VR said, "Got a call from the GP (General practitioner, otherwise family doctor). Says she couldn't ever do what I asked, couldn't ever bring herself to pull the plug."
Not surprising really.The Hippocratic Oath would forbid it. One daughter refused outright, didn't even want to talk about it. That left me, and the talk lapsed half-heartedly into the definition of certain words.
We're both in our eighties. Death is an out-of-forcus view of the horizon; each waking morning someone tweaks the binoculars and things get a bit clearer. We're organising "a lasting power of attorney", more particularly, who does what when either or both is unable to speak for ourselves - as to whether the plug should be pulled.
VR has a horror of resuscitation when everything points in the other direction. She's had personal experience, made even more poignant in that she wasn't there in person when the decision had to be taken. On the patio I bugger up the discussion making provisos, but it's not an occasion for exactitude, more for understanding and sympathy. I'll try and do better next time.
In Bergman's The Seventh Seal, Death arrives for the Knight who delays the inevitable by offering to play Death at chess. The Knight discusses a clever move with a friend only to find he's been talking to Death. It comes down to this: an ounce of intelligent foresight may outweigh a tsunami of blubbering.
Being adult, in fact. Music may help but I may be wrong.
I empathise with this completely,RR. At our age we should be examining, unemotionally, our method of leaving this life.
ReplyDeleteWe have both visited the specialist nurse at our GP's , discussed the "DNR" options and completed the forms. our decisions are now included on our computer records.
Neither of us wish to have a lesser life extended to be a worry to our relatives and friends. Why spend that dreadful extra time perhaps being attended to in a "care home"? We both feel that the "plug should be pulled" once dementia or Alzheimer's is diagnosed and has established itself. What the hell would be the point of continuing after that?
The popular current thinking seems to be that death is practically avoidable and life must be extended at all costs. We have both had a full life and are reaching 80. What more can one wish for.
On a similar subject I have arranged for (and pre-paid for) no funeral. I carry a card in my wallet with a number to be contacted when and where I die. A black van will arrive, take away the corpse to be cremated and return the ashes (if wished) to a relative or friend.
Advert time! The company is "Pure Cremation", the costs are very reasonable (about £1500) and the advance fee is put into a protected trust. (No, I am not on commission!)
I became an adult the day my daughter was born. When I realised rather drastically that all this was no longer just about me (which probably was my first grown-up thought).
ReplyDeleteApart from that, I get your point, I really do. I have watched my mother in agony while we threatened court action to have her living will accepted by her doctors. My mother was a scientist and she knew what she wanted. Shortly after her death and before my own life reducing diagnosis, I sat down with our GP and examined the various living will options and with the final version, went to a notary to have them witness and legally register my signature etc.
At the same time, we also did the power of attorney thing.
The paperwork is as thick as a brick.
I sleep better having done this.
As for death, I am not concerned about the afterwards, funeral, removal, whatever. But I want to be prepared for the process of dying and I spend a to some morbid amount of time researching and reading.
When I was preparing for the birth of my child, I read - inter alia - the childbirth books by Sheila Kitzinger (anthropologist, natural childbirth advocate). When she died in 2015, she had carefully prepared her death in the same way she would prepare for birth. Her daughters wrote a nice article about it:
https://www.theguardian.com/lifeandstyle/2015/jun/19/how-to-plan-for-a-good-death-sheila-kitzinger
I know that a lot can go "wrong" but unlike birth, where the wellbeing of a new person must be considered, the outcome of my death will be pretty much final (I hope so) and concern me alone.
Also, this book: http://atulgawande.com/book/being-mortal/
Avus: VR asks me especially to thank you for your comment. She finds it reassuring that others are making measured preparations for the near future. I used to think how pathetic it was that some people - often living close to poverty - took comfort in having a plot in the cemetery "all paid for". What you and I are talking about is of course quite different: not facing up to death but to dying, doing the admin that may, one hopes, take some of the sting out what can be an ordeal for those who are doing the dying and those that are looking on.
ReplyDeleteI'll bear Pure Cremation in a mind. Perhaps £1500 is reasonable when compared to those rapacious organisations who prey on the vulnerable. But a small part of me (that ineradicable root stock that flew in as a weed when I lived in the West Riding) believes that dying should at least be free.
Sabine: I see both of us neatly sidestep qualitative judgement as to whether becoming an adult is a beneficial process.
VR went through some of the torture you describe when her Dad finally succumbed to dementia. Relief horribly entangled with loss - you feel as if you are some kind of penitential wishbone being pulled apart by the forces of modern-day etiquette and filial devotion.
Your statement, "But I want to be prepared..." is stark in its determination, light years away from cards edged in black and light snacks of cold meats. There is the war (represented by ageing and continuing illness) and there are the front-line trenches (the minute-to-minute reality); to hell with those who accuse you of morbidity. I cannot remember what first drew me to your blog; one thing I did know was that your reflections and announcements deserved original thought and I wasn't always capable of responding in this way. Now I recognise what you write as catharsis (and there's an adult process if you like) to which others may or may not respond but not, one hopes, with clichés.
The Kitzinger article is both salutary and exemplary. Being Mortal is no doubt helpful but the review, compared with Kitzinger, lacks specifics.
I am much given to facetiousness, possibly out of place on my deathbed. But confirmation that my inner spring still oscillates since it cannot be rehearsed. I think the others may have to grin and bear it assuming I'm capable of - and here's an apt phrase - the habit of a lifetime.
This is an amazing blog post. And, of course, the comments are as well. I think I became an adult when my mother died. I slept in the bed next to hers the week it took her to give up the ghost, I stood sentinel by her bed with 3 of my siblings when she took her last breath. It was a beautiful death and the love was palpable. The loss was less apparent for us at that moment, thankfully. Grief work is for the living. She was ready. We knew her wishes, which made it easier to let her go. My Mom was defined by her feisty character, so it was reassuring when she struggled to reveal a moment or two of her true self on her death bed. In my seemingly comatose mother's presence, my brother asked the hospice nurse how much longer she would last. The nurse answered. My mother then struggled to bring up her hand (eyes still closed) and was finally able to give my brother the middle finger of defiance. We all laughed. I'm quite sure it made her happy to provide some levity, and we will be telling that story for many generations. So when your time comes, please be yourself.
ReplyDeleteI think I'm still becoming an Adult even tho' I am technically a Senior. The Man and I did the pre-paid burial thing many years ago for the sake of our Adult Children and Adult Grandchildren who we didn't want to be burdened with financial distress during a time of grief. Both of my Parents did the pre-paid burial thing... and tho' I agree with you about the thought that dying at least should be Free... I remember how distressed I was that my very practical Dad did the no-frills pre-paid cremation thing with ashes in a cardboard type box... which made me think of how Cereal is packaged and I kinda freaked out! *Funny now, but not then while profoundly grieving the loss of him!* He didn't want a Funeral and that was OK, but my Brother and I upgraded the box for a proper Urn, which I insisted my Brother keep even tho' I have very Morticia Addams sensibilities usually. Dad isn't even in the Urn anymore, being of Native American Heritage he wanted his ashes scattered in a Beautiful Natural Space, which I Honored and gave me a feeling of Peace. I think dying is intensely personal and I agree with Avus statement that we should examine, unemotionally, our Method of leaving this life. I'm glad that my Adult Children and the nearly Adult Grandson I'm raising are OK talking about death, mine in particular. All of the other Children and Grands, Great-Grands I don't discuss it with because how many really need to know my Wishes in order for them to be Honored I figure? Old Age is a privilege not afforded to many and I feel I have attained that Honored Status, so any time left is Cherished and when my Time comes I Hope to be ready to transition to the Afterlife with as much dignity and Grace as possible.
ReplyDeleteColette: I don't want to resurrect disturbing thoughts but might your mother's finger have been interpreted in more than one way? Feistiness, yes. But also proof that oblivion was being held at bay - at a time when those watching wanted nothing other than easefulness.
ReplyDeleteBut easefulness for whom? Here's the dilemma. What we fear in the process of dying (as opposed to death itself) is suffering. Those present and living do not wish the beloved to suffer; but also (and it's not a fault) they themselves do not wish to suffer. And it's almost inescapable that the prolonging of life during these final moments seems synonymous with suffering. Like all true dilemmas this cannot be resolved. Or is this just me?
Having said that we are entitled to our own view of events that occur under such intensity of feeling. No one one can prescribe what we ought to feel and I have only attempted - perhaps needlessly - to raise a possibility. Also I am touched beyond belief that you have picked up the final, almost throwaway reference in my post (about facetiousness) and enhanced it in such a kindly and personal fashion. Given me licence to follow my instincts and, incidentally, made me question my own ability to reach out and think about others. A salutary and worthwhile gesture. Thank you my dear.
Bohemian: Welcome to this somewhat uncharacteristically solemn exchange at Tone Deaf. As I say I am much given to facetiousness and your mention of a burial urn reminds me that even at times when one would hope for something else, comedy can assert itself. I had returned from the USA for my mother's cremation in the UK and was staying with my brother and his wife. She answered a knock on the door and returned with the final evidence of my mother's passage through life, a cardboard box containing the cheapest of cheap aluminium urns. My sister-in-law who liked beautiful things was horrified that my mother - whom she loved greatly - was reduced to this tawdry thing. Briefly she put it on the mantelpiece but then had to move it, couldn't bear to look at it.
But more was to follow. My mother had asked that her ashes be scattered on open moorland near where she had lived. My two brothers and I drove there and I, as oldest son, did the scattering. But I hadn't allowed for wind direction and the dust blew back on the three of us. Leaving us with the empty cheerless urn. One good thing about aluminium is it doesn't offer much resistance and I was able to stamp it flat and drop it into a nearby trash bin.
It wasn't the final act we would have wished for. But now, nearly fifty years later, I am able to be more sanguine about things. My mother wrote novels and was a published poet. The events I describe have the ring of unexpected authenticity and represent the sort of raw material one can always use in fiction. I write novels; I haven't recycled this event but I might. I tell myself my mother would approve.
Which doesn't, I hope, detract from your observations on this very personal subject. I trust that the urn you bought met your own aesthetic criteria. And I like the reference to Morticia Adams which suggests you are able to put things into perspective when things don't go to plan. Thank you for your contribution.
Your alternative explanation for my mother's display of life is quite plausible. Thank you for that. And of suffering, yes. The horror! Once we brought in the Hospice people, she never suffered again.
ReplyDeletePerhaps there are layers to becoming an adult. This petal, then that. Then the bare stalk with its capsule. I prefer that to an onion with nothing at its heart.
ReplyDeleteIt's a good thing you have carried out. My father spent a decade dying slowly of progressive supranuclear palsy, and many things were done that, had it been me, I would not have desired.
Marly: True. Blog posts (especially those limited to 300 words) sin by omission. There've been other adult moments: the discovery that I was a physical and moral coward, the moment when my shadow revealed I walked with a stoop, unrestrained pride at reading Proust for the second time. The further epiphany that adulthood can be comic as well as serious.
ReplyDelete"... things... done that... I would not have desired." That surely is the key. We must use ourselves as a gauge of behaviour in the face of death's onset. In the end it's all we can truly rely on. The fact that you've rendered these latter sentences in the form of a diminuendo (music speaks where words fail) is I think significant.
Diminuendo, yes...
ReplyDelete