Due to some life and schedule changes, today was my last day
(for the foreseeable future) of volunteering with cancer patients at Georgetown
University Hospital. When I signed out from my volunteer shift, I saw that I
have volunteered more than 819 hours over the last 8 years.
Volunteering at the hospital every Wednesday morning has
been a huge part of my life and my routine over the past 8 years. I’ve arranged
my work and personal life around this commitment, and on the weeks when I was
unable to volunteer (traveling, unmovable professional commitments, being sick
– I can’t be around cancer patients if I have a cold or other illness), I felt
a bit unmoored. Volunteering became a consistent, grounding touchstone.
The actual tasks of volunteering have been pretty simple:
make coffee, hand out drinks and crackers and sandwiches, organize the waiting
room, help with paperwork, and, most importantly, visit with patients. The
tasks have been simple; the rewards of volunteering have been profound. Many of
my friends have heard me say that it is the highlight of my week. Why? Perhaps
sharing some individual stories will help paint the picture of what this has
meant to me:
- A patient I befriended was a master
crocheter. I brought in my own crocheting projects, and we would sit together,
crafting and talking. She showed me the shirts and skirts and even a wedding
gown that she had crocheted, and we shared stories about our lives. She also
made beautiful folded paper swans for me and my nieces.
- A woman who lived on a farm with her children and
grandchildren brought in fresh produce from her garden to share with those who
cared for her at the hospital. She called everyone “baby.” I can hear her now:
“Hey, baby. How you doing?”
- One couple told me all about their grandchildren, and I
shared stories of my nieces. Though the wife was sometimes in intense pain,
they always greeted me and the nurses and staff with a smile. Of all the
patients at the hospital, I knew them the longest.
- I got to know a patient who was an avid sailor who took his
kids out of school so they could sail around the globe as a family. We often
talked about politics, and when we really got into it, his blood pressure
always became elevated! We had to limit our talks to brief intervals so that
his pressure would stay even.
- A couple that came in every week was a model of kindness,
devotion, and faith. Though from a different religious tradition than mine, we
spent many hours talking about God and commitment to a faith community. We
shared a lot of laughter, and some tears. I referred to the wife as “my angel.”
- I once went out on a date with a cute guy I met on
match.com. He said “you look familiar to me.” He was a patient at the hospital.
We only went out once; a few weeks after our date, his cancer returned, with a
vengeance. I was at his bedside on the day he died.
- A single dad would sometimes bring in his young daughter,
who was a ray of light and her father’s pride and joy. Sometimes I would bring
her crayons, and we would sit and color together. She colored a sweet holiday
card for me that had its place on the front of my refrigerator for many years.
While many of these stories sound “heavy,” there are so many
light, fun moments at the hospital. The patients and I have talked about
everything under the sun: movies, TV, current events, fashion, our families,
our friends, and lots of little things that have made us smile. I’ve found that
the patients don’t necessarily want to talk about their disease; they do that
all the time. A simple “hey, how is that book?” or “anything interesting in
your newspaper today?” can lead to some great conversations that take patients’
minds off of what they are going through, even for a little while.
The staff and volunteers have been a source of connection
and joy, as well. We’ve celebrated birthdays, weddings, and new babies. We’ve
eaten way too many cookies and candies and snacks brought in by grateful
patients. We’ve said goodbye as staff have moved on to new jobs or new towns.
When I told another volunteer I would be vacationing in Tahiti, she said that
she had family there, of all places, and she connected me with them – they were
spectacular hosts for two days. A big world made small.
Many of the patients I’ve met over the years have beaten
their cancer and stopped coming in to the hospital. The hospital is the only
place where I can genuinely say, “Goodbye, and I hope I never see you again.”
Other patients have not been so lucky. They continue to come in for their
chemotherapy, or they have died, and their faces, words, and spirits have
stayed with me.
Why has volunteering at the hospital been the highlight of
my week for so long? All the stories above, and more. Yes, it puts my own problems
in perspective. Yes, it has been moving, and cathartic, and sometimes fun. Yes,
it feels good – great, in fact – to do a little something to lighten someone
else’s load. But really, in a nutshell, it has been the one time of the week
when it is totally, completely, 100% Not. About. Me. There’s a lot to be said
for that.
I have volunteered in honor of my mother, who died of
leukemia in 1994. We talked about her illness, we celebrated her ups and
worried about her downs. Even so, I wish I had done more to help her when she
was sick; I wish I’d been more present for her. (Although my father has told me
many times that she wanted me to be living and enjoying my own life back then,
when I was in my late teens and early 20s, in college and working my first
jobs. She didn’t want me to be focused on her. But still, I reflect back and
think “I could have done more.”) I hope she would be proud of my volunteer
service. I know she would have loved meeting some of the extraordinary people
that I have met at the hospital. I miss her so much, and getting to know these
patients has helped me understand her more deeply.
If you have the opportunity to volunteer somewhere on an
ongoing basis, long term, I urge you to do it. Yes, the “one shot deal”
volunteer projects are fun, feel good, and do help those in need. But
volunteering somewhere consistently for an extended period of time creates a
deep, profound connection and a meaningful shift in yourself. I know it is not
feasible for everyone’s life and schedule and circumstance. I am grateful that
it could work for my life for these past 8 years. Hopefully, someday I’ll
return to the hospital to continue my own commitment. Until then, I have a
treasure trove of memories and experiences. I hope that when some patients and staff
see a coffee cup, a package of graham crackers, a plastic-wrapped sandwich, or
a stray magazine in the waiting room, and they will think of our talks, and
smile.
