"I can't take it anymore."
This was written Tuesday, June 5, 2007 at 1 PM.
My grandmother, Edith, just announced to me - and, previously, to my mother and a healthcare worker - her decision to end her life. We happened to already have an appointment with our lawyer in an hour, regarding healthcare/medical power of attorney, so she may take this as an opportunity to finalize her decision.
It would have been much more tolerable for her to die eventually, having received the best care we could manage up to that point. But to withhold care? True, in a sense it will no longer prolong her constant suffering, which I will explain below. The faint of heart should skip the next paragraph.
Her right side is paralyzed and insensate due to multiple strokes in December. (It was partially paralyzed prior to that, from a stroke in 1999.) She requires a wheelchair, which she cannot get into or out of without assistance. Even using the bathroom, or eating, requires help. She is in constant, uncontrollable pain in several areas. Polycystic kidney disease has left her kidneys bloated and completely useless; she must attend dialysis thrice a week, using a “perma-cath” in her chest. Her judgment and short-term memory were damaged by the recent strokes, which left her confused, unable to readily follow instructions, anxious, and depressed. She also has significant hearing loss. She despises taking her numerous pills each day. Recently she has even become unable to use the bathroom as she wants - not incontinent, as elders often are, but the opposite. (This does not correlate with dialysis - she was able to void before.) Her vision has degraded, and she can barely write, something she loved to do.
My mother, Meredith, contributed the following further explanation (written June 8, 2007 at 2:45 PM):
Without her vision, my mother can barely make out the faces of those she loves. She can’t pass time and ease her mind by reading books or even watching TV.
Without her hand, she can’t feed herself without dropping things off utensils. She can’t dress herself, damaging her sense of dignity. She can’t write, removing a host of activities from her. Even basic functions like restroom use are impaired - try it yourself without using your main hand.
She valued time and speed greatly throughout her life, yet cannot walk. She has looked with frustration and envy at those who can walk - why could they and not she? When she wished to attend Mass, she had to hobble into church in front of everyone, embarrassing her. Even if people weren’t judging her, she felt that they were, and lost her will to go out of the house.
She used to walk a lot (and quickly, as she liked everything done fast) from place to place, especially while she was working. She would use her feet and the public buses to get to work and to do errands.
This concludes Meredith’s section.
Now she wants to stop the dialysis, the pills, and the therapy. We will not overrule her; she has enough presence of mind to make this decision. For months, if not years, she has talked of wanting to die, and now is it expressed with urgency and conviction.
The tragedy in her life before this recent mess was dual. Her stroke in 1999 came soon after she had finally retired; she was a proud workaholic, and deserved a chance to reap the fruits of her labors. About a year later, in October 2000, her husband - my grandfather, her caretaker, and a cornerstone of all our lives - died after a sudden descent in health. Since then my mother and I have devoted most of our lives to caring for her - handily, we live a block away from her, and since last December we have lived at her house - but she has suffered greatly nonetheless. (My father has also helped, but to an extent limited by his oppressive work schedule.)
She is 83 now. She says, "That's old enough, isn't it?" Her husband died at 85. Those are both respectable lifespans. But no rationalization, indeed no words at all, can allay the situation.
My grandmother, Edith, just announced to me - and, previously, to my mother and a healthcare worker - her decision to end her life. We happened to already have an appointment with our lawyer in an hour, regarding healthcare/medical power of attorney, so she may take this as an opportunity to finalize her decision.
It would have been much more tolerable for her to die eventually, having received the best care we could manage up to that point. But to withhold care? True, in a sense it will no longer prolong her constant suffering, which I will explain below. The faint of heart should skip the next paragraph.
Her right side is paralyzed and insensate due to multiple strokes in December. (It was partially paralyzed prior to that, from a stroke in 1999.) She requires a wheelchair, which she cannot get into or out of without assistance. Even using the bathroom, or eating, requires help. She is in constant, uncontrollable pain in several areas. Polycystic kidney disease has left her kidneys bloated and completely useless; she must attend dialysis thrice a week, using a “perma-cath” in her chest. Her judgment and short-term memory were damaged by the recent strokes, which left her confused, unable to readily follow instructions, anxious, and depressed. She also has significant hearing loss. She despises taking her numerous pills each day. Recently she has even become unable to use the bathroom as she wants - not incontinent, as elders often are, but the opposite. (This does not correlate with dialysis - she was able to void before.) Her vision has degraded, and she can barely write, something she loved to do.
My mother, Meredith, contributed the following further explanation (written June 8, 2007 at 2:45 PM):
Without her vision, my mother can barely make out the faces of those she loves. She can’t pass time and ease her mind by reading books or even watching TV.
Without her hand, she can’t feed herself without dropping things off utensils. She can’t dress herself, damaging her sense of dignity. She can’t write, removing a host of activities from her. Even basic functions like restroom use are impaired - try it yourself without using your main hand.
She valued time and speed greatly throughout her life, yet cannot walk. She has looked with frustration and envy at those who can walk - why could they and not she? When she wished to attend Mass, she had to hobble into church in front of everyone, embarrassing her. Even if people weren’t judging her, she felt that they were, and lost her will to go out of the house.
She used to walk a lot (and quickly, as she liked everything done fast) from place to place, especially while she was working. She would use her feet and the public buses to get to work and to do errands.
This concludes Meredith’s section.
Now she wants to stop the dialysis, the pills, and the therapy. We will not overrule her; she has enough presence of mind to make this decision. For months, if not years, she has talked of wanting to die, and now is it expressed with urgency and conviction.
The tragedy in her life before this recent mess was dual. Her stroke in 1999 came soon after she had finally retired; she was a proud workaholic, and deserved a chance to reap the fruits of her labors. About a year later, in October 2000, her husband - my grandfather, her caretaker, and a cornerstone of all our lives - died after a sudden descent in health. Since then my mother and I have devoted most of our lives to caring for her - handily, we live a block away from her, and since last December we have lived at her house - but she has suffered greatly nonetheless. (My father has also helped, but to an extent limited by his oppressive work schedule.)
She is 83 now. She says, "That's old enough, isn't it?" Her husband died at 85. Those are both respectable lifespans. But no rationalization, indeed no words at all, can allay the situation.