Sep 20, 2008 16:24
Nuland says that there is no dignity in dying; the only dignity is in how we choose to live our lives. And I agree. Dying is a messy degrading business as our bodies fail us. My mother faced her death with the grace that she exhibited in her daily life. She was a nurse after all and had intuitively provided the kind of support her patients needed to heal and die. When I needed her to boss and bully she did. When I needed a cheerleader she was there. When I needed a non-nonsense life coach, she laid it out. She dealt with the loss of basic body functions with practicality and calm acceptance. She held me and stroked my back and comforted me when I stalled and could not help her kill herself. I failed her, and she consoled me. Ironic. After she died in Hospice, I found her suicide cache in her bedroom closet at home. Knowing what the end would be like, she had tried to prepare and in the end her body betrayed her preventing her from having the kind of death that she wanted--at home, in her own bed.
My sister was an angry contrary person in life and in her dying. She had lost both breasts and the use of an arm to cancer. Cancer had cost her a lover. Cancer forced her to abort a child to save what was left of her own life. I really think she would have preferred to have a child. Her normal abrasiveness, which normally was mitigated by her sense of humor was twisted into rage and viciousness fueled by an addiction to both morphine and methadone that her doctors gave her for pain, as the bone and nerve in her spinal column were consumed by cancer. She bought expensive material gifts, driving up her debt and willed them to her siblings and friends. She insisted on having "life saving" treatment and procedures, even though she knew they were useless. Helpless, we stood by her bed as she insisted on the last procedure, her skin hot to the touch and blood beginning to pool under her skin-- her body beginning to actively die. The nurses who moved her knew she was dying. I could see she was dying. My brother and sister could see she was dying. Had my mother been still alive, she would might have been the only one who could have talked her out of it. But my mother had died 364 days earlier. Because she was competent and apparently sane, her doctors agreed to attempt to operate, but as soon as they moved her to the surgery theater, Doreen died.
I learned a lot from both experiences. I know that the day-to-day grind of being a caretaker and holding a FT job is exhausting. I never had to do it, but my brother and little sister did. I know I don't want my family to have to deal with that, which is why I fear a long, lingering death and dementia.
I know not to count on my Dad. My DH is also useless in that kind of situation, basically he turns all decisions over to the doctors. So, I have made my wishes very, very, very clear. I have a legal and valid will. My primary care doctor has a copy of my living will. I am an organ donor. I am willing to be an anatomical donor for medical students. My remains should be cremated. I have told my husband innumerable times. My children hear it at least once a year. My co-workers know my wishes. I'm telling you. Pull the damn plug.
The only thing I have not done yet is tattooed "DNR" on my chest.
My personal journals and artwork will go to my children. The contents of my personal library and craft gear will go to A. K. Cosgrove, who will dispose of it. Failing that, the library will go to The Covenant of the Goddess and the tools to the local Fiber guild or other crafters.
I don't really fear death. I am not really sure what I believe about the afterlife, except that my baby sister is a medium and she knows that there is some sort of afterlife--knowing that she will be able to sense me after I die is proof enough of an afterlife for me. So, no, I don't fear the actual dying. I fear pain, prolonged ill health, poverty, dementia--things that would diminish my capacity to feel joy. So that is my answer....Take joy.