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End Game
The world has lost one more old soul by the name of George Miller. He was 88 years old when he died last year. George was only related to us by the slim fact that fifteen years ago my widowed mother-in-law saw him sitting in the same church pew and married him. George’s mother had lived to the ripe old age of 102 and he was determined to do the same thing. Medical miracles had brought him through some serious life-stopper occasions. He survived them all and we marveled at the power of the talented surgeons and their marvelous magic medicines.
Finally, George and Kathryn experienced stages of failing health, such that we had to move them both into the hospital wing of the fine retirement center where they lived. At that time the staff requested that George and Kathryn have their medical directives in order. George refused all extraordinary measures to keep him alive except for blood transfusions, which he thought would help him fight his cancer. Kathryn refused all extraordinary measures to keep her alive except for kidney dialysis. At that time, she was in end stage renal failure due to diabetes.
Some two years later, George had visited death’s door four times. Each time the units of new blood pumped life through his emaciated body and he perked up. One day his doctor said the medicines were no longer having a good effect; indeed, the lab results were plunging, and he recommended the medications be stopped. George had come the full 360 degrees in the circle of life. He began life eating baby food, wearing diapers, unable to walk and sleeping most of the time. He ended life the same way. For weeks the nurses woke him up to feed him pureed food and change his diaper. What George may have thought about this situation is unknown. He was no longer able to communicate.
Kathryn, who is now 88, is in her third year on kidney dialysis. She is transported three times a week, rain or snow, in her wheelchair over to the dialysis center where they hook her up to the artificial kidney that filters the toxins out of her blood. This procedure takes about four hours. She is then transported back to the retirement home where the nurses get her ready for a little nap before they wheel her to dinner, as dialysis days are big days for her. Her condition is medically fragile, but she seems to be fairly stable and happy. Her quintuple heart by-pass at age 80 is serving her well. Kathryn flunked the mental awareness test about two years ago, but she has a sweet disposition and does well living in the present moment. There is still some measure of quality of life for her as she still enjoys being dressed, having her hair and nails done, and looking fabulous. Most of the time she recognizes her only son.
Watching their lives unfold as a result of George and Kathryn’s medical directives has been a thoughtful eye-opener for our family. In George’s case, we have seen his request for blood transfusions prolong his life until it was a half-life not very many would want. Going the full circle of life is decidedly not for everybody. Perhaps many will say that any life at all, no matter how incapacitated, is better than no life. That may be. Each case is so vastly different.
There are, however, some sad unintended consequences that can accompany one’s decision to have extraordinary measures taken to prolong one’s life, particularly if one is of an advanced age. “Letting nature take its course” might warrant another and more thoughtful look. Even just one extraordinary medical procedure can keep somebody going for quite a long time, even years, as we have seen.
I’m not sure the full circle of life is my goal. Living in a hospital wing somewhere or outliving my brain certainly isn’t on my preferred plan. An extraordinary medical procedure might save me, but for what? Incontinence? Immobility? Dementia? Complete dependency? Not such dandy choices, thank you. My medical directive is going to be the simplest thing ever written. If I cannot return to life on my own, please don’t save me.
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