Saturday, 13 August 2016

HOW TO CARE FOR SOMEONE YOU KNOW IN HOSPICE



I am pleased to host this guest post by my colleague in caregiving and writing, Katherine Arnup.  Katherine is a hospice volunteer who has a lot of personal caregiving experience.  Here, she writes about caring for someone she knew in hospice for the first time when she was volunteering. Anyone who wonders about how to approach being helpful but not intrusive with a friend or loved one in hospice care will appreciate Katherine's wisdom on this delicate topic. 



I had no problem with this lesson, since I had struggled with boundary issues when my sister was dying and a woman we had hired to assist with her care started to feel that she was as close to Carol (or perhaps even closer!) than we were.
We were also repeatedly instructed about confidentiality and never speaking about what happens in hospice with other people. What wee weren’t really prepared for is how to be when we know one of the people who is admitted to the residence.
As someone who lives in the same neighbourhood as the hospice where I volunteer, it’s perhaps inevitable that people will be admitted with whom I am familiar, whether as neighbours, colleagues, or local activists. When that has happened, I’ve made a mental note in my mind, mostly by way of acknowledging the sorrow and loss they must be facing. I make a point of not indicating I’m familiar with them, out of respect for their privacy and the tremendously challenging circumstances they are facing. I hold them in my heart, and continue with my work both inside and outside of hospice.
A while ago, a woman was admitted with whom I had more than a passing acquaintance. We had been colleagues once upon a time, members of the same neighbourhood, and friends of friends. I was saddened to see that she had been admitted and wondered how I should be. Should I avoid her room as much as possible out of respect to her privacy? Or should I go and greet her and help make her feel welcome?
I chose the latter option, as I knew in my heart it was the right one. I knocked on her door, came to the side of her bed, and said something like, “I’m sorry to see you here – though I’m glad you can be here.” She asked how long I had been volunteering and I told her. And she told me what a wonderful place it was. We spoke for perhaps five minutes, then I left her to rest while her family went to lunch.
For the rest of my shift, family and friends visited her, and I steered clear except to respond to the call bell.
The following week, as so often happens when someone decides to come to hospice, she was much weaker, and a note in the book indicated that only wanted to see her family. Despite my desire to go in and say hello, to offer my “expertise” or “wisdom,” I knew that was much more for my own needs than hers and I resisted.
This is often the litmus test for me when I am facing such a decision at hospice. I ask myself this question: “Are you going to see the resident (or say this brilliant thing) because it will support or help them? Or are you doing it because of a need of your own? To feel helpful and needed. To be validated in some way. To feel connected.”
I really do ponder those questions before going to a room or saying or doing something, especially as a patient nears death. Most of the time, the answer is that I can be of service to the patient, whether by sitting at the bedside when they are alone or singing songs or reading the Bible (or poems or any book that’s evident in their room). And I can feel certain that I am not breaching any boundaries and getting myself “in trouble.”
It’s inevitable that we will meet people we know in the hospice work that we do. Indeed, in rural hospices and small communities, it is unavoidable. The important thing is not that we avoid people we know or pretend we don’t know them. Rather it is respecting the honour and privilege we have been given in being able to accompany people when they are dying. Sometimes that means doing the dishes or making up beds or getting more ice to make ice chips. And sometimes it means making space for family members (supporting them if we can) and respecting their time with the person they love.


Katherine Arnup is a writer, life coach, speaker, hospice volunteer, and retired Carleton University professor. She writes about matters of life and death on her blog at https://hospicevolunteering.wordpress.com/.  Her book about caring for her sister and her parents as they were dying – “I don’t have time for this!” A Compassionate Guide to Caring for Your Parents and Yourself – is available online at Amazon and Chapters and at independent bookstores in Ottawa. http://katherinearnup.com/
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