When Annie Green, RN, started working at HopeHealth in 2005, her grandmother was just wrapping up her own storied career here. In a way, Annie was stepping into a legacy — one that shaped her childhood and ultimately inspired her to become a hospice nurse.
Two decades later, Annie continues to care for patients and families as they face some of life’s most vulnerable moments. She shares what it’s like, and why, after 20 years, she still feels this work is a gift.
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HopeHealth: How did you find your way to hospice work?
Annie: It is very much a calling. My grandmother, Lois Guise, helped create the bereavement program at HopeHealth — then Home & Hospice Care of RI — in the 1980s, when everyone involved in hospice was still a volunteer. As a teenager, I’d go with her to bereavement (grief support) groups. While the adults met in one room, I’d help with the kids in another.
In nursing school, I thought I’d become a midwife — until my grandfather went on hospice. I met these unbelievable nurses and thought, “This is what I want to do.” I changed gears.
I started at HopeHealth as a case manager when I was 23, the same year my grandmother retired. We worked together for about three months. I just celebrated my 20th anniversary here.
While a lot has changed in hospice over the years, one thing that hasn’t changed is the care. It’s a special group of people. I’ve never once thought about changing careers.
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How do you see your role as a hospice nurse?
I sometimes think of my job as catching people as they fall. You can’t stop someone from dying. You can’t stop the decline. But you can make it manageable and make them more comfortable. You can coach them through what’s happening and help families support each other.
We meet people at such a vulnerable time. I love being able to figure out what they need and help give it to them. And I love seeing families come together to care for someone.
To add to that — sometimes we meet patients who are all alone. Maybe there’s even a reason, like they were unkind to their kids or others. None of that matters to me. I can just be 100% good to them, for whatever time they have left. It’s a final gift we can offer.
That’s one of the things I love most about hospice: We meet people exactly where they are. We’re not trying to fix everything or change everything. We just show up with compassion and offer what they need.
What does a typical day look like for you?
I’m a case manager for HopeHealth’s home hospice team, and I’m also part of the pediatric hospice team. My team and I are usually caring for 12 to 15 patients at time. I work with patients in the same community in Rhode Island where I grew up, and where my parents grew up.
As a nurse, I focus on the medical piece of a patient’s care. But being a case manager means I also coordinate with other members of our hospice team, like hospice aides, social workers, chaplains and volunteers. Because we’re with patients so often, we’re usually the ones who notice changes first, so we arrange that extra support when it’s needed.
Finally, I do a lot of training. New physicians and fellows often shadow me during their clinical rotations to see what a hospice nurse does, and I help onboard new staff. I enjoy it — I feel confident in the way I do my job, and I want others to feel confident too. I especially want to make sure they learn the compassion piece of this work: being nonjudgmental and meeting people right where they are.
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Is there a patient story that has stayed with you?
One of my most special patients in recent years was a 100-year-old woman. She was sharp as a tack, and wise. We had great conversations. She lived alone and was completely at peace with what was to come.
She started the dying process at the exact time I was already scheduled to visit her. That timing felt like a small miracle. I showed up and she said, “I really, really don’t feel well.” And I just knew — this was it.
I helped her into bed. I helped her family get there. She went to our inpatient unit, HopeHealth Hulitar Hospice Center, and everyone arrived in time. She was still alert, got to say goodbye, and was made comfortable. She died that night, surrounded by family, in peace.
Without hospice, she might have collapsed in her apartment and been found later. Instead, she had the most beautiful, dignified death.
As I was leaving her apartment, she leaned over and said, “Thank you so much for everything. I’ll really miss our visits.” I will too. Her memory will always stay with me.