Craig Bowron, in Our unrealistic attitudes about death, through a doctor’s eyes

When my grandmother was dying of kidney failure last November, her three children struggled with the question of when to ask for pain medication.  One refused to acknowledge the signs of pain, being more concerned with Nana’s blood pressure than with keeping her comfortable.  This sibling held the medical power of attorney.  One tried to stay out of the medical decisions; this sibling held the financial power of attorney.  My mom didn’t know what to think or say or do, wrestling with her hope that her mother would wake and acknowledge that she was there against her wish that her mother would not have the painful and miserable death that her father had three years ago.  They would stare at each other when the nurse at the hospital asked to confirm the dose of pain medication, like three deer simultaneously caught in the headlights, unable to speak.  Even though I was two generations away, I would speak up: “We want her as comfortable as she can be.”

Hospitals — even the Mayo Clinic hospital in Florida (State motto: God’s Waiting Room) — are not well equipped to handle patients at the end of life.  We were so thankful for the nurses and social workers from the hospice, who would check up on the doctor’s orders and make sure that as much as could be done for Nana was being done for her.  They would spend time in the room just chatting with us, hearing and laughing with us at family stories, and these were the times when Nana was most peaceful.

The doctor also says this:

When families talk about letting their loved ones die “naturally,” they often mean “in their sleep” — not from a treatable illness such as a stroke, cancer or an infection. Choosing to let a loved one pass away by not treating an illness feels too complicit; conversely, choosing treatment that will push a patient into further suffering somehow feels like taking care of him. While it’s easy to empathize with these family members’ wishes, what they don’t appreciate is that very few elderly patients are lucky enough to die in their sleep. Almost everyone dies of something.

The one blessing of kidney failure was that Nana fell into a sleep, which became a deeper and deeper state of unconsciousness until she passed.  It took several days, but we were all glad that her dying was peaceful.

The dying stand on holy ground, and sometimes we are privileged to witness this.  It is hard, but it is a blessing.

St. Josephine Bakhita (via radioteopoli)

Undercover Nun is not afraid of death.  I am, however, uncomfortable with dying.  The process of dying is not always (or often) pleasant or dignified, and I expect it won’t feel very good.  I don’t look forward to it.  But after that?  No problem: I want to be with God!

(Source: joecatholic, via radioteopoli)

A fortune cookie I got Sunday night.  And a lie.  There is absolutely no sense of the word comfortable that will apply to my old age.  Between having to work until I die and having an inherited disease that, while not itself progressive, causes progressive conditions, well, signs point to a penny-pinching, pain-filled old age.

But you know what? There’s no point in storing up treasures in this world, and I know that.  While I believe that Jesus pretty frequently indulged in hyperbole (I have to hate this life in order to have eternal life? Really?), I also know that he makes some important points.  I don’t fear death.  I don’t look forward to the process of dying, but I’m not afraid of death.  It’ll probably be a lot more comfortable than my old age.