Make the offer easy to say yes to
A specific offer is much easier than an enormous open question.
“I’m going to the supermarket — send me five things.”
“I can walk the dog tomorrow morning.”
“I can collect your washing and bring it back clean.”
“I’m free this afternoon. Would company help, or would you rather I did a job and disappeared?”
Even a message from somebody you are not particularly close to can matter: “Just checking in. Do you need anything practical?”
The answer may still be no.
That is okay too.
Sometimes the useful thing is simply making the offer without requiring the person to reassure you that you are lovely for making it.
Visiting somebody in hospital
Hospital visits can be genuinely wonderful.
They can also be exhausting.
Somebody might desperately want to see you at breakfast and be completely wiped out by visiting time because they have had a procedure, medication, a dreadful night or simply one of those hospital days where everything seems to take twice as much energy as it should.
So check before you set off, even if the visit was already arranged.
If they cancel, do not make them feel guilty.
It is not a snub. It is hospital.
And when you do visit, you do not need to turn it into An Important Visit.
Sit down. Be normal. Bring a bit of the outside world with you. Tell them something stupid that happened at work. Make them laugh if laughing is available that day.
You do not need a full medical bulletin the moment you arrive.
If they are tired, let there be silence.
If they fall asleep, that is not a failed visit.
For somebody close to you, the whole visit may simply be sitting beside them, holding their hand if they want that, and letting them sleep.
Sometimes having one safe, familiar person in the room is enough.
And if they want you to go after fifteen minutes, go cheerfully.
A good visitor does not make the patient manage the visit.
Hospital rules vary, so check the ward before you go, clean your hands when you arrive and leave the clinical equipment alone. You are there as a friend, partner, sibling or neighbour — not because three episodes of Casualty have qualified you as bank staff.
The tiny practical jobs are often the best ones
A surprising amount of hospital misery comes from very small things.
The drink is just out of reach. The phone has disappeared under the blanket. The clean pyjamas are still in the bag on the floor. The cardigan they actually want is at home.
If they ask, helping with ordinary non-clinical stuff can be brilliant.
Put their glasses somewhere they can reach. Find the thing they dropped. Take the dirty washing home. Bring back the right cardigan.
If you have been dispatched to find something very specific and you are not sure which one they mean, send a photograph.
A heroic guess followed by a twenty-minute explanation of how hard the wrong cardigan was to locate helps nobody.
Anything involving drips, lines, medicines, lifting or mobility belongs with the healthcare team unless staff have specifically told and shown you otherwise.
Warm, ordinary help is enough.
If you want to bring a present
You do not need to diagnose exactly what is making their hospital stay rubbish before you are allowed to buy them something.
They may not know either.
That is partly why The Sick List exists — we have already done some of the thinking.
A useful present might make somebody warmer, more comfortable, less bored or simply give them one nice thing in the middle of a rotten week.
That can mean a soft blanket, a hanging wash bag, an easy-to-use bottle, a coffee-shop card, a puzzle book or a small game.
Useful does not have to mean dull.
Some of our recommendations are very specific because between us we have tried an absurd number of versions of supposedly simple things and discovered that tiny details really do matter when you are ill: a softer edge, a better fit, something you can open with one hand.
The point is not “buy more stuff”.
It is: if you are going to get the thing, get the version that actually helps.
Food is worth checking first.
It is such an obvious way to say “I care about you”, but hospital complicates it. Somebody may be nil by mouth, nauseous, on a restricted diet or suddenly unable to face foods they normally love.
One of us once had favourite chocolates brought in while nil by mouth and ended up staring at them in tears.
Lovely gift. Absolutely terrible timing.
If you are not sure, ask.
When they come home, they may still be properly ill
Leaving hospital can be a huge relief.
It does not necessarily mean somebody feels remotely normal.
They may be sore, weak, flattened, overwhelmed or still slightly stuck in hospital mode, where every part of the day has been organised around observations, medications, meals and people appearing through curtains.
Home can feel strangely enormous afterwards.
So do not assume normal service has resumed because they are no longer wearing a wristband.
They may want company, but only for twenty minutes.
They may desperately want to talk about what happened.
They may never want to hear the word hospital again.
Follow their lead.
And if you visit at home, try to leave them with less to do than they had before you arrived.
Bring your own coffee if necessary. Make theirs. Put the mug in the dishwasher. Take the rubbish out as you leave.
You are not being their servant.
You are just removing one tiny job on a day when tiny jobs can feel enormous.
Help does not have to arrive in person
If you are far away, you can still be extremely useful.
A delivery credit. An online food shop. A coffee card they will actually use. Something practical delivered to the house. Arranging the thing they said they needed.
Or simply a message that asks nothing of them:
“No need to reply. Just thinking of you.”
That can be far kinder than six questions followed by increasing concern because they have not answered their phone.
Presents and practical help are not competing categories either.
Walking the dog, sending dinner, posting a small game, collecting a prescription or turning up with the exact thing they asked for are all versions of the same idea:
make one bit of being ill easier.
And try not to make them look after your feelings too
Of course you are frightened.
Of course you are worried.
Watching somebody you care about be ill can be horrible.
But where you can, take the biggest part of that fear somewhere else rather than asking the person who is actually ill to convince you everything will be all right.
They do not need to perform bravery.
They do not need to make you feel better about how much help they need.
Bring warmth. Bring affection. Bring the normal version of yourself.
Talk about ordinary life too.
Use the dark humour if that is already how you love each other.
And above all, try not to make somebody feel like a burden for needing help.
You do not have to fix being ill.
You cannot.
But you can make the room a little easier, the afternoon a little shorter, the washing disappear, the dog get walked, the right cardigan arrive.
You can make Tuesday less rubbish.
This is practical guidance, not medical advice. Hospitals, wards and individual needs vary. If help involves medicines, wound care, clinical equipment, lifting, mobility, eating or drinking restrictions, or anything else the healthcare team has given specific instructions about, follow those instructions and ask the appropriate healthcare professional rather than improvising.
Printed from thesicklist.co.uk/guides/how-to-help-someone-who-is-ill