"You have to think about it! You can't just hand it all over to the doctor for the doctor to decide! It's your life, your body!" I was getting emotional, unnecessarily so, for being so may have just diminished what I was trying to say.
One of the doctors in the medical team charge in charge of dealing with mum's inability to eat came in this morning. He said after careful consideration, and after the failure of the NJ tube to fully enter the intended area of the intestines, the only option remaining is bypass is surgery. He did not say whether or not we have to proceed, but if we do want to, the earliest that it can be done is coming Tuesday.
"Think about things, mum. You don't always have to do what the doctor says." In this case, the doctor has not said anything concrete yet, but just presented the option of surgery. And to me at least, they presented facts that they have not presented to mum.
"I'll let the doctor decide," mum said. I don't know if she thought things through, or perhaps she is too tired and starved to think... I asked her to consider the bigger picture, to consider the risks, and to remember that perhaps a month or so after the surgery, she may end up in the same place as she is now: starving, unable to eat because the intestines have been clogged up again by the tumour spreading.
"What do you want me to do? Just starve to death? Send me to the hospice and wait to die?!" Mum reacted angrily. From her words, it seemed clear she misunderstands me and has not understood what hospice care means. She, and my aunts, believe I am completely against all treatments, including the NJ tube and surgery. They probably think that I want to get rid of mum as soon as I can, so that's why I'm been eagerly promoting hospice care. But I just would like mum know there is an alternative to pressing forward with treatment, to getting your body so tormented by cuts and poisoned by medicine that one by one things begin to fail. The alternative is not pretty; starving is not a pretty sight or feeling... I've seen how starving has eroded mum's body to just skin and bones, and it's scary. But what is the lesser evil, what is less torturous: starving or going through surgery, through the long period of recovery and most likely needing to starve yet again some time from now as the tumour spreads and blocks ofd more passageways in the small intestines?
I felt so wronged... "You're my mother! Why would you even think that I want to get rid of you? You think I'll be so free when you're gone?" Mum just retorted that she does not need me by her side, and that she can easily someone. That only added salt to the wound...
I truly just want her to suffer less, to not suffer needlessly and for any period of time. What is the point of living then if everyday is just waking up to suffering, sores and bearing with pain? I never said I'm opposed to the surgery, for ultimately it is her choice. As I told her, it is her body, her life. Whatever happens, she is the one who has to bear the physical pain and the mental torment that comes from feeling pain and sores almost every moment of the day. I cannot bear responsibility to decide something as important as mum's life, especially a course of intervention that could very well put mum's life at risk. "I just want to give you the bigger picture, to tell you what I know from the doctors and what they have said to me. You're my mother, I want what is best for you..."
Showing posts with label dilemma. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dilemma. Show all posts
31 March 2012
29 March 2012
Chance
If there were a chance, a rare and brief chance, at easing pain and suffering, of respite before the end of everything would you take it?
Would you take it if the price was very high, if in exchange you risk your life and unbearable pain in the process?
Would you take it if the price was very high, if in exchange you risk your life and unbearable pain in the process?
Life choices
I somehow felt uneasy about going home to sleep last night when my aunt offered to take the night shift. The doctor always comes early for his routine visit, and I always want to be there to listen, take notes (figuratively) and ask questions if necessary. But I hadn't been home to sleep for almost a week, and was getting very tired. And I know sometimes I need to let go and just let others take over from me, or otherwise I'll over-exhaust myself.
So I went home, slept almost immediately as I got home. Even though I was in the comfort of home, away from seeing mum vomit (and away from the worst night of vomiting ever...), I slept poorly, and woke up two three times from dreams... I set the alarm for six thirty, and made a point to getting to the hospital by seven thirty.
I arrived and the doctor had already been. I missed perhaps the most important appointment of all, for the doctors had another meeting in light of mum's severe and worsening bouts of vomiting (is it still called vomiting, when there is nothing to vomit but stomach juices?). Why on the day where I happened not to be there?
The vomiting will not be helped by the insertion of an NJ feeding tube, the doctors said, for the cause of the vomiting is due to the inability for stomach fluids to escape through the other end, so instead it all comes out the other end, through the mouth. The feeding tube will only solve the issue of mum getting nutrition the "natural" way.
The alternative is a bypass surgery, which the doctors had put aside before it is a risky and perhaps not hundred percent effective solution. Further, a bypass surgery to reroute the intestines to bypass the area blocked by the growing tumour may, if effective in resolving the issue of food flowing down, will only serve its purpose for a limited time. The tumour in that region, which I saw on the MRI and endoscope images, is certain to grow and grow without chemo or radiotherapy (which if mum opts for later, will certainly make her even weaker or even kill her...).
But now the doctors came back and revives the option, and wants mum to decide. It's a tough, tough choice, and what a "great" way to start the day; a way which set a bad mood for the day and which occupied our minds.
The NJ tube is only able to resolve mum's nutritional intake, but will not be able to address the discomfort and pain from vomiting. Further, it is aesthetically displeasing, and mum was very hesitant to do it from the very start. In fact, I already bought the tube last week, and dared not show it to her, for it is very, very long, and sickening to think about it being inserted into your body all the way to the intestines.
The bypass will solve two problems, vomiting and mum's ability to eat and absorb food naturally. But the surgery i is very difficult, and may leave mum, who is already in a poor state of health, in poorer state of health. It may perhaps even kill her. And how long will the surgery allow mum to eat and drink like before? If the tumour is growing and spreading rapidly, it may could be weeks, months Before mum has to go through the same hell of vomiting and getting so very thin as she is experiencing now. When we come to that, there will be no other cure. And what is the point then of a big surgery, and weeks of recovery time that follows when at the end of the however long period, the problem returns? The surgery only deals with the symptoms of mum's current discomforts, and does not address the problem of the tumour or spreading. The tumour cannot be addressed, for it is in a region close to a lymph node, and if remove will cause extreme levels of bleeding. And sometimes, when you tamper with a tumour, it may be like opening a Pandora's Box, and cause the cancer to spread and grow even more rapidly and ferociously.
Again the choice is a matter of life and death, and more poignantly of how to die... Die from vomiting and vomiting and getting worn down mentally by having to vomit so much everyday, or die from cancer spreading after undergoing yet another surgery that will cause such trauma to mum's body and soul and leave her perhaps so terribly weak for as long as she may live?
Have we come to this now, come to weighing in the possible salvation a quick death will bring against the of pains of prolonging life and dying a painful and slow death when the cancer eats away everything? How crude and cruel it seems that is the only way that mum can leave behind all this pain, all this suffering? How meaningless life has become for her! How painful it is to see a once proud and able human being, my own mother, descend into a level of existence that is just dreading vomiting, bone sores and suffering intense hunger!
I climbed into mum's bed and held her hand. There was nothing I could say, nothing worthy of saying. What do you say to all this? What do you say to someone faced with a choice of the lesser painful way to go, when both options are so painful and so unbearable to think of?
I just held her hand. Silently, I told her I will be by her side.
So I went home, slept almost immediately as I got home. Even though I was in the comfort of home, away from seeing mum vomit (and away from the worst night of vomiting ever...), I slept poorly, and woke up two three times from dreams... I set the alarm for six thirty, and made a point to getting to the hospital by seven thirty.
I arrived and the doctor had already been. I missed perhaps the most important appointment of all, for the doctors had another meeting in light of mum's severe and worsening bouts of vomiting (is it still called vomiting, when there is nothing to vomit but stomach juices?). Why on the day where I happened not to be there?
The vomiting will not be helped by the insertion of an NJ feeding tube, the doctors said, for the cause of the vomiting is due to the inability for stomach fluids to escape through the other end, so instead it all comes out the other end, through the mouth. The feeding tube will only solve the issue of mum getting nutrition the "natural" way.
The alternative is a bypass surgery, which the doctors had put aside before it is a risky and perhaps not hundred percent effective solution. Further, a bypass surgery to reroute the intestines to bypass the area blocked by the growing tumour may, if effective in resolving the issue of food flowing down, will only serve its purpose for a limited time. The tumour in that region, which I saw on the MRI and endoscope images, is certain to grow and grow without chemo or radiotherapy (which if mum opts for later, will certainly make her even weaker or even kill her...).
But now the doctors came back and revives the option, and wants mum to decide. It's a tough, tough choice, and what a "great" way to start the day; a way which set a bad mood for the day and which occupied our minds.
The NJ tube is only able to resolve mum's nutritional intake, but will not be able to address the discomfort and pain from vomiting. Further, it is aesthetically displeasing, and mum was very hesitant to do it from the very start. In fact, I already bought the tube last week, and dared not show it to her, for it is very, very long, and sickening to think about it being inserted into your body all the way to the intestines.
The bypass will solve two problems, vomiting and mum's ability to eat and absorb food naturally. But the surgery i is very difficult, and may leave mum, who is already in a poor state of health, in poorer state of health. It may perhaps even kill her. And how long will the surgery allow mum to eat and drink like before? If the tumour is growing and spreading rapidly, it may could be weeks, months Before mum has to go through the same hell of vomiting and getting so very thin as she is experiencing now. When we come to that, there will be no other cure. And what is the point then of a big surgery, and weeks of recovery time that follows when at the end of the however long period, the problem returns? The surgery only deals with the symptoms of mum's current discomforts, and does not address the problem of the tumour or spreading. The tumour cannot be addressed, for it is in a region close to a lymph node, and if remove will cause extreme levels of bleeding. And sometimes, when you tamper with a tumour, it may be like opening a Pandora's Box, and cause the cancer to spread and grow even more rapidly and ferociously.
Again the choice is a matter of life and death, and more poignantly of how to die... Die from vomiting and vomiting and getting worn down mentally by having to vomit so much everyday, or die from cancer spreading after undergoing yet another surgery that will cause such trauma to mum's body and soul and leave her perhaps so terribly weak for as long as she may live?
Have we come to this now, come to weighing in the possible salvation a quick death will bring against the of pains of prolonging life and dying a painful and slow death when the cancer eats away everything? How crude and cruel it seems that is the only way that mum can leave behind all this pain, all this suffering? How meaningless life has become for her! How painful it is to see a once proud and able human being, my own mother, descend into a level of existence that is just dreading vomiting, bone sores and suffering intense hunger!
I climbed into mum's bed and held her hand. There was nothing I could say, nothing worthy of saying. What do you say to all this? What do you say to someone faced with a choice of the lesser painful way to go, when both options are so painful and so unbearable to think of?
I just held her hand. Silently, I told her I will be by her side.
25 March 2012
Trial...
I got three, perhaps three and a half hours of sleep yesterday. I was furiously writing, writing down my emotions and about events in the day till one or so.
When I lay down to sleep, I could not. My stomach felt very acidy, and there was a lot of pain that made me feel like vomiting (but I could not, and I did not vomit...). Mum too had a rough night, and was sort of half asleep till three-ish when she asked the nurse to take off her IV drip, for her hand was getting red and swollen.
I could not sleep much, lay awake thinking, or having thoughts run through my head...
Morning rolled around, and unusually it was a beautiful, bright day (to start with at least...) The doctor came in with a consent form, one that is still unsigned and still lying on the table. Consent form for the insertion of the NJ tube, which can be expected to be done either today or wednesday.
Mum still has some questions, about whether it will hurt, about the discomfort and pain. The doctor admitted he had it installed once, and it was uncomfortable to start with, but you'll get used to it.
"Is this the only option?" mum asked.
"It's the best option..." the doctor said it is the only way mum can get any possible nutrients, for her vomiting has again intensified. Yesterday, she threw up four times no less, whereas a few days ago she could still drink soup and liquids without much vomiting. Even last night, when she lay down to sleep around eleven or so, she suddenly called me and said she needed to vomit. And she did, a big bag of brownish liquid. When the nurse gave her some medicine to stop vomiting, within a few minutes, she vomited yet again...
"There may be a chance the [nose] tube may not go through, if it has grown too big..." "It" meaning the tumour, the ugly, ugly tumour that is growing stronger as mum grows ever weaker. "Then it would be more complicated, as we's have to get the team together to see what to do..." The doctor looked uneasy, and hesitated to say what other options there are, if indeed there are any.
As the doctor left, I spoke to him quietly outside mum's room. "If you have a minute later, I'd like to see mum's scans..."
I want to know, I have the right to know, as does mum, though perhaps she does not want to know.
I have this sordid obsession of wanting to see the tumour, see the extent of the "damage" inside. For my sake, perhaps, just to make sure that what I have been imagining, what I have been thinking and the ideas I have been proposing are not too far fetched.
Because we only have a chance at life, we only have a chance at living. We only have a chance at getting it "right" in preparation for the end of life. If there are options we have not looked at, facts mum (and I) do not yet know about, we need to know, and we need to know now.
When I lay down to sleep, I could not. My stomach felt very acidy, and there was a lot of pain that made me feel like vomiting (but I could not, and I did not vomit...). Mum too had a rough night, and was sort of half asleep till three-ish when she asked the nurse to take off her IV drip, for her hand was getting red and swollen.
I could not sleep much, lay awake thinking, or having thoughts run through my head...
Morning rolled around, and unusually it was a beautiful, bright day (to start with at least...) The doctor came in with a consent form, one that is still unsigned and still lying on the table. Consent form for the insertion of the NJ tube, which can be expected to be done either today or wednesday.Mum still has some questions, about whether it will hurt, about the discomfort and pain. The doctor admitted he had it installed once, and it was uncomfortable to start with, but you'll get used to it.
"Is this the only option?" mum asked.
"It's the best option..." the doctor said it is the only way mum can get any possible nutrients, for her vomiting has again intensified. Yesterday, she threw up four times no less, whereas a few days ago she could still drink soup and liquids without much vomiting. Even last night, when she lay down to sleep around eleven or so, she suddenly called me and said she needed to vomit. And she did, a big bag of brownish liquid. When the nurse gave her some medicine to stop vomiting, within a few minutes, she vomited yet again...
"There may be a chance the [nose] tube may not go through, if it has grown too big..." "It" meaning the tumour, the ugly, ugly tumour that is growing stronger as mum grows ever weaker. "Then it would be more complicated, as we's have to get the team together to see what to do..." The doctor looked uneasy, and hesitated to say what other options there are, if indeed there are any.
As the doctor left, I spoke to him quietly outside mum's room. "If you have a minute later, I'd like to see mum's scans..."
I want to know, I have the right to know, as does mum, though perhaps she does not want to know.
I have this sordid obsession of wanting to see the tumour, see the extent of the "damage" inside. For my sake, perhaps, just to make sure that what I have been imagining, what I have been thinking and the ideas I have been proposing are not too far fetched.
Because we only have a chance at life, we only have a chance at living. We only have a chance at getting it "right" in preparation for the end of life. If there are options we have not looked at, facts mum (and I) do not yet know about, we need to know, and we need to know now.
Solutions
How did I ever get get so much power (or so it feels)? When was it ever devolved to me the ability to decide what end course mum's life would take?
This is a very scary, very scary feeling, and I feel terribly uneasy. Somehow I feel like a cruel despot who does not seem to flinch to decide the life or death of the people under his care. Am I a tyrant forcing my will on mum? Am I a stubborn child, selfish little child, who is somehow wishing mum could quickly go so I am rid of this "burden" I've been carrying for so many years?
I trembled as I walked into the hospice ward, and the entire day my stomach felt so terribly upset-- which began with extreme pain in my stomach and the intense feeling like I needed to vomit.
It must be nausea and sickness from fear, nausea and sickness triggered by the reality that there is a definitive decision that will influence the outcome (and possibly even length) of mum's final journey. And I am charged with the burden of exploring the options and presenting them to my mum. Ultimately, of course, the decision is hers to make. But I must present them to mum, as if presenting her with a death sentence. "Lethal injection or electrocution? You choose." The outcome, the end result will be the same.
A hospice volunteer, a lady perhaps a little bit older, greeted me. I said I wanted to find out more about hospice care, and what they do on the top floor of the hospital, a place I have never dared to venture into. And I realised why today... However beautifully the brochure tried to capture it, however elegant and poetic they try to describe the 21st floor, it's still the floor built for the purpose of death and dying. (Sometime ago, I wrote a fictional piece about Floor 21 from the perspective of my alter ego, Yuri the Spacemonkey, which I never did publish.)
The hospice volunteer explained to me that there are staff who are professionally and emotionally trained for the hospice. I picked up a brochure which detailed the difference between palliative/hospice care and euthanasia. In an earlier piece last year, I confused the two, but the difference is huge. What is permissible in Taiwan, is hospice care which centres around the reduction of a patient's pain and suffering at the end of life. With the patient's consent, or if not possible, consent of the relatives under advisement of the doctors, all treatment will be terminated, and any future medical intervention is to alleviate pain and discomfort. The body will naturally weaken, deteriorate, and eventually the patient will pass away... In the local terminology, it is called "natural death" (自然死).
The patient may choose to come to hospital, but most people would prefer to be at home, something that I believe mum would also tend to side with. If at home, she said a health care professional can be on call 24/7 and come home to tend to any needs. If necessary, the patient can be transferred to hospital, but once the patient has chosen hospice care, s/he will from now on be automatically taken to the 21st floor, and bypass other wards.
I listened carefully and calmly. The lady was so very kind as I explained mum's situation. I did not have to mention that mum has cancer, for when I did mention it, she compassionately said "I know..." She must know. It is because cancer is so cruel that perhaps most of the people who she comes across are terminally-ill cancer patients."I just want to know what the options are and to tell my mother about it. I just want her to have dignity and be comfortable..." Her eyes were moist as I said those words, the words of a son who cares and loves his mother so deeply he cannot bear to see her suffer too much. Cannot bear to see her suffer, and thus would rather she die soon..?
That is the greatest dilemma, the question that weighs heavily on my mind. Of course I do not wish her to die... Of course I wish her to live a bit longer, so she can attend my graduation, so she can see me be sworn into the bar, so she can see me settle down (perhaps even get married!!) with the one person who loves me so, and whom I love more than anything in the world. Of course I wish she could see me one day have a nice job, comfortable home, perhaps come visit her with her grandchild(ren?) run around me... And I so wish I could take her travelling again, take her to places in the world she and I have talked about visiting together, but never managed to. But the reality is mum may not have the time or energy to do all that. Mum may not have the fortune or opportunity to experience what I would so like to share with her... Share with her m dreams, my aspirations, my wishes and desires.
I left the hospice with some brochures and information. I cannot decide this all, I will not take the responsibility to decide this all, for this is mum's life, mum's choice, though I do know (yet I still must definitively confirm) that her wish is close to mine. This is yet another way my mother and I are blessed, for we see eye to eye in a lot of things, even those that many do not dare to talk about or decide on. I went back to mum's ward, and asked the nurse to make an appointment with the hospice care doctor tomorrow. S/he can come to mum's room and talk to her in person, and my hope is that the hospice care doctor can come before we decide on whether to insert the nose feeding tube. For it is all related, all connected with life and the decision on how to proceed from here with dignity and grace.
"Stay with her, there is nothing more you can give her..." the lady told me. Then she told me something I have till now not really done, but did cross my mind, even just a few hours earlier before my mum's sister came to visit. "Take care of her clothes and her hair. When she gets out of bed, you might want to comb it a bit, or make sure her clothes are neat and that she is presentable. And when visitors come, you could put on a bit of make up, lipstick to give her more liveliness." I haven't done much in that department because it's a bit embarrassing, but occasionally I do remind mum about it and to do it herself. And this reminder made me think: Oh, why didn't I do this before? But now I know...
Now I know even more ways to make mum comfortable and look beautiful again. Even in this final stage, even at a journey's end.
This is a very scary, very scary feeling, and I feel terribly uneasy. Somehow I feel like a cruel despot who does not seem to flinch to decide the life or death of the people under his care. Am I a tyrant forcing my will on mum? Am I a stubborn child, selfish little child, who is somehow wishing mum could quickly go so I am rid of this "burden" I've been carrying for so many years?
I trembled as I walked into the hospice ward, and the entire day my stomach felt so terribly upset-- which began with extreme pain in my stomach and the intense feeling like I needed to vomit.
It must be nausea and sickness from fear, nausea and sickness triggered by the reality that there is a definitive decision that will influence the outcome (and possibly even length) of mum's final journey. And I am charged with the burden of exploring the options and presenting them to my mum. Ultimately, of course, the decision is hers to make. But I must present them to mum, as if presenting her with a death sentence. "Lethal injection or electrocution? You choose." The outcome, the end result will be the same.A hospice volunteer, a lady perhaps a little bit older, greeted me. I said I wanted to find out more about hospice care, and what they do on the top floor of the hospital, a place I have never dared to venture into. And I realised why today... However beautifully the brochure tried to capture it, however elegant and poetic they try to describe the 21st floor, it's still the floor built for the purpose of death and dying. (Sometime ago, I wrote a fictional piece about Floor 21 from the perspective of my alter ego, Yuri the Spacemonkey, which I never did publish.)
The hospice volunteer explained to me that there are staff who are professionally and emotionally trained for the hospice. I picked up a brochure which detailed the difference between palliative/hospice care and euthanasia. In an earlier piece last year, I confused the two, but the difference is huge. What is permissible in Taiwan, is hospice care which centres around the reduction of a patient's pain and suffering at the end of life. With the patient's consent, or if not possible, consent of the relatives under advisement of the doctors, all treatment will be terminated, and any future medical intervention is to alleviate pain and discomfort. The body will naturally weaken, deteriorate, and eventually the patient will pass away... In the local terminology, it is called "natural death" (自然死).
The patient may choose to come to hospital, but most people would prefer to be at home, something that I believe mum would also tend to side with. If at home, she said a health care professional can be on call 24/7 and come home to tend to any needs. If necessary, the patient can be transferred to hospital, but once the patient has chosen hospice care, s/he will from now on be automatically taken to the 21st floor, and bypass other wards.
I listened carefully and calmly. The lady was so very kind as I explained mum's situation. I did not have to mention that mum has cancer, for when I did mention it, she compassionately said "I know..." She must know. It is because cancer is so cruel that perhaps most of the people who she comes across are terminally-ill cancer patients."I just want to know what the options are and to tell my mother about it. I just want her to have dignity and be comfortable..." Her eyes were moist as I said those words, the words of a son who cares and loves his mother so deeply he cannot bear to see her suffer too much. Cannot bear to see her suffer, and thus would rather she die soon..?
That is the greatest dilemma, the question that weighs heavily on my mind. Of course I do not wish her to die... Of course I wish her to live a bit longer, so she can attend my graduation, so she can see me be sworn into the bar, so she can see me settle down (perhaps even get married!!) with the one person who loves me so, and whom I love more than anything in the world. Of course I wish she could see me one day have a nice job, comfortable home, perhaps come visit her with her grandchild(ren?) run around me... And I so wish I could take her travelling again, take her to places in the world she and I have talked about visiting together, but never managed to. But the reality is mum may not have the time or energy to do all that. Mum may not have the fortune or opportunity to experience what I would so like to share with her... Share with her m dreams, my aspirations, my wishes and desires.
I left the hospice with some brochures and information. I cannot decide this all, I will not take the responsibility to decide this all, for this is mum's life, mum's choice, though I do know (yet I still must definitively confirm) that her wish is close to mine. This is yet another way my mother and I are blessed, for we see eye to eye in a lot of things, even those that many do not dare to talk about or decide on. I went back to mum's ward, and asked the nurse to make an appointment with the hospice care doctor tomorrow. S/he can come to mum's room and talk to her in person, and my hope is that the hospice care doctor can come before we decide on whether to insert the nose feeding tube. For it is all related, all connected with life and the decision on how to proceed from here with dignity and grace.
"Stay with her, there is nothing more you can give her..." the lady told me. Then she told me something I have till now not really done, but did cross my mind, even just a few hours earlier before my mum's sister came to visit. "Take care of her clothes and her hair. When she gets out of bed, you might want to comb it a bit, or make sure her clothes are neat and that she is presentable. And when visitors come, you could put on a bit of make up, lipstick to give her more liveliness." I haven't done much in that department because it's a bit embarrassing, but occasionally I do remind mum about it and to do it herself. And this reminder made me think: Oh, why didn't I do this before? But now I know...
Now I know even more ways to make mum comfortable and look beautiful again. Even in this final stage, even at a journey's end.
24 March 2012
11 January 2011
Euthanasia
On this damp, chilly morning I took mum up the mountain to nearby Peitou. Famed for its natural hot springs that bubbles from the bowls of the Earth, the area is populated with many spas and hotels. The recent cold front and drizzle made us all the more determined to go for a soak.
As the intense heat mixed with the cold air, shrouds of white mist would rise from the green lake. At times, as the curtains of mist drew closer and closer, the majestic mountains in the background would be shielded from sight. In the air, the pungent scent of sulphur can at times be choking, yet the still silence so soothing to the senses. I sat in the different pools, bare naked and alone for over an hour, soaking in the relaxing atmosphere, and let my tense muscles and mind go. At times I got up and would just stare into the distance, into nothing. Ever since I came home, rarely have I felt such peace and emptiness of my mind...
Mum too enjoyed herself thoroughly, and came out much later than the time we agreed to meet (the spa is separated by gender). I took the time to sit and sip tea as I read the newspaper. One of the headlines, something that has been in the news recently, grabbed my attention. As the first country in Asia, the Taiwanese parliament yesterday passed a law to allow relatives of terminally ill patients to end life support. Though the decision requires the consent of close relatives (eg. spouse, children, and parents ), and requires the approval of two medical doctors and a panel of medical, ethics and legal experts, it does pave the way for ending the unnecessary suffering of patients and of relatives. One of the medical conditions that falls under the new 'euthanasia' law is terminal cancer that metastises throughout the body.
I read the news coverage and social commentary carefully. "One needs not only live well, but also needs to go [die] well", was the remark of a mother who had to watch her young daughter go through painful and unbearable treatment for terminal cancer. "No one should have to watch a loved one suffer..." After months of chemo therapy, of blood transfers, of all sorts of therapies, the daughter eventually passed away in a pool of her own blood, as the doctor repeatedly tried to resuscitate her. That memory, that image will however forever linger in the mother's mind.
"...could I ask you something?" I asked carefully, unsure how mum would respond. I told mum about the latest law, and asked her her opinion of it. "Please, take the time to think about it, and we also need to talk about it with brother too..."
She smiled, and looked calm and at ease. "If there is a more humane way to die, then I would choose it. All that pain, all that pain will erase the beautiful memories of life... I don't want to suffer."
My worst fear, my worst nightmare is having to watch mum suffer unbearable pain, and not being able to do anything about it. It's like what the monk once described, having to watch a loved one burn alive in a house that is ablaze, but being helpless to rescue him/her. I've seen it in my dreams, and at times I see it in my bleak and vivid imaginations. No body has to undergo such pain, pain that cannot be described, cannot be matched, but can only be described as torturing for the body, for the soul, and for all those involved.
"When dad passed away, I was there... I held onto his hand, I whispered in his ear and told him to let go. That was an quiet way to pass [away]," I recounted. We cannot choose when we go, how we go, but we can somewhat influence the way we go, and try to make sure we go peacefully, quietly, with dignity.
It's not come to that day, that moment yet, but it is something that I'm glad mum and I could talk about with a clear mind and without fear or remorse. Perhaps that day may never come... perhaps when that moment does come, I will shiver and be afraid to sign away her life.
But at least for now, mum and I have an understanding. Life needs to be lived, but when the time comes to go, go quietly and go with pride...
UPDATE: 25 March 2012
There is a difference in the terminology and translation. The 'euthanasia' law is actually the provision of palliative care in a patient's final stage of life. It entails the signing of a DNR (do not resuscitate) form and the agreement with the medical team that there will be no attempt at treatment, and all attention will be redirected to making the patient comfortable until the end of life. In Mandarin, euthanasia is 安樂死 (literally: "comfortable and happy death") whereas palliative/hospice care is 自然死 (literally: "natural death").
As the intense heat mixed with the cold air, shrouds of white mist would rise from the green lake. At times, as the curtains of mist drew closer and closer, the majestic mountains in the background would be shielded from sight. In the air, the pungent scent of sulphur can at times be choking, yet the still silence so soothing to the senses. I sat in the different pools, bare naked and alone for over an hour, soaking in the relaxing atmosphere, and let my tense muscles and mind go. At times I got up and would just stare into the distance, into nothing. Ever since I came home, rarely have I felt such peace and emptiness of my mind...
Mum too enjoyed herself thoroughly, and came out much later than the time we agreed to meet (the spa is separated by gender). I took the time to sit and sip tea as I read the newspaper. One of the headlines, something that has been in the news recently, grabbed my attention. As the first country in Asia, the Taiwanese parliament yesterday passed a law to allow relatives of terminally ill patients to end life support. Though the decision requires the consent of close relatives (eg. spouse, children, and parents ), and requires the approval of two medical doctors and a panel of medical, ethics and legal experts, it does pave the way for ending the unnecessary suffering of patients and of relatives. One of the medical conditions that falls under the new 'euthanasia' law is terminal cancer that metastises throughout the body.
I read the news coverage and social commentary carefully. "One needs not only live well, but also needs to go [die] well", was the remark of a mother who had to watch her young daughter go through painful and unbearable treatment for terminal cancer. "No one should have to watch a loved one suffer..." After months of chemo therapy, of blood transfers, of all sorts of therapies, the daughter eventually passed away in a pool of her own blood, as the doctor repeatedly tried to resuscitate her. That memory, that image will however forever linger in the mother's mind.
"...could I ask you something?" I asked carefully, unsure how mum would respond. I told mum about the latest law, and asked her her opinion of it. "Please, take the time to think about it, and we also need to talk about it with brother too..."
She smiled, and looked calm and at ease. "If there is a more humane way to die, then I would choose it. All that pain, all that pain will erase the beautiful memories of life... I don't want to suffer."
My worst fear, my worst nightmare is having to watch mum suffer unbearable pain, and not being able to do anything about it. It's like what the monk once described, having to watch a loved one burn alive in a house that is ablaze, but being helpless to rescue him/her. I've seen it in my dreams, and at times I see it in my bleak and vivid imaginations. No body has to undergo such pain, pain that cannot be described, cannot be matched, but can only be described as torturing for the body, for the soul, and for all those involved.
"When dad passed away, I was there... I held onto his hand, I whispered in his ear and told him to let go. That was an quiet way to pass [away]," I recounted. We cannot choose when we go, how we go, but we can somewhat influence the way we go, and try to make sure we go peacefully, quietly, with dignity.
It's not come to that day, that moment yet, but it is something that I'm glad mum and I could talk about with a clear mind and without fear or remorse. Perhaps that day may never come... perhaps when that moment does come, I will shiver and be afraid to sign away her life.
But at least for now, mum and I have an understanding. Life needs to be lived, but when the time comes to go, go quietly and go with pride...
UPDATE: 25 March 2012
There is a difference in the terminology and translation. The 'euthanasia' law is actually the provision of palliative care in a patient's final stage of life. It entails the signing of a DNR (do not resuscitate) form and the agreement with the medical team that there will be no attempt at treatment, and all attention will be redirected to making the patient comfortable until the end of life. In Mandarin, euthanasia is 安樂死 (literally: "comfortable and happy death") whereas palliative/hospice care is 自然死 (literally: "natural death").
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