Chapters (47)
- Cover
- Dedication
- CHAPTER1
- CHAPTER2
- CHAPTER3
- CHAPTER4
- CHAPTER5
- CHAPTER6
- CHAPTER7
- CHAPTER8
- CHAPTER9
- CHAPTER10
- CHAPTER11
- CHAPTER12
- CHAPTER13
- CHAPTER14
- CHAPTER15
- CHAPTER16
- CHAPTER17
- CHAPTER18
- CHAPTER19
- CHAPTER20
- CHAPTER21
- CHAPTER22
- CHAPTER23
- CHAPTER24
- CHAPTER25
- CHAPTER26
- CHAPTER27
- CHAPTER28
- CHAPTER29
- CHAPTER30
- CHAPTER31
- CHAPTER32
- CHAPTER33
- CHAPTER34
- CHAPTER35
- CHAPTER36
- CHAPTER37
- CHAPTER38
- CHAPTER39
- CHAPTER40
- EPILOGUE
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
- ABOUT THE AUTHOR
- What’s next onyour reading list?
HOSPICE SOCIAL WORKER, MONARCH HOSPICE
This position is responsible for providing social work and bereavement services in line with federal and state regulations. The individual will be responsible for providing emotional support and counseling to families and patients from intake through end-of-life. They will develop a Plan of Care and present it to the interdisciplinary team, as well as assess family factors to estimate capacity to cope with terminal illness and death. They will provide counseling to individuals and families as requested and needed. They will assist in the dying and grief process for all involved parties. Position is located in Winchester, Illinois.
My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I read through the posting several times, the pressure in my chest building. I had never worked specifically as a hospice social worker, although my experience in a hospital meant that I’d seen patients who didn’t have much time left, and assisted them and their families. Most of them were terrified of the word “hospice,” although it really just referred to a different style of nursing, one where the focus was on keeping the patient comfortable rather than trying to diagnose or treat the underlying illness. It was to provide respite, comfort, and emotional healing before they passed.
I remembered one family I assisted, before Jack was born and before my sister was in the last throes of her addiction. Mary Peterson was ninety-one years old, and most of her family lived in California. She was alone most days and seemed anxious to talk to someone, anyone. So I would sit with her and just listen to her talk about her life. She told me about her sisters, growing up on a farm in Indiana, and how she met her husband at a neighborhood dance.
A few days before she passed, when she was still lucid, she thanked me. She told me that because I had sat with her and listened to her stories, she felt that they would live on after she was gone. It was one of the most rewarding moments of my career.
Before I let any doubts diminish my hope, I sent a cover letter and my résumé via email. I read through the description one more time, thinking it could be the next right career move, before I shut my computer and sighed. I knew I should go downstairs and start prepping for breakfast, but the exhaustion from the past week began to creep behind my eyes. I crawled back into bed, throwing the comforter over my head, and fell fast asleep before I could think about what might be hiding under my bed.
—