Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

Continued

This will probably be my main preoccupation for awhile.

After I shut down the computer last night it was nearly midnight, which is hours past my usual bed time. I still couldn't sleep.

My aunt has chosen a "good" death. Back when she elected not to treat the cancer she said she was ready, and I guess she's sat in enough hospitals watching every other member of the family die that she didn't want that. Early in July, she had a bad night where she couldn't catch a breath if she was lying down, so she slept, as well as she could, in her chair. That was the sign to call in the hospice services, and she reminded my father then: no hospital, no ambulance.

Back to my rat model, sort of. I took one of the rats in to be put to sleep during the last year. I was nearly hysterical when I did, because I felt guilty...she had been dropping weight at an alarming rate, even though she ate like a horse, and I'd come home from work that evening to find her having seizures. I got it in my mind that the weight loss was a sign I'd ignored, and I should have taken her in to be treated.

No, said the vet, who is the guy who profits from my taking the rats in all the time. She was eating and happy and you knew she was old. We'll make the end quick and painless for her, but you had no reason to try to stop the course of nature.

Around this time my vet had been making frequent trips home to see his mother, who was very ill. He compared the situations, and told me how agitated his mother was, and how each time he was out there she was getting worse, until the last time he took her home. Then he asked her: which is worse, how you feel, or going to the hospital once a week? She was able to tell him that it scared her to be in the ambulance and that she wasn't comfortable in the hospital full of strangers. Although they could stabilize her condition, she was ready to stop being stabilized...she just wanted to stay home in peace.

My grandmother's last months...years, really...were marked by that: frantic ambulance rides, hospital stays. Unfortunately she'd had several strokes and could no longer speak much, so if it scared her, if she'd have preferred a different route, we didn't know.

I read an article a few weeks ago about the bird flu, and it mentioned that in our modern American society, we really have removed death from the course of everyday life. In some ways, the article pointed out, the developing countries can deal better that we can, because they are used to people dying at home and the families are used to handling the bodies. Except for the few professions who make a living dealing with death for the rest of us, it's a sanitized, distanced experience.

Between now and the time she dies, my aunt will not be alone. When one of the family can't be there, the hospice will send a volunteer. When my mom told me this, she said "Is that not the ultimate selfless volunteer job?" My answer was "I could never do it." I was scared last night.

I'm still scared, and I'm still sad. But I'm realizing that my aunt is giving me a great gift with this experience, as difficult as it is.

Posted by Nic at July 23, 2006 07:17 AM | TrackBack