Hospice patients who request acupuncture roughly fall into three categories. 1) They have had it before, and found it useful. 2) They are at the stage of trying anything. 3) They have always wanted to try it, but before hospice care, had never had the opportunity. All patients are seeking relief. Mainly people are looking for pain and anxiety relief.
What has struck me the most about meeting and treating people with my skills is the immediate connection that happens when you sit with someone and put your hands on them. For my skill set, I don’t have nursing supplies. I don’t tend ports that deliver medications. Sometimes it feels naked showing up with only needles and my hands. I try to bring a calm and friendly presence. After all, it’s highly personal to land in someone’s house, and meet them in such a vulnerable state.
The story that I want to tell is about a patient struggling with constipation. This story sticks in my mind. It was on a Sunday. I had not been an active volunteer for a while, but I got a call that I was needed, and no one else was available After hearing about this woman’s situation, I felt I needed to see her right away.
It was a long drive to her house through woodsy neighborhoods that I was unfamiliar with. I finally arrived. She was able to walk around, though weak and uncomfortable. She explained that it had been about two weeks since her last bowel movement and she was mighty uncomfortable. On top of that, she was vomiting feces. I didn’t know this was a thing that could happen. I was caught off guard. I couldn’t believe anyone would have to endure this.
We talked about where she would like to be for her treatment. Once that was decided, I reached for my tools. To my horror, I quickly discovered that I had left all my needles at home. I told her this. She looked dismayed. For a split second, I felt terrible. Then I felt my hands light up with a warm and buzzing sensation, and I said, “I think I have an idea of what we can do, and I think it will be as good or better for you than acupuncture.” She brightened up.
We went to a comfortable small day bed. She didn’t have a hospital bed. I used shiatsu, which is a meridian-based form of Japanese massage. It usually involves the entire body, from head to toe. Her issues were mainly abdominal. This area was swollen, tight, and painful. It needed attention. Even though a sensitive, painful area, she found immediate relief from gentle work in that area. I wanted to wake up the intestines. I also worked out to her legs and feet, arms and hands, and head.
This session felt profound. I followed the principles of acupuncture and shiatsu, but with my hands only. She immediately became relaxed. The tension in her face softened. Her breathing was slower and deeper. She thanked me many times throughout the treatment. I have trouble putting words to the experience. All things were present and sacred during that period of time. There were no words or explanations needed. After 45 minutes or so, I stopped. Seeing her relaxed and even hopeful about a bowel movement was the best reward ever.
I heard that she was successful, and the bowels moved later that evening.
I was never called again to go out to see her. I have thought of that day often. I hope that I helped her; I know that she helped me. I am grateful for the experience.