Vigil
My longest standing friend and his wife - we have all known each other since we were 16 year old high school students - are on a vigil. Or I suppose it is more accurate to say her husband, children, friends and I are on a vigil. She was diagnosed with acute leukemia a year or so ago, has undergone massive treatments - including harvesting and reintroducing her own stem cells - and despite having responded like the brick she has always been, she now lies seemingly near death from some unidentified organism that is causing her lungs to fill with fluid.
Her husband, my doctor, called this morning to say he doubted she would last through the day. I went to the hospital to say good bye. And she rallied.
Or maybe she rallied. Mabe it is the steroids.
But maybe she will recover from this episode. It's not a relapse of her leukemia; her blood counts show she is continuing to make the necessary cells.
But can she fight off such a massive attack as this one is proving to be?
Last night the two of them had a serious conversation about whether to provide massive life support - intubate her and put her on a respirator if her lungs continue to flood. They decided no. And they told their doctor their mantra: sedation but no intubation.
Brave. And smart. The doctor told them he was relieved they had made that decision.
How to say enough when the end has come? Hard duty. But these brave people are doing it in a way I wish we could get out to this over medicated culture which spends 75% of its medical dollars in the last few weeks of life.
This morning when I went into her room, she opened her eyes and smiled and called me by name. When the nurse came to put something in her IV line she wanted to know what it was and which doctor had ordered it. This from a woman who was struggling for every breath.
It's not a pipe dream, this idea of keeping your wits about you as you near death. No, it's not open to all of us. But in many cases we can manage our end in ways that do not behave as though dying is an insult rather than the way we leave this life.
Her husband, my doctor, called this morning to say he doubted she would last through the day. I went to the hospital to say good bye. And she rallied.
Or maybe she rallied. Mabe it is the steroids.
But maybe she will recover from this episode. It's not a relapse of her leukemia; her blood counts show she is continuing to make the necessary cells.
But can she fight off such a massive attack as this one is proving to be?
Last night the two of them had a serious conversation about whether to provide massive life support - intubate her and put her on a respirator if her lungs continue to flood. They decided no. And they told their doctor their mantra: sedation but no intubation.
Brave. And smart. The doctor told them he was relieved they had made that decision.
How to say enough when the end has come? Hard duty. But these brave people are doing it in a way I wish we could get out to this over medicated culture which spends 75% of its medical dollars in the last few weeks of life.
This morning when I went into her room, she opened her eyes and smiled and called me by name. When the nurse came to put something in her IV line she wanted to know what it was and which doctor had ordered it. This from a woman who was struggling for every breath.
It's not a pipe dream, this idea of keeping your wits about you as you near death. No, it's not open to all of us. But in many cases we can manage our end in ways that do not behave as though dying is an insult rather than the way we leave this life.
posted by Blayney at 1:50 PM
1 Comments:
How truly sad that these valiant folk are the exception and not the rule. Death is as much a part of life as is birth, yet, look how we avoid, deny and otherwise make impolite true dealings with death. We need not all be Dr. Kervorkians but a little of his common sense and compassion would help!
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