Hospice, as someone observes in the course of Hospice Heroes, is not hospital. Hospitals are, of necessity, clattering places – driven by both the imperative to cure and the need to clear a bed. Hospice is different.
The mission of Tōtara Hospice is to provide “the best standard of care possible”, explains its chief executive Tina McCafferty. “That’s not only physical care for the person, but also the emotional, mental, spiritual and family care. And that’s to make sure that they’re able to live the life they have left with joy.”
As this straightforward, sensitive observational series makes clear, that sense of care can take some unexpected forms at Tōtara, dress code included. The facility’s medical staff, led by medical director James Jap, like to approach mortality in bright colours. “Dr James” emerges as the show’s central character, where he’s speaking supportively about the end of life with a patient, or performing a cartwheel for the amusement of his colleagues.
People come to Tōtara with incurable cancers, or diseases of the heart, lungs and kidneys. But Tōtara also comes to them: McCafferty says about 80% of the care the hospice provides is given in people’s homes. Anyone who has experienced the system will know that visiting hospice nurses can be a family’s most clear-headed and effective allies. There are also social workers, physiotherapists and – because Tōtara is in South Auckland – cultural liaisons.
Then there are the dying, who have all consented to being on camera and generally seem comfortable doing so. Jodi is succumbing to lung disease and would love nothing more than a bourbon and Coke (Dr James darts away to find one for her, and she loves it). She wants to begin the assisted-dying process – Tōtara is the only hospice that allows assisted dying to take place on its premises – but she’s gone before the paperwork can be done. Lifuka, on the other hand, is a 22-year-old from Tokelau with a life-limiting heart condition. He likely won’t see 30, but he’s sweet and philosophical and surrounded by family.
Where Hospice Heroes doesn’t go, in the first couple of episodes at least, is into the politics of palliative care. Hospice services are free, but only about half the cost of delivering them is covered by the government. Tōtara’s annual budget is about $15 million, which means constant fundraising, the base of which is the hospice stores.
The show visits Tōtara’s store in Takanini, where the ladies like a laugh – but also see the other side of a death when spouses and families bring in belongings because they want to give back. The reality is harsher still. Tōtara was one of five hospices that commissioned and presented a report on the state of the sector in March. It depicted a system struggling to meet demand and likely to be unable to meet its costs within a year. At that point, the report concluded, beds would have to close.
Among the pay equity claims quashed by the government this year were those of hospice nurses and healthcare assistants, which were thought to be only weeks away from resolution when the process was halted. For the foreseeable future, and for no good reason, they will continue to earn less than their counterparts in hospitals.
But perhaps that shouldn’t be the domain of a series like Hospice Heroes. The strength of the show is its level tone. Although it involves an unusual degree of intimacy, there’s no sense of emotional manipulation. It’s more about the faces we see and the voices we hear; those of the carers and those of the dying. They all have their stories to tell. And those stories seem important to hear.
Hospice Heroes, Three, 6.30pm, Sundays from July 6, and on ThreeNow.
