Two hands, linked by their pinky fingers. Photo: By Hunter Newton on Unsplash.
Coming to rest: Ol Rappaport’s personal Thought for the Week
‘Afternoons at home were a joy.’
This I can say…
For decades I was a supporter of assisted dying, informed by a lifetime’s experience of caring for the frail elderly. But recent events have led me to lay aside that support.
In 2013 Lesley began to drop things as her left shoulder became numb. By October she was diagnosed with a glioblastoma, an aggressive brain tumour, and given three months to live – four if she had chemo and radiotherapy.
After three sessions of radiotherapy we decided to forego further treatment; the side effects were so distressing and disabling that Lesley felt her life was becoming meaningless.
If assisted dying had been available when Lesley was diagnosed, she would have opted for it, and I would have supported her choice. And we would have missed out on the magic eighteen months with which we were blessed. There were a lot of factors at play, but our experience shows what can be achieved with good palliative care.
The tumour was ‘kind’, for, although Lesley was paralysed on her left side, she had no pain. Her sense of taste was unaffected, and she had no personality change. She had some memory loss but had insight into that loss; she had problems expressing herself sometimes but her comprehension was unimpaired. Best of all, I was able to care for her at home.
I am a retired care home manager and Lesley had worked as an NHS complaints manager, so our expectations were realistic and informed. During her months in hospital it was my joy each evening to bring in takeaways. We would ‘picnic’ on the ward: sandwiches, falafel, sushi, whatever. I would settle her for the night, making sure she had her radio and phone, with a small book of Jewish spirituality and magazines to hand. (One morning a nurse complained about the number of things on Lesley’s table. Lesley said, ‘This is your place of work, but right now it is my home.’)
We discussed what we would do if her life became unbearable; I set aside a supply of oral morphine that would assist her death. In my youth it was accepted practice to give oral morphine if someone was ‘lingering’, and it appears this continues.
Afternoons at home were a joy. We had visitors, and we watched recorded programmes, especially ballet. I read the news to her each day and we discussed it. Following some intensive genealogical research and Google Streetview use, I showed her the house where her mother lived in Czechoslovakia, prior to her escape to Britain. I was able to take her round the town, tracing her mother’s route to school, the synagogue and the market square.
One afternoon I had just made an awful joke, as I do. Lesley turned to me, tears welling up, ‘I’m going to miss you when I’m dead.’ She was enjoying life with me.
Lesley’s last words were to whisper ‘I love you’. The following day, when she opened her eyes, I held her hand and spoke to her, and a few minutes later she was dead. But she died without stress, pain or fear, in the full knowledge that she was dying.
Comments
Thank you. So moving. So sad and beautiful.
By Jenniferdk on 5th December 2024 - 22:19
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