A traveller's taleBMJ 1994; 309 doi: https://doi.org/10.1136/bmj.309.6952.486 (Published 13 August 1994) Cite this as: BMJ 1994;309:486
- E Sharpe
My general practitioner suggested that I contacted the staff of my local hospice, St Richard's, shortly after my diagnosis of breast cancer, when I was overwhelmed by anger, fear, and confusion. I had no intention of going to the hospice, but I needed help, and with my doctor's encouragement I agreed to be visited at home for counselling.
When the counsellor came to see me and suggested that I visit St Richard's the following week I felt like a drowning woman who has been offered a concrete lifebelt. My mental picture of a hospice was one which is probably shared by many other people: nurses in uniform, rows of beds, desperately sick people waiting for death. My counsellor explained that there were no beds at St Richard's and …