Working with the terminally ill set me up to run a successful business

There are moments in life that recalibrate your perspective entirely – and for me, those moments came while working with terminally ill patients. For five years, through my A-levels and university degree, I spent countless hours in hospitals across London and the South East. It was an experience so profound that I almost traded my politics degree for a career in medicine. I didn’t, as you can tell, but the lessons learned never left me. In fact, they’ve shaped everything about the way I run my business, GingerMay.

At first, the idea of being surrounded by the dying filled me with dread. It’s an experience that is sterilised and hidden from most of us in the western world, or dramatised on TV. Once I got my head around it, I pictured myself in a romanticised, Mother Teresa-esque role, dispensing compassion with a quiet halo above my head. The reality, of course, was nothing like that. But here’s the thing — what I feared most turned out to be one of the most rewarding experiences of my life. Sitting with someone in their final moments of life, holding their hand, offering comfort as they passed — it’s a privilege beyond words. Fear of dying alone is one of the most common anxieties people have, and to be there for someone in that moment is a life-affirming experience that makes you elated rather than depressed.

That’s the first lesson: expectation is not reality. When I started GingerMay, I thought being my own boss would mean being master of my own destiny, strolling into a world of shorter hours and fewer compromises. Fast-forward 15 years, and it’s harder than I ever imagined with a regular working week of 70+hours to this day and holidays that have included calls from the top of ski slopes and trips to towns with a single-minded mission to find wifi, my family in tow. But here’s the unexpected joy — looking out at our Christmas party dance floor last year, watching our junior team let loose, a senior colleague turned to me and said, “You did this.” In that moment, I felt the same pride and privilege I did in those hospital wards. I was so proud to quietly know I’ve helped multiple people to get an incredible start in their career in a sector where only 1 in 500 applicants succeed in securing a role. It’s not what I expected, but it’s what I treasure.

The second lesson is one I’ve carried with me every day: listening is a gift. And I mean really listening. In a world full of distraction and noise, it’s astonishing how rare it is to feel truly heard. As a 20-year-old, I was an unfiltered stream of consciousness, spilling my thoughts and opinions to anyone who’d listen. But in those hospital rooms, I learned to curb my own narrative. Many patients simply needed someone to talk to, someone who would absorb their memories, their joys, their regrets. Many didn’t have families and some of those that did had relatives that never visited at all; the nursing staff were all they had to talk to. When people have days or hours to live, they want to remember precious memories of events they lived through and reminisce about happy times with partners and small children, afraid these memories will die with them. Listening to these stories helped patients’ peace of mind. I’ll never forget sitting with an elderly man as he processed the news given by a busy doctor that his wife of 65 years had a terminal illness and had days to live. He shook his head, repeating over and over, “Sixty-five years,” as if the words themselves might hold her a little longer. My job wasn’t to fix anything. In the absence of family or friends I sat, held his hand, cried with him – and listened.

In business, listening is just as crucial. Some of my most productive meetings require me to completely shut up and listen. The modern world is built to distract us with smart devices and daily interactions where people talk over each other, so actively listening and leaning into what someone says is a dying art. When you truly listen, you connect. You see things from other perspectives. You make better decisions. And you make people feel valued — a gift in any context.

Working with terminally ill patients taught me to focus on what really matters – it’s an experience that brings you right back to the basics. In the end, it’s not about the titles or the accolades; it’s about the impact you make on the lives around you. That’s why, at GingerMay, we prioritise people. From day one, I’ve been determined to create a workplace where flexibility and purpose aren’t perks but foundations. Whether it’s seeing our team members grow into their careers, however it works for them, or helping cleantech startups fight climate change, our mission is to make a meaningful difference — to leave something better than we found it.

Looking back, my time in those hospital wards feels like a lifetime ago, but the lessons remain vivid. Death, for all its finality, taught me more about life than anything else ever has. It reminded me to embrace the unexpected, to truly listen, and to focus on what matters. In business, as in life, those lessons have been invaluable. And for that, I’ll always be grateful.

‍