An Unexpected Care, An Unforgettable Encounter
Reflexology in Palliative Care – A Human Experience
I will forever remember that day. I was called in for a home reflexology session. The person on the phone mentioned a patient receiving hospital care at home. But the connection was poor, the call dropped. I didn’t get the chance to ask my questions.
When I arrived, the weather was warm and sunny. Birds were singing. The family welcomed me. They told me the person I was about to see was in palliative care. He had come home the day before, after months of hospitalization. They gently asked if this situation would be a problem for me. I replied simply:
“It’s a first, but if it can help, I’m honored to be here.”
Our First Session
Mr. D was lying down. He looked very tired. He wasn’t speaking. His feet showed deep bruises, the skin was tight and rigid. No flexibility in the arch. I worked with the utmost gentleness. It was clear: I could not go faster than the body would allow.
Before I left, I showed a few simple gestures to his loved ones, things they could do themselves. They asked how long to wait between sessions. I explained that, in such cases, it depends on Mr. D and the family. Whatever feels comfortable for them.
Effects Beyond Words
The next day, I received a message: Mr. D had loved the session. He was telling everyone about it, calling friends. He asked when I would return.
We agreed on a session every other day.
When I returned, he spoke a little. I felt I could go deeper into the treatment—working gently on tense areas, stimulating the lymph, liver, digestion. I intentionally avoided some zones. I worked slowly and deeply. Often, with my eyes closed to better feel.
A Precious Presence
As the days went on, a connection formed. I regularly spoke with Mr. D’s son, who organized the sessions. We talked about the process, emotions, the daily routine.
I tried to bring a little lightness, in my own way. Something deeply human was happening—in silence, in looks, in touch.
Mr. D kept talking about me to everyone. I was deeply moved. He was planning his own funeral, had chosen a singer, was sharing his life stories with his family, received letters and emails from nearly everyone he had known.
And amid all this, he still took the time to talk about me.
The Day Everything Almost Stopped
We had a session planned. But that day, I got a message: his catheter had come loose. Day 7 since he returned home…
The family tried to fix it, called the nurse—then no news for hours. Time felt long. I had grown close to this family and had no idea what was happening.
Eventually, a message arrived: things were under control. Mr. D would go to the hospital the next morning to check up on the equipment.
Back Home
Two days later, I came back. The family shared the past days’ adventures.
The catheter had “exploded”… It was a temporary one, meant to last a few days—as doctors had estimated Mr. D had 3 to 5 days to live upon returning home.
But he was still here. And we resumed our rhythm.
Something had changed.
Mr. D’s feet were different. The skin looked clearer, the bruises had nearly faded. Flexibility was returning.
Life Coming Back
He relaxed during treatments. Sometimes he would fall asleep. I saw him dreaming, or drifting into another world. He seemed elsewhere. Other times, we would chat a little before or after.
His son asked if he too could have a session. Then his daughter spoke of her son’s digestive issues and suggested a session for him too.
I felt like part of the household now. Gently. Respectfully.
The family decided to throw a small party to celebrate the two weeks spent at home. No matter how much time remained—they wanted to live fully, day by day.
And Then, the Unexpected…
The doctor visited. Examined Mr. D. And said his condition was improving.
Yes, improving.
Mr. D celebrated in his own way: by singing “Staying Alive” by the Bee Gees at the top of his lungs. Again and again !
No one said it aloud, but… he was no longer considered in palliative care. Now, he was officially receiving hospital-at-home care.
What This Experience Taught Me
I was profoundly moved by the experience. Touched by the family’s strength, kindness, and energy.
There wasn’t a single cause for this improvement. But I deeply believe everything mattered:
★ A will to live, and a bit of stubbornness
★ Returning home
★ The warm sunlight
★ Birds and nature’s sounds
★ Unwavering family support
And yes, perhaps… my treatments, my hands, my presence
I’m grateful to have been there in my own way.
Sometimes, something magical happens when all the right pieces come together. Of course, we all know this new phase is fragile. Things may still change… But optimism is a much brighter lens.
I continue to see Mr. D. We’re spacing the sessions out now, as he begins rehabilitation. Bringing movement back into his life. Slowly regaining some autonomy. And—fingers crossed—maybe, just maybe, rediscovering some of his old vitality.
To move again. To live, even more.
This experience left a mark on me. It reminded me how interconnected we are, How much presence, kindness, and small gestures matter. It whispered to me that it’s never too late for something beautiful to arise—even in the most unexpected places.
There are presences that transform. Silences that soothe. Connections that spark where life once seemed to be fading.
And sometimes, a breath, a touch, a song… can make us want to stay a little longer.
💖 If this article moved you, I invite you to discover my journey into yoga.
To go further, read the article by these 4 incredible nurses: A reflexology experience in a palliative care unit.