Death is not the end of care. I'm here for the conversation nobody else will have — and for everything that comes before, during, and after.
I come from a place where we invite death in. That stayed with me — and changed how I understand living.
Dana DulsonI'm Dana Dulson — a vascular surgeon and end of life doula based in Pickering, North Yorkshire. I've spent fifteen years in operating theatres where death arrived suddenly and was always, officially, something to be fought. I've also grown up in a culture where the dead stayed in the living room, where the bocitoare wailed and grief was communal and loud and embodied. Both of those things are true in me. Both of them shape the way I work.
I lost my father to COPD — a slow twenty-year dying that ended badly, alone, gasping. I lost my mother to grief — she drank herself to death in eight months after him, and died howling in a psychiatric hospital. I have buried most of my family. I was fifteen when it started. I know this territory. I am not frightened by it.
Vascular surgery has a death rate close to intensive care. I have spoken to families at two in the morning. I have certified deaths at home and in hospital. I have watched the moment a person stops and understood, viscerally, what that means. What I have learned — slowly, over many years — is that how we die matters. That it can be different. That someone who has been in the room before, and is not afraid, changes everything.
That is what I am here to offer.
My work begins wherever you are — whether a diagnosis has just arrived, or the end is very close. There is no wrong time to reach out. The first call is always free.
Fees are discussed openly at the first call. Some work is offered on a sliding scale — if cost is a barrier, say so. I will not turn someone away for that reason. The first conversation is always free.
A death pack is a set of documents and resources that brings order to an overwhelming time. I offer two — one for the person who is dying, one for the family they leave. Both can be worked through together, at whatever pace is right.
Advance planning is not about giving up. It is about making sure that what matters to you is known and recorded — so that when the time comes, the people who love you are not left guessing, and the medical teams treating you are not making decisions in a vacuum.
As a surgeon, I have been in those rooms. I have seen what happens when there is no plan, when no one knows what the person would have wanted. I have also seen what happens when they do. The difference is enormous.
I work through these documents with you in your own time, in plain language, without urgency. We go at your pace. Every document is reviewed for accuracy — I know the legal landscape because I've worked within it for fifteen years.
A Death Café is not a support group. It is not therapy. It is a gathering of people who want to talk about death — their own, others', death in general — in an atmosphere that is warm, informal, and completely free of agenda.
The idea began with Bernard Crettaz in Switzerland and was brought to the UK by Jon Underwood in 2011. Since then, thousands of Death Cafés have taken place around the world. They work because the conversation is one almost nobody is having, and because it turns out that when you sit with strangers and talk honestly about mortality, something loosens.
I run Death Cafés in Pickering and the surrounding villages of the Vale and Moors. They are free to attend. You do not need to have lost anyone. You do not need to be ill. You just need to be curious.
There is no wrong reason to reach out. Whether you want to understand what I do, talk through a situation, book a Death Café place, or start advance planning — I'm here. You can book a call directly, or send me a message and I'll come back to you.
Choose a time that suits you. The first call is thirty minutes, free, and no commitment. We talk, you decide if this feels right.
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