Posted on 09/13/2011 4:08:10 PM PDT by wagglebee
I watched an old woman die of hunger and thirst. She had Alzheimer’s, this old woman, and was child-like, trusting, vulnerable, with a child’s delight at treats of chocolate and ice cream, and a child’s fear and frustration when tired or ill.
I watched her die for six days and nights.
I watched her suffer, and I listened to the medical practitioners, to a son who legally decided her fate, and to an eldest daughter who advised him and told me that the old woman, my mother, was “comfortable,” except when she was “in distress,” at which times the nurses medicated her to make her “comfortable” again.
I watched the old woman develop ulcerations inside her mouth as she became more and more dehydrated; the caregivers assured me these were not painful.
I listened to her breathing become more and more laboured, as her lungs became congested from the morphine administered every three to four hours, and later every hour.
That is what morphine does, you see. It relieves pain, but its cumulative effect is that eventually it shuts down the respiratory system.
No one explained why the old woman was given morphine in the first place, since she was conscious and trying to speak. It is normal that a mild stroke causes temporary inability to swallow, slurred speech, and a severe headache, but all of these are often reversed when the stroke victim is treated and the treatment includes nourishment and water.
The explanation for not giving nourishment and water – a feeding tube and IV (intravenous) – is that these were “extraordinary measures” for keeping someone alive.
I watched the old woman day and night for six days. The first night, after the first shot of morphine, her mouth hung open and her tongue started to roll and flutter. At the same time, her jaw trembled continuously.
This went on all night and into the early hours of the morning. Her mouth never closed again, except to clamp tightly on wet cloths placed on her lips. Her eyes were partially closed, but they moved back and forth, back and forth, becoming small slits after seven or eight hours, not closing fully until that long first night was over.
She opened her eyes only once after that, when the nurse was late with the morphine, on the third, or maybe the fourth, day.
The old woman started to moan. Not moaning, said the nurses and the old woman’s eldest daughter. Just air escaping from the lungs. Not moaning at all.
The old woman’s eyes started to open, and the air escaping from the lungs sounded exactly like a moan of agony, as the old woman’s face twisted in horrible contortions. I screamed, “Her eyes are opening! Oh, God. Oh, God!”
Even as the morphine, quickly injected by a disconcerted nurse, caused the old woman’s eyes to close and her face to relax, I doubted its efficacy. I thought back to the night before, when I, in tears at the old woman’s slow dying, had been confronted by a delegation of four of the nursing staff, each of them in turn trying to convince me that the old woman was not suffering in any way at all. The morphine, they said, takes away all pain.
But, I answered them, she can feel: she’s squeezing my hand, and if I try to take my hand out of hers, she squeezes tighter, and when I hold a little piece of gauze to her lips, she tries to suck the water out of it. She’s thirsty! This is a horror; this is cruelty!
No, they said. She’s not thirsty. It’s just reflex. But, I tell them, I watched her clamp her lips on the gauze so tightly that I had to pull to get it out of her mouth.
She reacts when you touch her feet, her legs, and her hair. If she can feel that she can feel thirst, I plead with them.
It’s not the same, they tell me. She’s not in pain.
I look at her. But what if you’re wrong? I say. What if you’re wrong?
They stand there, saying nothing. Then one looks at the old woman and says, we’d better turn her now. She and another care worker go about the business of repositioning the old woman, to keep her “comfortable” and the other two leave.
The days and nights went in and out of focus. I sat in a chair at the side of the old woman’s bed, one hand grasped tightly by her hand. I slept an hour or two, here and there, waking always with a start.
“I’m here,” I murmured, so the old woman would know I was keeping the promise I made to her on the first night, after her son and eldest daughter left to get some food, drink, and rest. I promised her then, “I will not leave here until you do.
The old woman was fading by the fourth day. Her eldest daughter had been visiting for an hour or so each day, usually mid-morning. This daughter, a former hospital worker, lightly stroked her mother’s face and hair and timed the length of her mother’s “breath apnea,” the length of time her mother stopped breathing.
She announced the number of seconds, and then counted the number of breaths between each stopped breath. Seven breaths, she said, 11 breaths.
Sometimes she described the progress of her mother’s death, She’s probably down to about 60 pounds now, she pronounced.
Sometimes – I’m not sure when I noticed it first – the nurses asked us to leave while they attended to the old woman. Other times they didn’t. Once, perhaps on the fourth day, I told them I didn’t have to leave: I had watched them turn her, I had seen her tiny naked body as they gently washed her. I didn’t even flinch anymore when they injected the syringe of morphine.
We have to give her a suppository, they said. A suppository? Why?
For anxiety, they said. Anxiety. So that she would appear to die with dignity. The morphine was no longer enough. This courageous old woman, who could face, who had faced, unimaginable hardships with nothing but her faith and her dignity, she could teach you about dignity, I thought to myself.
On the fifth day the eldest daughter visited twice. On her second visit, several staff members entered the room with her. They were all talking loudly, about nothing in particular, except for one care worker, fond of the old woman, who walked over to the bed and called the old woman’s name loudly enough to interrupt the others’ light conversation. She examined the old woman’s hands, lifted the sheet covering her and looked at her legs and feet. She called the old woman’s name again, and the care worker’s face showed alarm.
How long has it been? she asked. She’s not even mottling! (Mottling is the term given to describe the blackening of the feet and hands as the body, dehydrating, tries to preserve the vital organs by stopping the flow of blood to the limbs).
You know, continued the care worker, I don’t think it’s her time. It’s been, what, five days? If she had been ready to go, she’d have gone in 24 hours.The room went quiet. The care worker and I looked at each other. You’re right, I said. The eldest daughter and one of the nurses began to tell her she was wrong, and a nurse hustled her out of the room.
By the sixth night I was not sure I could go on. I slept for an hour or so every four or five hours. I still sat in the chair by her bed, but now I slept with my head on bed, near her stomach.
The old woman’s breathing was laboured, her will to live defying the system and the foolish young doctor who, on that first night, gave her 24 hours to live, as though he were God Himself.
My heart was breaking for her. I could do nothing to save her, could do nothing but suffer with her. I cried much of the time, but softly, so she would not know. I didn’t want to add to her agony.
I had been there six days. She could no longer hold my hand, so I slipped my hand gently under hers. I felt an anguish so profound that I began to wonder if I could survive it.
The old woman’s breathing was suddenly no longer laboured. Her breath eased from her, and her face – oh, her face had become the colour of pearls.
In a split second, the frown that had creased the line between her brows was smoothed away. Her head rested gently to one side. Two care workers entered the room. I saw them in my peripheral vision, but I kept my gaze on the old woman. We’re just going to turn her, one of the workers said.
No, I said, my mother is dying.
One of them left to get a nurse, and then the old woman – my dear mother, my little, child-like, beautiful mother – died.
I put my arms round her, kissed her poor, closed eyes and her now relaxed mouth, and held her limp, tiny body, no more struggling for breath.
I watched an old woman die of hunger and thirst. I watched her die for six days and nights. I watched her suffer, and struggle, and hold onto life.
She had not often found life easy, but she had always found it worthwhile. She was 94 years old. She had been born and had lived all her life in Canada. She had worked hard all her life, married, raised three children, voted, paid taxes, saved enough money to buy her own home, obeyed the laws, donated to charity, done volunteer work, paid her bills, and given much love and brought much joy to many, many people in her 94 years.
In return, in the spring of 2009, her son and her eldest daughter, with the permission and assistance of the law, because this old woman had had a mild stroke, refused her food and water. She could not swallow, so she would have needed the food and water administered artificially.
And the youngest daughter could do nothing except watch her mother die slowly, and write this, in the hope that my mother’s death, like her life, will have made a difference.
LifeNews.com Note: Kate Kelly writes for Human Life Alliance. Reprinted with permission.
OK - I’m just going to say it.....there is a complete difference between proactively “killing” someone and simply allowing their body to die.
Before feeding tubes existed, many people, including my grandfather, passed away because they could not take in enough nutrition to maintain life. If this woman had been given a feeding tube and an IV, her body might have been kept alive for a few more days but she was not going to suddenly recover. Dying is a natural process and it will happen to every single one of us. Denying that reality and keeping alive a loved one’s body because you are not ready to let them go is just as wrong as “assisted suicide”.
Both put human beings into the role of being God. I am completely pro-life but if anyone stuck a feeding tube into me when God was trying to take me home, I’d be livid and my family is well aware of my wishes!
I am sorry for your loss - it is never easy to lose a parent.
If I become incontinent, my mind is blown with alzheimers, my body filled with bed sores,, gasping for breath, I want my family to spend every dime they have to keep me alive so I can suffer. I don’ want any of them to get a penny’s inheritance, I want it all spent with the nursing home keeping me alive in a vegetative state.I ant my two daughters to have to come and watch me waste away in pain from terminal cancer or whatever else I have, just feed me, If I cannot eat, dose me up with that liquid crap they put in my veins that keeps me alive so my kids can take time away from their families to watch me die after eating for a long time.If I am totally useless, have no mind, have no chance of recovery, just keep feeding me until they go broke , the government goes broke, and then bury me with the $200 dollars Social security gives for the purpose.
Yeah thats the way I want to go, lying there with my family grieving for me every day and saying what a sad case I am waiting to die.
It costs less than $2000 a month to feed someone with an IV and give them ice chips. The average elderly person gets more than this from Social Security.
Are you planning to try out for one of Zero's death panel commercials?
” . . and shoot the SOB’s that are starving me to death.”
Heh. It’s hard to laugh after reading this story; but you did manage to make me laugh. Ha! I was expecting your second sentence to be as follows: “and take myself out.”
You threw me for a funny loop! Thanks for that!
Boy,I dread the day if or when we face my MIL’s impending death. SIL and BIL have most likely thought she would have already been dead ten years ago. SIL is a German; and I don’t look forward to those two calling the shots. Husband is afraid to get ten inches away from his mother. I think he’s afraid she will die and he won’t be there to stop it or make decisions about her. Don’t know if he trusts them or not. So, we don’t vacation any distance any more.
I’m assuming these “nurses” are super-cocksure that there’s no pain in dying of thirst under morphine, since they’ve tried it for 5 or more days.
Right?
Thank you.
I have to go cry hard now.
I want God to intervene and change this culture of death. How long can this descent into hell continue?
You're right, giving a person increasing amounts of morphine while depriving hydration and nutrition IS proactively killing them.
Before feeding tubes existed, many people, including my grandfather, passed away because they could not take in enough nutrition to maintain life.
Feeding tubes have been in use for over five centuries, the only real advancement is non-allergenic plastics.
Both put human beings into the role of being God. I am completely pro-life but if anyone stuck a feeding tube into me when God was trying to take me home, I’d be livid and my family is well aware of my wishes!
So, using medical advances that God allowed us to develop is "being God."?
If your child had a ruptured appendix would you take them to the hospital to have it removed or is that "being God"?
Have you ever taken antibiotics or is that "being God"?
What about blood pressure medication, vitamins, checking blood pressure and cholesterol levels, do you do any of this or is that also "being God"?
I am sorry for your loss - it is never easy to lose a parent.
I'm not the author of this.
The old lady was thirsty. She wanted to drink. She was conscious. She wasn’t dying. She only died because they starved and thirsted her to death.
I took care of my mother for months while she was under hospice care and finally when her body was ready to die, she didn’t want to eat or drink, it was gradual, but it happened naturally.
This was not a natural death. It was murder. The woman wanted nutrition.
That is the difference, and it is a huge, huge difference.
My heart is breaking from reading this. I can hardly see to type. Murder by starvation and thirst is totally different from the natural death when the mortal body can no longer process nutrition and the person doesn’t want it any more.
Anyone who has seen a natural death knows the difference, as I have, and I am sure anyone like this poor helpless daughter, who has seen murder by starvation, knows the difference.
How much longer will this culture of death continue!
My mother in law stroked, and for water they were giving her some kind of WATER GEL, yuk. It was awful, and she hated it. They said water may asperiate her. SO:
When I was there, I got a glass of crushed ICE and gave it to her a chip at a time, she was so grateful and would not let me stop, so thirsty. They caught me doing this, and chewed me out. Mother in law kinda smiling, they told me if she gave a waiver and not hold them responsible, I could continue. That's what she did.
We all knew that she was not to live long, and she wanted water. She never asperiated.
I believe in dignity, and would do it again.
God bless this daughter
LOL add that $2,000 to the $5,000 you are already paying at the nursing home and it adds up.
I believe the decision should be left to the family and their decision should not be questioned by people who disagree.
I watched my mother in law with Alzhaeimers she wasted away slowly dying in increments ,slowly getting to the point where she could not eat and passing into unconsciousness, she could have lasted a few days longer had they fed her throught tubes. For what? Why put her throught that?
No )(I am dead set against Obamacare and letting the Government let me dies for lack of medical attention they refuse to pay for, but when my time comes do not make special efforts to keep me around. When I cannot eat through my own mouth and cannot wipe my own butt, I will be ready to go. I do not want to lie around like a veggie.
My family has better thing to do than coming to visit a veggie at the nursing home every day. I might add that if you have a loved one in the nursing home VISIT them EVERY day or the care they get will not be the best. I know that from bitter experience.
That's a tough one. We took care of my wife's 100+ year old grand mother for about a year, so I kind of know what you mean. Hang in there.
My husband, who is a former cop, upon learning he has Alzheimer’s and Parkinson, threatened to kill himself. I immediately got rid of his guns. He has said many times that he’d rather be dead than have this horrible disease. Against his wishes, I do what I can to keep him comfortable and alive. His Living Will states that he is a DNR and wants only comfort care. As his wife, the decision for me is unbearable. He is in the latter stage, but is still at home. I imagine him to be in a nursing home by winter because I cannot handle him by myself. I cannot and will not judge another’s decision, because I am so unsure of myself, and the right thing to do when the time comes. It’s all about him, but I am the one who has to live with the consequences.
“Without going into personal details, some very close relatives of mine signed advance directives specifying that, under certain circumstances, they were to be denied food and water and given only pain medication.”
I have signed that type of advance directive and have talked to my wife and my sister about my wishes. If I am dying and in pain I want to be made comfortable. I am not afraid of death since I am saved.
I call bullshit! I’m the youngest son. No one, I repeat, no one is gonna kill my mother. I don’t give a fat, rat’s ass what the doctors or oldest brother think. I’ll go to Hell before I’d allow what this woman allowed.
I find it hard to believe as well, but some years back, a similar thing happened to a relative of mine. She had just one child — quite the fool, that child — to make the medical decisions. The fool did what the doctors suggested and the parent died slow and horrible.
You may wonder how the Germans could have done nothing, or how they could have actively assisted in the Holocaust.
We have among us people who would sit there watching their own parents die in the most inhumane manner. Ostensibly because some judge permitted it, and some medical practitioner swore it was painless.
I would take my parent home if it were a felony to do so and the home a fishing shack.
All sorts of means have been invented to keep nourishment provided to the cells of a human body. We can keep one going with a heart, without lungs, without kidneys, without even a brain. Given the reach of technology, where should the line be drawn?
Whatever that line is, I don’t want it drawn by a committee.
This was before abortion was in full force. Our patients were the most pitiful bits of helpless humanity imaginable. Some, into their 'teens, were no larger than babies.
Because every ward was a "hospital" ward, they didn't come to ICU until they were terminally ill. Every patient was treated with compassion and mercy as if they were our own babies. The doctors hovered over them like mother hens. No one ever was denied fluids or nurishment until they passed.
This mercinary attitude towards dying family members is unspeakably evil. That medical people have come to be so unmerciful is wicked beyond words.
Be careful about signing away your rights to be treated mercifully until you've spent a few days without food and water. With morphine, thirst becomes intensified. Think about yourself in that bed, no longer allowed to speak for yourself.
In the end, this attitude makes us all a little less human. There are incredibly rich and wonderful life lessons to be gained by being the caregiver to someone you love in their greatest extremity.
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