Donna's letter not only profoundly touched me, it
is staggering. 10 years of care. Mom and I are
exhausted after one month.
I'm wondering whether we're doing the right thing,
or whether we've been manipulated into committing
some kind of euthanasia. I have always been a strong
pro-life anti-euthanasia type, and always complain about
the lack of value for life in our culture. The L'Abri film/book
"Whatever Happened to the Human Race" was a real
shot in the arm for me to become involved at abortion
clinic and resolve never to cheapen life. I need to get
a few things off my chest and maybe get some feedback.
Review and update:
On Saturday night dad's breathing became labored
and by Sunday noon he was in miserable shape,
I was scared and called 911. The paramedics,
God bless them, said "It looks, tastes and smells
like pneumonia." I was quite relieved. We had
been giving him his daily cancer treatments for
a month (five hours of infusions and 70 pills a day),
and he had been steadily losing mental clarity.
Whereas he had at first been eager to take his
pills, even asking or reminding us about whether
he was due for a dose, he became increasingly
resistant to treatment, agitated and angry.
Mom and I had to watch him full time, 24/7,
to make sure that when he got up he did not trip
and fall -- and he began getting up every hour,
even through the night. We rotated sleep. Mom
caught the flu. It was a struggle.
In short, we were relieved and optimistic
that a short stay in the hospital could clear
up dad's congestion, get his days and night ordered,
and give us time to rest up. We were totally
exhausted.
After an hour wait in the ER waiting room, I decided
I wasn't accomplishing much, and drove home to
send out some emergency prayer request email,
which you received. At first it said dad had pneumonia
and it looked OK. But then my sister called from
the hospital and said the doctors were giving us bad news.
The first words spoken to my mom were "Do you
have a living will? Have you made decisions about
heroic measures?" We thought it was just pneumonia.
My mom was certainly shocked by this legal "bedside
manner." I sent out an "It looks bad" email motivated by
near-hysteria and headed to the hospital
About six hours later I saw dad and he was calm,
peaceful, breathing well. I assumed again that he
could be treated for pneumonia and we could resume
the cancer treatments. I was a tad angry that lawyers
were telling doctors what to tell family of patients.
In the process of talking with the doctor in charge of
my dad, I discovered that my parents' will does not
reflect their wishes. This is because lawyers and
doctors don't know how to communicate. (Surprise!)
A nurse friend of mine told me yesterday morning that
my parents' will would get both of them tagged
"DNR" -- "Do Not Resuscitate." This because of
language in their will which says no to "heroic measures."
It's one paragraph of canned legalese. You insert the word
"REQUEST" or "DENY" in the blank and the computer
prints out the will. My mom and dad would have wanted
"heroic measures" performed if they were short-term
measures with the prospect of a resumption of life
more-or-less like life the day before we called 911.
Mom would have preferred to resuscitate Dad if his
heart stopped or breathing needed help if those
measures would have gotten him through a crises and
we could then resume treatment for the cancer.
What lawyers are thinking and what doctors are thinking
are two different things, and both differ from what patients
and family are thinking.
We had hopes that the "alternative treatment"
my dad is undergoing will cure his cancer.
No illusions, but hope. The treatment has had
remarkable success. We were quite impressed
with their facility in Houston, and it isn't like
going to a back alley in Tijuana for apricot pits.
http://www.cancermed.com/
The doctor in charge of my dad is utterly
unfamiliar with this alternative therapy, and
assumes the treatment is medical quackery
or religious hokum, and this informs his
understanding of my dad's will, which speaks
of an "incurable and irreversible" condition.
He would not perform any "heroic measures'
because he thinks my dad's a goner. We
would have approved such measures because
we're eager to resume his "unconventional
therapy." We tried to describe this therapy,
but the doctor had already placed us and the
therapy in the "upper story" (as Francis Schaeffer
called it). He gave us all kinds of irritating, syrupy
platitudes like "We respect your right to believe in
any way that makes you happy, and we want you
to be comfortable with your beliefs." In other words,
"You have the right to be stupid and to nurture a subjective
warm fuzzy feeling in the New Age world of non-reason,
no matter how unrealistic or even false, but I live in the
real, scientific world of conventional approaches and
tight budgets." But since he did not believe in the reality
of our "upper-story," he would not let that interfere
in *his* decision-making process.
Boy, that "You have the right to be stupid and
we respect your unrespectable beliefs" stuff
really bugs me.
Bottom line: nothing would be done to cure
his pneumonia, because his will said "no
heroic measures." It's true that mom has
the final word, but she and I are simply not
strong enough to continue treating him,
especially in the mental state he had before
we called 911.
The next day things changed somewhat. We were
told that X-rays showed that the cancer was strangling
his lung, and that he didn't actually have pneumonia.
Moments later a representative for the hospice program
took us aside and gave us her pitch. "Make them
comfortable." I really don't believe in the interminable
process of machines keeping dead bodies moving.
I like the idea of people dying at home without racking
up hundreds of thousands of dollars of medical bills.
I like the idea of making death comfortable. The
hospice rep said that fluids make the body
uncomfortable. Sounded good at the time, but as
I think about it now, we're simply starving dad to
death. I should say, "comfortably" starving dad to
death.
As I write, mom and sis are at the bank doing some
financial things, getting copies of papers out of the
safe-deposit box, etc., and then we're going to the
hospital, where I hear Dad is peaceful, calm, and
in no pain, due to drip morphine.
Pray for us while we're there. And if you'd
like to pray that God will tell Dad to take up his
bed and walk, that would be OK with us! :-)
Thanks so much to all who have written their support!
We are confident, yes, well pleased rather to be
absent from the body and to be present with the Lord.
Therefore we make it our aim, whether present or absent,
to be well pleasing to Him.
2 Corinthians 5:8-9
Kevin C.
http://members.aol.com/VFTINC/
---------------------------------------------
And they shall beat their swords into plowshares
and sit under their Vine & Fig Tree.
Micah 4:1-7
