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HOSPICE By Nancy Shearer-Schroeder "A lifetime of memories; miles of beach walks and thousands of cookies! When I was little, it was chocolate chip for me and oatmeal-raisin for dad. As my cookie tastes refined, I loved gingersnaps. When I planned a visit, he would stand in line at Gayles Bakery and buy me a dozen of the world’s best gingersnaps! It tugs at my heart to walk into Gayles ..” My father had a stroke Thanksgiving weekend. He rallied a bit during December, celebrated his 43rd wedding anniversary and unwrapped his new iMac on Christmas day. Then was readmitted to the hospital in early January, diagnosed with terminal cancer in mid January, and by the end of the month he was gone. It was the middle of January that we were first learned about Hospice. The day itself is still a foggy memory; yet some of the details are sharp as a knife and will undoubtedly remain clear in my mind forever. Earlier in the day we had joined together for a family meeting with a team of hospital staff; the doctor, a social service person, a pastor and our small family of four – my mom, dad, sister & myself. I remember sitting in this little room, gathered around a table that was far too big for the room and listening as the doctor recounted his treatment of my father. I listened halfheartedly because by then history was irrelevant. I glanced quickly at my sister, who sat quietly listening to the doctor, wondering what she was thinking and how she felt about all that happened to bring us here. Then without moving my head; I looked to the right to see my dad. He sat in a wheel chair across the table from his doctor and these strangers as they told him the details of his illness. I remember thinking “how would it feel to be told you’re going to die”? Somewhere in this ongoing dialog there was a reference of Hospice. At the end of this meeting my father said “Thank you, we’d like some time as a family now,” and our family left that stupid little room. Later that day a woman from Hospice came to my dad’s hospital room to explain Hospice philosophy and services. In medieval times hospice was a place of refuge, an inn for travelers and pilgrims providing shelter where the traveler could refresh himself before continuing on with his journey. Hospice today continues to provide care and comfort to those traveling through the end of their journey. We asked questions and got answers. The woman was professional and knowledgeable but most importantly she was respectful to my father and our family. My father agreed to Hospice. I’m sure in huge part because of her comment referencing support for the family. Even at this stage, maybe now more than ever, I believe his priority was caring for us—especially after he was gone. We checked out of the hospital the next day. My mom and I hit Mervyns for sheets and blankets in preparation of the delivery of the hospital bed. I remember my mom picking out the sheets in blues and greens because they were dad’s favorite colors and choosing blankets for their softness and warmth. It became a bit crazy as the family room was transformed into a cozy new bedroom for my dad. Mom and I delicately debating just the right spot for the bed and agreeing on the importance of his being able to see out the window to the yard, the towering oak trees, abundant hydrangeas, and delicate orchids – his pride and joys. Later that day a Hospice caseworker came to help talk through equipment needs and medicine schedules. At some point she asked briefly about “Advanced Medical Directives”- what? She inquired about a living will or a durable power of attorney for health care. This was not something I wanted to talk about or be involved in, we had just gotten him home and we had plenty of time, I thought. I understood and agreed in the theory of letting the patient make medical choices and letting the family avoid the heavy responsibility and stress of difficult decisions but I didn’t want to think about that right now. Bless the caseworker’s heart for knowing we probably didn’t have as much time as we thought and thankfully my mom was listening with her ears and her heart. I wanted Jonas Salk, Lance Armstrong, and Mother Theresa all right there in our house caring for my father and in many ways, Hospice met that need. Our Hospice doctor was Melinda. The care and respect she demonstrated to my dad was perfect. She always spoke with my father, explaining what she was doing and why. She inquired about his pain and worked with him to appropriately address the medication and alleviate the pain of aching bones and failing organs. In retrospect I realize she must have done this to many people all day long, but when she was at our house, I felt like we were her only family and my dad her only patient. She also checked in on how my mom was doing. Being the primary caregiver for a loved one all day and all night, day after day carries a depth I believe only another caregiver can truly understand. Melinda was there when my dad decided the time had come for him to leave. His body had had enough. He was given some time but each breath had become an effort. I remember holding his hand waiting desperately for his next belabored breath—wanting with all my heart for him to breath and simultaneously, fighting back the choke in my throat that also wanted him to be free from all of this. Then with our blessing and love, his spirit sailed out the window, into the yard, over his garden and he was gone. Fortunately or unfortunately, we didn’t need Hospice for very long. But in reflecting back over a very emotional and life-changing experience, my memories of the care, professionalism and respect my father received, I am comforted that the decision to choose Hospice was the right choice for our family. Nancy Shearer-Schroeder, native Californian and Santa Clara Valley local is a busy mother of two. When not penning her memoirs, she is on the prowl for fascinating Human Resource consulting assignments with corporate and nonprofit organizations. She can be reached at mattmn@concentric.net © Siliconmom

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