My dad died recently from heart failure and I am still devastated. He was 71. His past medical history was significant for two strokes in the last 6 years, hypertension, and coronary artery disease. He was also legally blind. When he was diagnosed with heart failure, he realized the severity of the battle in front of him and decided it was not worth the fight. He made his peace with God and himself and over a six-month period, he bid everyone farewell. Everyone but me.
Why? Because he knew with my western training, I do not accept death. He knew I would rush down and have him poked and prodded for a few more months, maybe years. But, what dignity would those years have? How would we remember him when he finally did die?
On the night he died, he was surrounded by family. They were singing and praying. My brother said, ” ..he fell asleep.” When I went to see his body in the morgue, he had the most peaceful and content look I have ever seen on any face!
His death has made me question some of the things we doctors do. How many times do we prolong life only to subject patients to a life devoid of any dignity whatsoever – a trach, decubitus ulcers, feeding tubes, pneumonias, and the list goes on. Quality of life needs to factor into our day-to-day heroics. The problem is often the family members who refuse to respect the wishes of a parent or grandparent and physicians who want to be seen as the hero who saved the day. It is particularly rampant in academic centers where the need to teach and learn sometimes clouds judgment. It may be the young, new attending who wants to prove himself.
Death may be a very dignified way out and those who accept it should have their wishes respected.
Dad, R.I.P.
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