I have been a Marie Curie nurse for 10 years, looking after terminally ill people in their own home. We see patients from all different backgrounds, from every walk of life; I might be in a block of flats, or suburban house, one day, or a country cottage or farmhouse. They may be 18 or 98, so we have to be flexible and adapt to the patients' way of life. You can make assumptions about people, but everybody's different and we care for them in an individual way.

On Monday I did a night shift at a second-floor flat with a patient who has kidney cancer. He had a restless night and at half past four he said, "Do you think you could turn me over so I could watch the sunrise?" He just wanted to know that he'd reached another day. It was so satisfying to be able to do that for him. I took his wife a cup of tea in the morning. After a good night's sleep she was better able to face the day and the strain of caring for her husband.

On Tuesday, I slept till 1pm, as the night shift finishes at 7am. Then I went to the funeral of a Jamaican lady I'd cared for, who had had renal failure. I had got to know her and her daughter really well. I sat with her eight-year-old granddaughter and we made paper dolls while she bombarded me with questions about death. She was brilliant and she helped me too, for example translating from the Creole. The little girl wasn't scared, because she felt involved. The paper dolls helped us bond and brought up the importance of family.

On Wednesday, we had themed clinical supervisions. That's when the nurses get together every six weeks for peer support. Working alone can be very stressful. In a patient's home unexpected situations can arise and we worry about dealing with things in the right way. It's a time to share the sad moments and think about the touching and fun moments. It keeps us going.

The last two days I've been working with a new patient with bowel and liver cancer. The district nurse had requested immediate support as they were shocked by his sudden deterioration. We have to get to know the family really quickly. It's intense; you have to gain their confidence and it can be chaotic when you go in and everyone's bewildered. You have to get the trust of everyone, including the dog.

We try to anticipate every mood, and plan what the family need: the right medications, ordering the hospital bed, and talking through the emotional and logistical practicalities. We also have to explain what the dying process will be like. This makes such a difference and takes some of the fear away when the time comes. It's much more intimate to say those things around their own kitchen table. In hospital you don't have the time or privacy.

On Thursday night I went to the cinema. I am surrounded by sadness and grief every day, so it's important to do nice things. The little things can make a big difference. It's such a rewarding job and gives me everything I went into nursing for – to care for people and make things better for them.

It certainly makes me appreciate life and home and family. I don't know if it makes me less scared of death. People must think it's very sad the whole time, but much of the time we're talking about life. Our patients have so many interesting stories to tell us, and we learn a lot from them. That always balances the sad part.

As told to Anita Sethi