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Posted 28 March, 2005 in life shiz
the terri schiavo case hits pretty close to home for me. as i’ve written about here before, my mom died in december. she had emphysema, and was given a tracheotomy so she could breathe better. then she was put on a respirator. the goal was for her to wean herself off it over the course of a few weeks, and when she could breathe on her own, she could leave the hospital.
but she couldn’t do it. every day they took her off the respirator for a few hours, but she couldn’t stay off it for any significant length of time without beginning to gasp for breath. from this point, she had two options: one was to move to an assisted-living facility where she could stay on the respirator 24/7 for a long time–possibly for several more years–and the other was to stop treatment altogether.
my parents had always talked a lot about death. their favorite time to discuss it was on new year’s eve. i’d come back from whatever partying i had been doing, and there they’d be in the living-room. “what are you guys doing?” i would ask. “contemplating our mortality,” they’d say. back then i didn’t think too much of it–i just figured i had weird parents, which i already knew anyway.
all those talks helped when it came time to decide what to do about mum. we knew she wouldn’t want to live on a respirator forever, especially since the rest of her body, reacting badly to the prolonged hospital stay and her inability to breathe well, was shutting down and causing her a lot of pain. lying in bed zonked out on painkillers, she couldn’t even read a book anymore.
we also knew she had a very practical attitude towards death. she knew it was coming, even before she went into the hospital for the last time. so she researched it, buying two books on dying and reading them without any tears or anxiety. research was usually how she dealt with anything unfamiliar or scary. this was no different.
the problem was, she hadn’t made a living will. therefore, she needed to verbally express to us what she wanted before we could do anything. because of the respirator, she couldn’t speak; she could only mouth words. because of the painkillers she was on, she was often out of it, and unable to talk for more than a few minutes before dropping off to sleep. neither i nor my dad were willing to prompt her, or bring up the subject of death; she was going through enough already, and we didn’t want to put words in her mouth or possibly misinterpret her. so we waited, unsure what to do, hoping for some kind of medical breakthrough that would make the decision for us.
of course, the breakthrough didn’t come. my mom was never one to beat around the bush, though, and soon enough, she told us what she wanted. she was very clear about it. “two things,” she mouthed, holding two fingers up. “i want to die, and i don’t want any pain.” she smiled after she’d said it, and my dad asked her if she was happy that she’d told him this. she nodded yes. when the doctor came round to see her, she told him too.
both my dad and i worried that the hospital would try to stop us from discontinuing treatment. even though these were pre-schiavo days, we knew that the absence of a living will might cause us problems. but it all went remarkably smoothly and quietly. the doctor called in a shrink to make sure my mom wasn’t depressed or delusional. my mom hated shrinks, and gave him a hard time, but still managed to convince him that she was in her right mind. then my dad met with several doctors to confirm that we were going to end treatment. and that seemed to be it.
there was only one bump in the road: the morning the doctor authorized us to stop treatment, my dad came into the hospital and found my mom getting a breathing treatment. we were immediately suspicious: had they told us they were stopping treatment just to mollify us? did they have some ulterior, possibly legal, motive for continuing to treat her? my dad practically kicked the respiratory therapist out of the room. we later found out that the therapist hadn’t yet been told not to treat my mom any more. we were relieved; it was just hospital red tape, rather than a right-to-life issue.
my mom’s experience at the end of her life was much like terri schiavo’s. (minus the legal appeals and ten-year-old protesters, of course.) the doctors took out her feeding tube. she was given steadily increasing doses of morphine, which killed her pain and slowed her breathing. while the removal of the feeding tube will be what ends terri schiavo’s life, the removal of my mom’s oxygen and trach collar was what ended hers. she simply could not breathe on her own, and within two days of stopping treatment, she was gone.
i feel lucky that my mom died before the terri schiavo case blew up. the doctors treating her definitely followed a protocol; all the meetings and shrink visits were obviously designed to make sure no one got sued and no one was accused of murder. but in among all the bureaucratic maneuvers, the doctors were completely understanding and supportive. “no one would want to live like that,” the hospital’s social worker said to me at one of these meetings; i don’t want to speak for everyone, but i sure as hell agree that my mom didn’t want to live like that. and i’m glad we could give her what she wanted.
as for what i think about the terri schiavo case? it’s hard for me to say. personally, i wouldn’t want to live like that. i do believe that the laws surrounding end-of-life issues need to be reexamined and made very clear indeed. but i think the schindlers’ constant appeals were a horrible abuse of the judicial system, and that jeb bush is quite right (for perhaps the only time ever) not to intervene. i think something good has already come out of this situation, however. conservatives in this country will be forced to consider which is more important to them: government staying out of private decisions, or the sanctity of life? also, which is more christian: the preservation of life, or respect for nature’s course/God’s wishes? anything that makes conservatives reexamine their beliefs is OK by me.
less than a month after my mom died, my father wrote his living will. best to be prepared, because i see now, my dad and i got lucky. we had understanding medical staff, a supportive atmosphere, and a patient who was determined to make herself heard. stuff doesn’t always fall into place so perfectly. so i, too, will write one. i’m only 29, but terri schiavo was young, too. you never know.