the flow and carefully painted the parking lot lines.

It was here in the hospice that I realized that as joyful as medicine is, I have experienced the bleaker aspect of this field as well. I assisted in stitching wounds and tending to patients through cleaning them and assist in procedures to remedy their pain. The true test of my capabilities was when I did a postmortem on an individual who resembled my grandmother. I still recall breaking down into tears in that hospice on the day my grandmother passed away, and a nurse calmed me. The experience was mortifying, but I had to move forward. Now it was a reversal in roles where I maintained my own composure, and talked to the girl who faced this terrible news. It was a clear reality that medicine has never been simply “clean” or “elegant.” From