<p>Hmmm . . . my FIL was in hospice with COPD and diabetes and dementia . . . and I can’t say he went gently. Not at all. He raged against the dying of the light.</p>
<p>In a weird way it made my DH, the love of my own life, feel better that his dad raged against going.</p>
<p>It’s all complex, of course.</p>
<p>Is a really easy death on those awaiting that death such a wonderful death? </p>
<p>No answers here.</p>
<p>“And highly satisfying”</p>
<p>Highly satisfying?</p>
<p>The last day or 2 days or 12 hours of suffering or struggling or giving in to death are a teeny, tiny part of the measure of a life and a relationship. Yes, of course it would be wonderful to know for sure exactly what a loved one wants and for him or her to be able to communicate his/her wishes to the end. But life is messy and complicated. I hope that those of you who are second-guessing what happened to a loved one at the end can orgive yourselves–you did the best you could.</p>
<p>dstark,
I like your story of your grandfather. My father chose hospice rather than dialysis. I have grappled with the suspicion that hospice killed him. They were kind and caring and he was comfortable, but he was dead in 5 days, after the doctors had said he had 2 weeks to 2 months to live. Hospice drugged him with painkillers to the point that I never saw him conscious while he was there. There is no way he could have asked for food or water. I don’t like to think about it, but when I do, I think it was probably the right thing to do. He was 89 and had lived a good life.</p>
<p>My FIL broke out of hospice, went running down a freeway in his hospital gown and somehow made it back home. </p>
<p>I really like my FIL.</p>
<p>Oldmom, that’s a good post. </p>
<p>My grandmother suffered from depression at the end of her life. I did not understand depression. I told her the last couple of years to snap out of it. But she didn’t. </p>
<p>She was always talking about dying so when she really was dying…I mean in a day or two. I did not believe her. I told my mom I would get to the hospital on Wednesday. It was Sunday. My mom said, “Come to the hospital Monday.” I said, “No. Wednesday”.
My grandmother died before I got to the hospital. It has always bugged me. We all have roles and my role is the caregiver. I failed. I did not understand depression. I did not get to the hospital. I failed.</p>
<p>So…things were happening in my life and I wanted to be depressed to see what it was like because I did not understand my grandmother and I became depressed. For a year. I
needed time to be alone. I needed time to not be the caregiver. To focus on myself. Of course, once I became depressed I realized there has to be better ways to have alone time. Lol</p>
<p>There was such a weight on me that year. Everytime I woke up, I felt this weight on my head. Every time for a year. The only thing that helped me was walking and exercise. I don’t know how my wife put up with me that year. All I can say is that she got 1 bad year and 30 good ones with me. </p>
<p>Grandma, I love you and I understand.</p>
<p>I am writing this for those in similar situations and myself.</p>
<p>Bay, thanks. Thanks for your story. Thanks to all the posters. </p>
<p>These decisions are really hard. It sounds like your dad did not suffer at the end, Bay. That’s good.</p>
<p>“Mini, how does your wife handle the stress of her job? She comes home and beats the crap out of you. Right?”</p>
<p>Actually, she has very, very, very little stress. Remember, there is no doctor supervising her. She never sets foot in a hospital. She can take out her hostility on the pharmacies that don’t deliver. She makes people feel better. She can prescribe root beer floats instead of cholesterol meds. She orders comfy chairs and comfy beds, and drugs that take away people’s pain. She teaches other nurses how to work with patients. She has lots of strange religious conversations (she’s a Quaker-Buddhist type.) There are no residential hospices in our state - she goes to people’s homes, or assisted living places, etc. She sets her own daily schedule. She comes home, puts her feet up, the dog licks her face, she turns on the tv to a basketball or baseball game, opens up her computer, and does her charting notes, paid time and a half - every single night. I cook dinner. She makes more with her two-year RN than I ever did with my multiple graduate degrees, more than most ARNPs in my town, and about the same as my local doc. </p>
<p>Me? I’m a kept man, and she keeps me around as eye candy. </p>
<p>By the way, hospices make money the longer the patients live. Most of the cost is upfront, both the paperwork and intake and administration, and the ordering of equipment (like adjustable beds.) This is why Medicare requires a recertification of a patient every six months - the patients aren’t supposed to live that long, and if they do, Medicare wants to ensure the hospice isn’t bilking them. So there’s not much incentive to kill the golden geese.</p>
<p>“Highly satisfying?”</p>
<p>Yup. You want more?</p>
<p>Mini, I can understand most of your post. </p>
<p>Eye candy? </p>
<p>Come on…I have seen your picture… :)</p>
<p>Yes. Tell me more…Highly satisfying?</p>
<p>So I didn’t see no Jesus, guy with beard, Moses, Mohammed, Abraham, Hindu goddess, spaghetti monster, dragon, Allah, Yaya, or ancestors. Didn’t see no white light. No dark tunnel. No brilliant sun. No crescent moon.</p>
<p>But I DID get a video of my entire life! Beginning to end. And at the end, I can remember thinking/feeling, “wow, that was a good life!” And I was finished. Satisfied. </p>
<p>Next thing I heard, “310…315…320!” And then they wheeled me to a revolutionary feminist commune. I put out a dime jar - anyone who wanted to examine me, take blood, ask me any questions, or give me a pill, had to put a dime in the jar.</p>
<p>Here’s what I wrote about it at the time:</p>
<p>My New Exercise Regimen</p>
<p>I was waiting for the service elevator in a wheelchair, ready and eager to leave the hospital, when I spotted a sign on the wall. “Did You Know?” read the headliner. “Using the stairs burns up to five times as many calories as taking the elevator.” A stick figure climbed stairs down at the bottom of the poster.</p>
<p>“Hmm,” I thought, and nodded to my wife. “That could be my new exercise regimen.” </p>
<p>“How’s that?” she asked.</p>
<p>“Well, I could ride up and down on the elevator five times and lose as many calories as taking the stairs. Do it often enough, and I’ll be a lean-mean-fighting machine.” Since I am temporarily relegated to the elevator, this was a heartening thought.</p>
<p>When I arrived home, I e-mailed a homeschooling friend to see if her kids could figure out whether I was likely to lose more calories going up or coming down. Perhaps there is a sports physiologist out there who can tell me whether I am better off having the energy drink before or after.</p>
<p>All right. I was in the hospital because, having just returned from speaking at a homeschooling conference in Winnipeg (or ‘WinterPeg’, as the locals endearingly call their hometown) and while playing in one of my thrice-weekly squash games, I experienced a major heart attack. Would have won, too. We called 9-1-1 at 7:15, and I was in the emergency room at 7:30, and in emergency surgery at 7:45. Assuming I am still around by the time this column gets published (there is no reason to believe I won’t be, as, pace Mark Twain, reports of my demise are greatly exaggerated), this is a living tribute to a community that has worked together to make it possible for modern medicine to do its magic, and for which I am extremely grateful.</p>
<p>But the next day in the acute cardio-telemetry wing at the hospital gave me much pause for reflection. The weather being unusually balmy and dry (I’m not sure if there was a connection but…), not a single doctor, according to the nurses, had set foot on the floor, for any of the patients, the entire day. From what I could tell, the ward had become a revolutionary feminist commune, and, my wife being a nurse herself, I guess that’s not too shabby (though I think the contestants on Project Runway could have a field day with hospital garb, for nurses and patients alike.)</p>
<p>Around eight-o-clock, the cardiologist who helped save my life in the emergency room rolled into my room like a great ball of fire, and announced that he was going to treat my case “very aggressively”, and he already had a treatment plan. The off-the-shelf treatment scheme assumed I was an overweight, nicotine-addicted, alcohol-swilling couch-potato with high blood pressure, diabetes or at least high blood sugar, out-of-control cholesterol, a weakness for nachos, potato chips, and an uncontrollable penchant for fast-food. </p>
<p>There was only one problem: I have low blood pressure, normal blood sugar, moderate and controlled cholesterol, a hankering after sashimi and Greek salad, lost 10-12 pounds in the past year, don’t smoke or drink, and had my moment of excitement while burning 800 calories an hour playing a game against competitors barely half my age (and some older and in better shape than I am as well). Have swallowed an aspirin a day for more than a decade, along with the fish oil. The reason he didn’t know any of this is because, in his smug omniscience, he hadn’t even bothered to ask. (The drug companies don’t seem particularly interested in folks like me either – there isn’t a single cholesterol drug on the market designed or even tested for individuals with my profile.) </p>
<p>Needless to say, I will not be availing myself of my former cardiologist’s services any longer. But what this reminded me of immediately was the school combine, where educational strategies are prescribed by national and state committees, curricula designed by immensely profitable publishing companies and purchased by school boards, and educational approaches implemented by well-meaning teachers without knowledge of, nor even the barest acquaintance with, any single child. To paraphrase the philosopher and mystic G.I. Gurdjieff (totally out of context!), “Out of the vacuum and into the void.” We could all have a field day ruminating about the “side effects”. Fortunately, there are at least two million of us who have discovered we no longer require their services as well, and we’ve learned that it is in our children’s best interests to pull them out of the way of the onrushing public education steamroller.</p>
<p>Kat my personal doctor and perfectionist came in with a hangdog look. She felt like a failure in not preventing my death (and subsequent resurrection). I, on the other hand, felt that the two of us were extraordinarily successful. I am the first male on my father’s side of the family not to suffer a major heart attack by age 39, or to live past age 55. From my point of view, this was going to happen sooner or later, it is better that it was later, and, as my good friend the homeschooling author Jean Reed (The Home School Source Book) quips, I can now take something off my To-Do list. As far as I’m concerned, we are both overachievers, imperfect to be sure, and when I see her next week we’ll have plenty to talk about, and perhaps I’ll bring a box of chocolates.</p>
<p>So next time you see me at a homeschooling event in your community, (and I plan to get around to you soon!), you’ll have to forgive me if I ask you to do the heavy lifting. My wife’s doctor, a friend with a great sense of humor and a limited color selection of v-neck sweaters, told me to “be careful”.</p>
<p>I promised that I wouldn’t overdo the elevator thing anytime soon.</p>
<hr>
<p>P.S. With thanks to my homeschooling friend and fellow bird fancier Shell McCoy, I bought a canary! He has a haircut like one of the Beatles. (Okay, I know birds don’t have hair, but you can take a look – [Gloster</a> Canaries](<a href=“http://www.avianweb.com/glostercanaries.html]Gloster”>Gloster Canaries) . As you’ll see if you visit the site, Gloster canaries make for a great lesson in genetics.) Turns out that he isn’t a John, Paul, or Ringo, not even a Herman. He informed me in no uncertain terms that his name is Barnaby. Go figure. </p>
<p>P.P.S. I just received the results of my nuclear (No Nukes!) stress test from my new cardiologist. “Absolutely, completely, and unusually normal,” he says. Little does he know.</p>
<p>Bay, I am sure we’ve all heard stories of people at the end of their lives who, once they are at peace with dying and are given “permission” by their loved ones, slip away very quickly. If it were another 2 weeks or another month–who knows? A month of suffering or a month of good life to say goodbye? When my mother died, everyone said she was unconscious. She had involuntary tremors. The last time I saw her, I told her that it was ok to let go, that everyone loved her but didn’t want to see her suffer. While I was talking to her, she shaked even harder, and then when I was done talking, her shaking subsided back to what it had been before. She stopped breathing a few hours later. I think she was ready and it was time. But there’s no way to know. Maybe the extra shaking was an involuntary reaction to my touch. I like to think she was listening. But ultimately it doesn’t really matter.</p>
<p>Hugs to you and Ellen, Mini. I knew the two of you got a double whammy. Do they know what caused the heart attack and what is in place to prevent another? That’s the problem of leading the "perfect"life, heh, heh. Can’t quit smoking, lose weight, exercise, take the vitamins, get a healthier diet, Already there. My SIL nearly took off the head of her MD with his standard line directions. She is the healthiest person I know. Great athlete, yet stays in moderation, good weight, great vitamin, supplement regiment over time, excellent diet, no salt little fat, not much room for cuts there, yet she is having some health issues. </p>
<p>You truly should write a book, Mini. Those of us here at CC would be lining up to buy it! </p>
<p>My DH’s family is overweight, leads horrible lives breaking every health rule in the book but they tend to live in the three figures with teeth intact. The genetic are strong. My family… I never met any of my grandparents. My mother is an outlier at age 87, the oldest living member of her family that anyone can remember and in Japan, they track that stuff very carefully. My Dad died when he was about my age and it’s cancer for just about all of them and it’s already reared its ugly head in my generation and even with the next, as my son is a leukemia survivor. </p>
<p>I have to laugh about the stairs. I’ve been trying to shed 1- lbs for about 3 years now and have managed to lose a big 3 in all of that time, and have gained it back. I decided to do stairs since I live in a two story house. Well, I can now go up the Empire State building wthout sweating or stopping with all of my stair practice, but haven’t lost an ounce. I am a couch potato who is trying to slowly start back up. I shocked my sons as to how long I can run with them–I used to run miles and miles in my youth and as long as I don’t try to race, I can keep a brisk pace for a long , long time, maybe forever until I have to pee or drink. I can walk all day too. I refuse to exert myself in exercise, however, as I was dxed a few years ago with exercise anaphlaxia and have to carry an epi and Benadryl with me. No episodes in over a year as I now hardly move after a meal for a good hour. The combo of eating and then exercise is deadly for me. I’m considered at a good weight for my height, but my waistline says 10 lbs should go. I eat reasonbly, don’t smoke, but have left some room for improvement, heh heh, if and when necessary.</p>
<p>“You truly should write a book, Mini. Those of us here at CC would be lining up to buy it!”</p>
<p>I’ve only written 11 in the past 15 years ([Skylark</a> Sings ~ Welcome to Skylark Sings](<a href=“http://www.skylarksings.com%5DSkylark”>http://www.skylarksings.com) )</p>
<p>Remember, for every pound you lose, someone else finds it. I do yoga four days a week. Don’t lose any weight with it, but it makes me feel good. </p>
<p>The heart attack was probably caused by genetics and the Flying Spaghetti Monster.</p>
<p>Just like in the school system, as Mini says, if you are an outlier you are in deep doo doo. I have been scanned, poked, biopsed, and just about every indignity you can imagine in the past couple months (not to mention what the Chargemaster costs were) because I’m still, in medical terms, fertile at 57 which I guess is a no-no…at best an outlier situation. No one asked me about family genetics…not once. No one asked me how old I was when I reached puberty (older than probably 99% of multi-generational Americans). At the end of this the decision was to do nothing…because there is simply nothing to do…something I could have told them before they uttered the big “c” word and scared the crap out of me. Yes, Mini, our medical system, right down to it’s tiered pricing, is ironically similar to education.</p>
<p>It’s actually not ironic - they are directly connected.</p>
<p>Some of these stories are amazing…</p>
<p>Being fertile in your 50’s…
Breaking all the health rules and living past 100…
Being able to run forever…</p>
<p>Oldmom…that was a nice story. I would like to think your voice was a calming influence. </p>
<p>Mini…great story…you saw your life pass before your eyes…
Is there anything you can do to prevent another heart attack?</p>
<p>I thought I was in the clear…
“There was only one problem: I have low blood pressure, normal blood sugar, moderate and controlled cholesterol”</p>
<p>Me too and I don’t drink or smoke… </p>
<p>I don’t join any group or organization or club, I am a loner, but…
I bet I am one of the few posters that has read In Search of The Miraculous, Martin Benson Speaks and David Daniels work.</p>
<p>Since you mentioned Gurdjeiff, I thought I would throw the above in the post…</p>
<p>“Mini…great story…you saw your life pass before your eyes…
Is there anything you can do to prevent another heart attack?”</p>
<p>YES! Save the world! (I wake up every morning with that intention, and it is going to take a little time…) (You might enjoy this week’s work: <a href=“http://www.cloutcares.org/Pages/CleanWater.aspx[/url]”>http://www.cloutcares.org/Pages/CleanWater.aspx</a> )</p>
<p>Looks great…</p>
<p>That should keep you healthy…</p>
<p>It works! Try it - you’ll like it.</p>
<p>Gosh Mini, that’s some story!</p>