Hospice Story: Mind and Body Syncing Up

Martha was a resident in the hospice house where I worked. She was not particularly interested in facing her death. She was restless. She wanted to be awake and about her life, but was not very satisfied with that option either. Watching her, one got the feeling that if she could take a nap, she might feel better. She wasn’t peaceful no matter what she tried. She no longer walked or could get out of her bed. She was challenging for the nurses and aides, because they could not make her comfortable.

That day, I came into her room just as the care team had given her a bath and were trying to re-position and settle her so that she would rest. The feeling I got from the care team was similar to that of an exhausted mother trying for the third or fourth time to help her child fall asleep. Martha was in a Broda chair, which tilts a patient way back with their feet almost higher than their head, making it very difficult to get out of the reclining position.

As soon as the nurse and aide had left the room, Martha turned to me and said, “Help me get up.” I was overwhelmed after having seen the incredible effort the team had made to make Martha comfortable. I did not consciously know how to respond. Where did my loyalty and duty lie? To support the direction of the staff to help Martha rest? Or to respond to Martha’s request for help to get up? I had been a witness to some variation of this scenario several times before, but never this pronounced.

As my mind was muddled about how to respond, the word “No” came flying out of my mouth. I surprised myself, but there it was. I didn’t know what to do except get behind it. I said again, “No, I won’t help you, but if you really want to get up, then go ahead and do it.” I was sitting close enough to catch her should things start to go wrong, and I held the buzzer for the nurse if I needed help. 

I felt kind of mean for having said no to Martha, but something made me follow my words with great interest as to what was going to follow. Martha started to rock herself back and forth little by little. I thought she must be angry with me, but with curiosity in my heart I decided to get behind Martha’s efforts. I started to comment on her efforts by saying, “Martha, you are really strong.” Getting out of a Broda chair would be hard to do for anyone: they are designed to keep someone reclined and minimize the risk of falling.

Miraculously, after more than twenty minutes of efforting, Martha was getting precariously close to getting out of her chair. I now grabbed the chair and rang for the nurse. Her nurse came running in and went over to Martha while I kept hold of the chair to keep it from tipping. Martha reached up to the nurse and pulled herself to a standing position. The nurse lovingly held on to her so she would not fall. Martha’s legs were shaking and very weak, but she stood in the nurse’s arms for five or so minutes. Then Martha said, “I want to lie down now, I’m tired.” This really surprised all of us. Martha willingly lay in her bed, content to rest. “I want to sleep now,” she said. She did and then died later that night with her family present.

I thought about that experience for quite a while after I left Martha. Why did that “No” come so strongly out of my mouth? Why did I resist helping her that day? I had never done anything like that in my previous visits with her. I believe that Martha wanted to reconcile the ideas or dreams about how her life should be with how her body actually was.  I decided that something in me had the wisdom to let Martha find her own way from resistance in dying to acceptance.

Martha taught me a great lesson that day. Each person finds their own way to die. Some will soak up emotional and spiritual support when it’s offered, and others need only to be given the space to navigate their own way. As helpers we can’t always presume that we know what the best way is. Most times we just have to give way to support someone’s process rather than guide it.