I didn't even know that Hospice existed until
cancer struck my family. I was just twenty years old when my father succumbed
to brain cancer. He spent the final three and a half weeks of his life in
hospice care.
One night at Whittle Ward, sitting by my father' s
bedside, I knew how it felt to despair. I had taken to sleeping at the hospital
in a reclining chair next to his bed, spending night after night praying for a
miracle, and exhausted from the constant vigil. I needed help. No other family
members were there that night so it was up to me to make sure Dad was not left
alone. Then a lady, whose name I did not know until I met her again years
later, came quietly into the room. She offered to sit with Dad while I made
myself a coffee and freshened up. That "small" gesture and those
fifteen minutes made an enormous difference to my emotional state at the time
and has continued to impact on my life over the past thirty years and more.
After my father died I was determined to become a volunteer with The Hospice Care Association. I wanted to make a difference for others just as that lady had for me that night. Initially the association rejected my application, several times, because they believed my own grief was too new. Instead of waiting I decided to put myself through the training at TAFE and then apply again with qualifications. I know they still hesitated - how could a twenty year old girl, still dealing with her own grief, help others in their time of need? But I was persistent and eventually they welcomed me as a volunteer. I spent a rewarding nine years working both in the hospital and behind the scenes.
The work I did as a volunteer ranged from spending time with patients or their families at the hospital, giving public information and awareness sessions, editing the volunteer quarterly newsletter and helping to produce flyers and advertising material as needed. All of it very important to the association.
In the hospital I enjoyed spending time with the
patients, giving hand massages, reading to them, talking or just sitting with
them quietly. I also spent time with members of the families when needed, did
ironing, made tea and coffee and assisting the nurses with non-nursing tasks.
My favourite activity was hand massage using aromatherapy, it was relaxing for
both myself and the recipient and was a great distraction allowing them to talk
if they felt like it.
All
this work was very rewarding and I often feel that I gained so much more from
the experience than those I cared for. However one day I went into a small
business in town run by close friends of mine. They had been speaking with a
client of theirs whose mother was in Whittle Ward at the time. She had been
telling my friends of a young girl who had been visiting her Mum in hospital,
massaging her hands and keeping her company. She told of how her mother looked
forward to these regular visits enormously. All the family wanted to meet this
'exceptional' young girl and thank her for her kindness.
Of
course the girl was me - and I was/am in no way exceptional. As a hospice
volunteer I did whatever I could to help those in care, their families and the
staff caring for them. That feedback just reinforced for me how important it is
to help. To be kind.
I'm
still that same person, though an additional thirty years of life has left many
more scars on my body and soul. I still believe that it's better to give than
to receive and I still try to be kind, always. With my current health situation
I'm finally learning to accept help with grace, I already know how it feels
from the other side.
Be
kind. Always.
