September 21, 2006 Issue                                       

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©2006 The Chestnut Hill Local

Laughter is the best medicine: hospice recollections
by Gerald Samkofsky

The author, Gerald Samkofsky, on a bench along Germantown Avenue, his favorite haunt, With him is long-time Chestnut Hill barber Angelo DiPinto. (Photo by Jennifer Katz)

The following is a series of hospice memories collected by local resident Gerald Samkofsky. The tireless octogenarian and advocate of hospice care, universal health insurance and the elimination of smoking (to name only a few) is a fixture on Germantown Avenue. In fact, when we asked for contact information for Mr. Samkofsky, he said we had no hope of reaching him at home. Our best bet was to track him down on the avenue. This is the first of two installments. —Ed.

One must wonder how a person who is terminally ill with cancer, or another dread disease waiting for death can still enjoy a good joke or situation.

Perhaps I am the only person qualified to address this subject. For the past 60 years I have been a volunteer caregiver for terminally ill patients in hospices, nursing homes and at times, as a hospice volunteer in their own homes. And I have fought cancer in my own body on two occasions.

My wife Helen, also a volunteer, and I first learned that humor was a most important factor in working with patients. We were volunteering at a hospital on Long Island in 1941 one day when a patient became hysterical. We were at a loss as to what to do. Another cancer patient calmed us and then sat down at an old upright piano in the room. When she began to play, her music reminded me of what one might have heard in an old saloon. When she started singing in a hoarse voice, laughter took hold of us. We learned that there is truth to the old saying: “laughter is the best medicine.” So, let me tell you some tales about my patients. I’ve changed names where necessary to protect each patient’s privacy.

“Peter,” a hospice patient was a retired naval officer. We became close friends. He ordered me to wear his cap when I came to visit him. Then, one day on my way to the hospice, walking on a busy street, a passer-by stopped short, looked at me, and snapped a salute! Minutes later, another man also saluted me. I learned they were saluting my cap. Peter enjoyed this fiasco. (My military was in another branch of service.)

“Leonard,” a patient in hospice refused to eat, suggesting, “Why eat? I am going to die of cancer anyway.” I was sent to his room to try and change his mind. I learned he had lived close to me in Brooklyn. We attended the same school and Leonard was eager to talk “old times” with me. But I told him if he wasn’t going to eat, I am not coming back to see him! The next morning Leonard was “doing justice” to breakfast. But it didn’t end there. He would ask to have lunch brought to his room. Finishing that, he would go to the dining room for a second helping!

“James,” a Hospice patient was a national checker-playing champion. He liked to sit on the porch with a checkerboard on a small table in front of him. He challenged “one-and-all” to play with him. I told him I was a poor player, but he insisted. To my disbelief, I won the match. I couldn’t prove it, but to this day, I know he was teasing me.

“Annie,” a cancer and diabetes victim was a patient at hospice. An elderly black lady, she was born in the Deep South and her accent was a delight to hear. She went through much pain each day. She did not invite other volunteers to visit her, but did welcome me. Wanting to ‘raise her spirits’ one day, I asked her to take care of my cat. She glared at me and refused while other patients in the room and staff members enjoyed the spectacle. This went on for days. Then I asked her, if she refused to take care of my cat, would she take care of my goat? She could milk it and give milk to other patients. I told her the goat was in the basement. Again she refused and all enjoyed the spectacle. All this lasted for a long time. Sadly, Annie passed away one day. Had I been too hard on her? When I met her daughter, I apologized for my actions. But why did she laugh? “Jerry, my mother was ‘putting you on’ from day one,” she said.

Annie played her part to give other patients some good fun.

A patient at hospice sunk into despair. She refused visitors, but because I was a volunteer she allowed me to visit. But what could I do to lift her spirits?

I recalled an episode in a book by the famous traveler Richard Halliburton. During a stopover in Jerusalem, a serious elderly lady carrying a cat approached him. She told Richard, that she was a Catholic and wanted her cat to have a ‘Catholic wedding’ with a Catholic groom! Richard, quite a wag, offered to help her. He hired two young Arab boys to catch cats and bring them to him. He selected one and brought it to the Catholic lady.

“Madam, this cat is known for his pious ways. Indeed, he is thought to be a saint,” he offered. A ceremony was held and the two cats were placed in a box. But shortly after, the lady cat jilted her betrothed and ran away with an alley cat.

My patient couldn’t resist laughing aloud. At last, this day was a pleasant one. (The name of the book by Richard Halliburton: The Bying Garpet; The chapter: “Mathilda’s Marriage”)

“Samuel” was a new patient at hospice. Possibly because of his fears, he sat very sadly in the dining room. I knew I had some work here to do.

“Why are you so sad?” I asked him. “Why, how old are you?” he asked. “95”, I proudly lied (I was 78). “How come you look so good?” he asked. “I am Jewish and I only eat kosher food,” I lied again.

A few days later, his daughter came to see him. I was in the dining room carrying trays, etc., and his daughter pointed me out. “Pa, this guy is full of energy.” Her dad replied, “He is 95 years old!”

At another hospice, the weather was nice. Groups of patients were sitting on the porch. A staff member came along, carrying a guitar and some noisemakers: small drums, maracas, etc. She distributed the small items and invited all to sing with her. Within minutes, the porch was filled with loud music and noise. People crossing the street stopped and wondered, who were the ‘wild people’ on the porch? Bet they never believe all were terminally ill.

Being a volunteer at hospice, at times requires some quick thinking. Let me give you some examples where I have had to think quickly:

“Marge,” our volunteer coordinator, asked me to visit a patient who had been giving the staff a hard times. She started to laugh. Was she kidding me? Then she told me the patient was a rabbi. When I entered his room, the rabbi stared at me. Was he ready to pounce on me? I thought fast, looking squarely at him. I addressed him in German, Hebrew, Yiddish and English and I was not pounced on; rather the rabbi and I ended up discussing the scriptures.

Again, I was asked to visit a patient who had become quite upset. This was because a doctor, maybe quite foolishly, told her that her end was near. Thus, how could I calm her? I asked what was troubling her? (As if I wasn’t aware of her problem) “I am afraid to die”, she replied. “Why should you be afraid?” I asked. “Aren’t you afraid?” she countered. “No, because when I pass over I will be with everyone I loved. Isn’t that where you want to be?” “ I never thought of it that way,” she replied. And she found comfort in my words. I have used this method with other patients.

“Fran,” a pretty patient who also had been told she was near death, sank into a coma. When I visited her, her children were there; all were crying. I looked at the patient in her bed and felt she would have some time left. Fran came out of the coma and did seem to be making some progress. I would visit her every day and bring her small gifts and fruit. Many months passed. One day she asked me to lean over her bed so she could give me a hug, which she did. Then she asked me, “If I get well, will you marry me?’” What could I offer her to this request? “Fran, you get well and we’ll discuss it!” Sadly, she lapsed back as cancer spread. And one day visiting her, she died in my arms.

Another day while I was visiting a patient, I heard a loud commotion in the corridor. Wanting to see what was the cause, I noticed a young woman, very pregnant, crying loudly. Many staff members were trying to calm her, with little success. At this moment I took over and asked the staff to step aside. “Why are you crying?, I asked. “My mother is dying today,” she sobbed. “And how are you making her passing easier with your actions? Yes, your mother may pass away today, but she will look down at you. She will find you as you give birth to her grandchild. Remember, one day you too will face death. Would you want your child to act as you did?” I asked. She stopped crying. She thought for a moment of my words and hugged me. Later, as she was leaving with family members, she hugged me again and even kissed me.

Gerald Samkofsky’s hospice recollections will continue next week.