“When you hear the word hospice, most people assume the worst—that it means goodbye. But for me, hospice has meant something very different. It’s meant relief. It’s meant rest. It’s meant home.
My name is Sita, but everyone calls me Taz. I’m a 42 year old solo mum of three, my eldest is 20, my middle one is 17 soon, and then there’s my youngest—he’s 4 going on 14. Life is busy, full, and beautiful, even though I’ve been living with Stage 4 kidney cancer since 2023.
I came to Tōtara Hospice not because I was dying, but because I was struggling. My pain and nausea had become unmanageable at home. I wasn’t eating. After two and a half months in the hospital with little progress, I remembered what my Hospice counsellor once told me: “This place can be a home when you need one.”
So instead of going back to the hospital, I asked to come here. And thank God I did.
From the moment I arrived, everything changed. Not just for me, but for my whole family. The nurses treated my mother like they treated me—with warmth and care—they made sure she had a bed to sleep in, a place to rest her head while staying by mine. And I could finally rest too, knowing she was okay. Knowing I was okay.
Tōtara Hospice feels nothing like a hospital. It’s quiet here, peaceful. The garden outside my room is my favourite part, I walk them every morning. I’ve had five good days in a row now. That might not sound like much, but after everything, it’s everything. I can eat. I can laugh. I can be with my mum and talk about nothing in particular. Those small, ordinary moments—those are the big things now.
Hospice didn’t just help manage my symptoms. It gave me back my quality of life. The doctors here listened, really listened. They tried different treatments with patience and care until something finally worked. They gave me hope again.
My family was scared when I said I was going into Hospice. They thought it meant the end. That’s the perception. But I’ve had to explain again and again—Hospice isn’t just where you go to die. It’s where you go to live better.
I’m going home today, but I’m taking Hospice with me. Their team will continue to support me at home, helping manage my syringe driver and treatments. And I’ll keep dreaming about going on a retreat the social worker told me about, about travelling a bit, about spending time with my kids.
And that’s the other thing. Because Hospice gave me the relief I needed, my family got a break too. My eldest doesn’t have to carry me from the couch to the bed anymore. My little one can just be a child, not a witness to my pain. My mum and I got a pocket of peace in the chaos. That’s what Hospice gave us—a pause, a breath, a moment to just be a family again. I wish more people knew this side of Hospice.
