Between Life and Death by Between Life & Death (epub)

Author:Between Life & Death (epub)
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: REL050000/REL012030/REL012110
Publisher: Crossway
Published: 2019-04-29T00:00:00+00:00

Part 3

Discernment at Life’s End

10

Comfort Measures and Hospice

In this chapter we tread toward the somber moment when treatments only hurt. Until now, we have examined the intricacies of organ-supporting technology in detail to clarify when they might promise to restore our God-given lives, or when they threaten to incur further suffering and rob us of moments spent in prayer and with those we love. Now we step over the threshold to the moment when death confronts us. This transition can pitch loved ones into a tumult of confusion, guilt, and heartbreak, with long-lasting repercussions.

At the Bedside

During our discussions he reminded me of a puff of dandelion seeds, the translucent wisps barely intact, the entire assembly ready to disappear with one overzealous breath. He seemed wholly unprepared for the burden he carried.

My colleague, a senior critical-care trainee, leaned toward him across the table. “Did you have a chance to think about everything we talked about yesterday?” he asked.

He raked his mustache with his bottom teeth. “Yes.”

“Okay. Good. I’m glad you had a chance to think things over. What are your thoughts?”

His bottom lip quavered. As the tears filled his eyes, he searched both of us. “She’s my mom,” he implored. “She’s all I got.”

“I know this must be so hard.”

He studied the floor, and nervously tapped his foot against the carpet.

“It’s so hard to make decisions like this, for someone you love. But your mom is dying. We can’t cure her.”

“I know. But I can’t do what you’re asking me to do.”

“I know it’s so hard, but— ”

“You don’t know the half of it,” he shot back. “You doctors know a lot of stuff, and you’re just doing your job. I get that. But she’s my mom. I can’t pull the plug on my mom.”

“We would never ‘pull the plug,’” my colleague said. “We’re asking you to please allow us to focus on treating her pain and discomfort now and stop things that won’t help.”

“I get everything you’re saying. But I can’t do it. She’s my mom. She never gave up on me.”

I studied his face, the eyes still wet and desperate, the ends of his mustache now damp with tears. His bottom lip still quivered. The delicate scaffolding that held his composure trembled, ready to give way.

“Can you please tell us about her?” I asked. He looked at me, guarded. “We don’t know her the way you do,” I added. “What is she like? What matters to her?”

“She’s wonderful,” he said, his voice cracking. “She’s the most caring person. I know everyone says that about their mom, but she’s something special. She still makes me breakfast every morning, just like when I was a kid. She’d do that for me and my brothers after my dad died, and she had to get up at five o’clock in the morning to work. Every morning, the sun wasn’t up yet, but she made us a hot breakfast. And she still does it. She always puts us first.”

The momentary brightening of his expression faded.

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