Death is probably the most philosophical moment of our lives, but unfortunately it leaves us no time to contemplate it. Among the few things I appreciate about religion is how it tries to bring our lives into perspective by incessantly reminding us of its end. But we're all sorely under-prepared for it. Not just in the western countries - I'm from India and a close member of my family died of cancer two years ago, and we were all woefully underprepared for it.
The treatment got more aggressive as the day neared; we were shuttling to and from the hospital every week, and towards the end my extended family of around twenty people were staying at and near the hospital for three weeks.
He was intubated after both lungs failed. We didn't know what it really meant - a few family members wanted the doctors to "do all they can" and so they obliged. He was under tremendous pain, and went through multiple radiations, and then was intubated for about a week. It was pointless because the lungs simply weren't going to come back. But the patient nor the family was ready to acknowledge the inevitability of the situation and so we went ahead with it, and he was intubated, and we all waited.
Intubation puts the onus of the big decision on the caretakers. Medical care can prolong the state of coma for quite a long time with artificial respiration - the bills simply accumulate, the patient prolongs their extreme suffering, and the entire family waits in extreme agitation and anxiety. The laws concerning removing intubation and thus letting go the patient seemed to be murky in India, and so (or for the money) the doctors were reluctant to move to palliative care, and the caretakers weren't ready to carry the responsibility of forcing the decision.
I now know that in my terminal condition I do not want to be intubated. I also know that death is a taboo and it takes a certain kind of philosophical wisdom to think and speak about it. I value that a lot now, and as someone else recommended Atul Gawande's Being Mortal should be read by anyone who might die.
The treatment got more aggressive as the day neared; we were shuttling to and from the hospital every week, and towards the end my extended family of around twenty people were staying at and near the hospital for three weeks.
He was intubated after both lungs failed. We didn't know what it really meant - a few family members wanted the doctors to "do all they can" and so they obliged. He was under tremendous pain, and went through multiple radiations, and then was intubated for about a week. It was pointless because the lungs simply weren't going to come back. But the patient nor the family was ready to acknowledge the inevitability of the situation and so we went ahead with it, and he was intubated, and we all waited.
Intubation puts the onus of the big decision on the caretakers. Medical care can prolong the state of coma for quite a long time with artificial respiration - the bills simply accumulate, the patient prolongs their extreme suffering, and the entire family waits in extreme agitation and anxiety. The laws concerning removing intubation and thus letting go the patient seemed to be murky in India, and so (or for the money) the doctors were reluctant to move to palliative care, and the caretakers weren't ready to carry the responsibility of forcing the decision.
I now know that in my terminal condition I do not want to be intubated. I also know that death is a taboo and it takes a certain kind of philosophical wisdom to think and speak about it. I value that a lot now, and as someone else recommended Atul Gawande's Being Mortal should be read by anyone who might die.