What is a “good” death?
That’s up to each of us to decide for ourselves, said Anne Rossignol, former director of Mercy Hospice House.
Rossignol said it’s a question more people should be asking themselves – and sooner.
The Durango-based doctor has spent much of her career in palliative care – a medical specialty focused on helping patients with serious illness feel as well as possible.
She earned her medical degree in 1999 and completed an internal medicine residency through the U.S. Army, where she served as a flight surgeon and completed two tours in Iraq. It was during her time at an Army hospital – where she guided patients and families through life-or-death decisions – that she felt drawn to palliative care.
“These big soldiers in their uniforms would sit down with these families to talk about the end of life, and they’d be crying, and the families would be crying. It was so beautiful,” Rossignol said.
She came to view preventing death as secondary to ensuring comfort.
That mindset, she said, often runs counter to the dominant ethos of Western medicine, which prioritizes cures and scientific advancement – a culture in which “we see death as optional.”
Instead of extending life for as long as possible, her goal is to help people live well for as long as they can.
The point at which declining health is no longer compatible with one’s idea of a good life varies from person to person.
“We don’t believe people need to suffer unnecessarily,” Rossignol said. “And suffering is different for everyone.”
Suffering is not limited to physical pain, she said. It can mean financial strain, emotional distress or feeling like a burden on loved ones.
“That doesn’t mean we end someone’s life because they’re having financial difficulties – of course not,” she said. “But we do try to help relieve all of those forms of suffering.”
A key part of that work, Rossignol said, is starting conversations early – ideally long before a medical crisis unfolds. She and her colleagues often help patients and families talk through end-of-life wishes before they become a source of conflict.
Those conversations can be emotional, she acknowledged, and not everyone is ready to engage right away.
“Someone might say, ‘I don’t want to talk about that,’” she said. “And instead of shutting it down, you can say, ‘Tell me more about that. Why don’t you want to talk about it?’”
Helping family with those hard questions, she said, is a central part of palliative care.
“Often you can see this relief,” Rossignol said. “Like, ‘Oh my gosh, we’re finally talking about it.’”
She recently resigned from the Mercy Hospice House after a broader restructuring of leadership. The facility, owned and operated by CommonSpirit Health, is transitioning leadership of outpatient services to its national entity, CommonSpirit Health at Home.
“The way everyone – nurses, doctors, housekeepers, anesthesiologists, surgeons – pulls together to care for patients here is remarkable,” she said. “I’ve been incredibly blessed.”
Health care is a tough field to navigate, she said – especially in hospice, where providers must balance limited resources with patient-centered care.
“There’s a big difference between being a steward of the resources you have and trying to make money,” Rossignol said. “We’re fortunate that CommonSpirit isn’t a for-profit organization.”
She said costs for hospitalizations, surgeries, medical equipment and specialized care can quickly strain a small hospice serving about 50 patients. What a hospice can offer depends not just on patient needs, but also on what local providers and equipment companies can afford.
Despite those challenges, Rossignol said hospice work has been deeply meaningful – largely because of the people involved.
“One of the reasons I love hospice is the people I get to work with,” she said. “In good hospice care, the focus is always on doing what’s right for the patient.”
Working so closely to death hasn’t left Rossignol untouched. But she’s learned to carry the emotional weight without letting it overwhelm her.
“I lift heavy weights,” she said with a light chuckle.
Her belief in the importance of her work also helps her cope with the grief she encounters.
“I feel like I help people during one of the hardest moments of their lives,” she said. “And that matters.”
She and her husband plan to move to the East Coast next summer, where she will continue practicing medicine.
Leaving Durango is bittersweet, she said, but “sometimes we’re called to a place for a certain time.
“This community will always be part of me,” she said.
jbowman@durangoherald.com
