Four myths about death

Currently I see myths about death and dying in the United States. These myths are very strong and lead to a disconnect between medical personnel and non-medical. The medical personnel talk about end of life and want the answers to certain questions. But we often fail to address the persons deep fears and concerns because medicine sees them as myths, and so there is a disconnect between what the patient and the medical person see as important about the discussion of death.

Here are the four questions and fears:

1. How can I avoid being kept alive on a machine?
2. How can I avoid dying in pain?
3. How can I avoid having too much done, too many resources used, and dying in a hospital?
4. How can I avoid dying of starvation or thirst?

1. How can I avoid being kept alive on a machine?

The myth here is that we can keep someone alive on a machine. We almost never can. Comas are extremely rare. There are a very few people who survive a high spinal cord injury, like Christopher Reeves, and can be kept alive for a period on a ventilator. Or people with a disease that leads to the failure of the breathing muscles: Steven Hawkings with ALS has outlived all predictions.

But for the most part we can’t. I have tried: I have had two patients in 25 years with brain death who had signed organ donor cards. When brain death is established, an organ donor team will fly in to a rural area. Meanwhile, I was to attempt to keep the patient’s body alive. One lived long enough and the other did not. I could not stop the death with machines or drugs and that person was already on a ventilator.

Part of this myth is fear relating to hospital settings. ICUs, intensive care units, frighten people. There are alarms going off and machines with blinking lights and it is brightly lit and quiet and alien. Why? If a person is on a ventilator, they are sedated. Otherwise they will automatically pull the breathing tube out or the urinary catheter or the iv or all of them. It is instinctive. They are sick, may be delirious or injured, they are not in their right minds, they are not logical. So they are sedated. Most of the alarms are rightly ignored by the nurses: most alarms are going off because the patient has moved and the machine is not picking up. The nurses learn to filter automatically which alarms are trivial and which alarms do need attention and are an emergency.

I wanted to see an elderly aunt. When I arrived, my cousin said I couldn’t because she was in the emergency room. I said that I am pretty comfortable in emergency rooms and thought I could talk my way back to see her, since I am a physician. We had to wait in the lobby for a couple of hours, but then they let me back.

Part of the drama and horror that shows up in ICUs is the family’s feelings. Family members may feel guilty or angry or afraid and they often lash out at each other. Families are both at their best and their absolute worst when someone is critically ill. I have a friend who still doesn’t speak to a sibling after their father died in hospice three years ago, because they disagreed so strongly on how he should be cared for. The hospital staff and nurses and doctors and maintenance people and laundry people and dietitians are used to families crying or arguing or even yelling at each other. We try to support the patient and the family. But we cannot make them agree and don’t try.

We will return to the “in hospital” death later.

2. How can I avoid dying in pain?

Wear your seatbelt, wear helmets, don’t drive in blizzards, change the batteries in your smoke alarm, don’t text while driving….

That seems like a joke, but not really. Accidents are in the top ten causes of death in the United States currently. People do die in pain if shot, in car accidents, in falls. If we can’t get to them and get pain medicine on board in time.

When death is coming, the fear is that we will die in pain from, for example, cancer. However, most people that I have seen dying of cancer DECREASE the pain medicine rather than increase. There are at least two reasons. One is that they want to be awake. As the kidneys fail, the pain medicine lasts longer. They may not need as much. If they are in hospice and have family present, my experience has been that they say “Turn it down. I don’t want it. I don’t need it.” They want to be awake with their family.

The second reason is that it really may hurt much less. When people stop eating and go into ketosis, some pain receptors are turned off. This is very interesting. I have been using it in clinic: my patients with osteoarthritis who try a ketotic diet say that the joint stops hurting when they become ketotic. One patient said that when her right hip stopped hurting entirely, she realized that the muscles from the left hip were very sore from limping. “After two weeks, I tried one piece of bread,” she said, “And the right hip joint pain came right back.” So a person with end stage cancer or end stage dementia, who does not want to eat, may have little pain or different pain.

Lastly, the most important pain when there is not a sudden violent death, is emotional pain. We may not want people to feel it, but it is better if we can stay present and let them. Stay present, stay kind, listen, do not shut them off. If we shut them off, it is because of our OWN fears.

3. How can I avoid having too much done, too many resources used, and dying in a hospital?

First, fill out a POLST form: Physician orders for life sustaining treatment. The first question is the one medical people want you to answer: if your heart and lungs STOP, and you are dead, do you want us to try to revive you? If someone is over 80, I don’t want to do CPR. I will break their ribs and if we DO get them back, they WILL have damage. People often say, “Bring me back if I will be ok.” I joke that we don’t have the little turkey pop up that says “Too late. Done.” But it is minutes until brain death. If you want to be revived, your best bet is to die in the emergency room in front of the emergency room staff. They can move very fast. The security guards in Las Vegas are also very very good at putting AEDs on people who drop dead from a big win or a big loss.

Living wills are better than nothing, but they often say “If two doctors agree that I am terminal within six months, no extraordinary measures.” This is entirely too vague. What do YOU mean by an extraordinary measure? A ventilator? Aspirin? An iv? No one has ever defined what an extraordinary measure is.

The other questions on a POLST form ask specifically about resources. Hopefully the medical person will explain a little: what is a ventilator, when would we use it, would oxygen be ok, are antibiotics ok, have you talked to your family about this? The POLST form can’t cover everything but it does give us an idea of what someone wants when they can’t talk to us. And it takes some of the burden off the family: father DID say what he wanted and it is in writing and he talked to his doctor about it. If you are the family, how are you going to decide what an extraordinary measure is?

Now: dying in a hospital. Our culture currently pays lip service to dying at home. Sort of. A survey of Veterans revealed THREE DIFFERENT IDEAL DEATHS. One: the Hallmark death, in hospice, at home, surrounded with friends and family making peace with the world. Two: Sudden death, no warning, no attention. Three: fight to the death. This person won’t go, will fight, a miracle is possible and they are NOT at acceptance. Do EVERYTHING.

And dying in a hospital. In residency in Portland I had two patients dying on my medicine rotation. One was a young man in his 20s, surrounded by family and friends, of HIV. He was in the hospital because that is where he felt comfortable and safe and could get immediate help. The friends asked if our team was tired of wading through a crowd to check on him each day. I replied, “No. I am so glad you are here. I have another person dying, and he has no one, an elderly man. He is alone except for me and the staff.” So we, the hospital staff, are the ones who try to comfort the elderly alcoholic dying, the cancer patient estranged from her family, the lost and depressed and solitary and addicted. And we don’t care what they did to get there, the sins committed, the regrets, the mistakes. We try to help as much as we can. I do addiction medicine in part because I felt so sad watching people with addiction die alone. So dying in the hospital is NOT a failure. Sometimes it is where the person feels safest or they don’t have anyone. And not having anyone is a failure of our culture, not of medicine.

4. How can I avoid dying of starvation or thirst?

When someone is dying of cancer or dementia or another slow disorder, they want to stop eating at some point. Sometimes the family gets them to continue eating and the patient will do so out of love for their family. They have no hunger or thirst. Renal failure sets in and the rising creatinine takes them into a gentle coma and then into the great mystery. This looks like a kind death to me: the brain is quietly sedated and put to sleep by the body, by the rising creatinine. Let them go. We will offer food and drink to anyone, but sometimes they are letting go….let them.

And here is a book I want and haven’t read yet: http://www.tc.umn.edu/~parkx032/AD-OUT-NET.html

Admitting diagnosis: Old guy, don’t know

During my three months temp job in 2010 at a nearby Army Hospital, I was asked to help the Family Medicine Inpatient Team (FMIT) whenever a faculty member was sick or out, which turned out to be fairly often. I enjoyed this because I wanted to work with residents, Family Practice doctors in training. It was very interesting to be at a training program, watch the other faculty and work at a 400 bed hospital instead of my usual 25 bed one.

Two patients needed to be admitted at the same time on our call day, so the second year resident took one and I took the other. The report on mine was an 82 year old male veteran, coughing for three weeks, emergency room diagnosis was pneumonia.

The resident soon caught up with me because her person was too sick and got diverted to the ICU. Mr. T, our gentleman, was a vague historian. He said that he always coughed since he quit smoking 15 years ago and he couldn’t really describe the problem. He’d gotten up at 4:30 to walk around the assisted living; that was normal for him because he used to do the maintenence. He had either felt bad then or after going back to sleep in a chair and waking at 10. “I didn’t feel good. I knew I shouldn’t drive.”

He’d had a heart attack in the past and heart bypass surgery. Records were vague. The radiologist read the chest xrays essentially as, “Looks just like the one 3 months ago but we can’t guarentee that there isn’t a pneumonia or something in there.” He had a slightly elevated white blood cell count, no fever, and by then I did a Mini-mental status exam. He scored 22 out of 30. That could mean right on the edge of moderate dementia, or it could be delerium. I got his permission to call his wife.

“Oh, his memory has been bad since he spent a year in a chair telling them not to amputate his toes. And he was on antibiotics the whole time. He wasn’t the same after that. He just said he didn’t feel right and that he shouldn’t drive.” So his wife called an ambulance.

The third year chief resident came by and wanted to know the admitting diagnosis. “Old guy, don’t know.” was my reply. “Either pneumonia or a urinary tract infection or a heart attack maybe with delerium or dementia or both.”

The second year was helping me put in the computer orders, because I was terrible at it still. She could put them in upside down and asleep. “Why are we admitting him, anyhow? We can’t really find anything wrong, why not just send him home?”

“We can’t send him home because he can’t tell us what’s wrong. He might have an infection but he might not, and he has a really bad heart. If we send him home and he has a heart attack tonight, we would feel really bad. And he might die.”

I was getting a cold. I had planned to ask to work a half day but half the team was out sick so I just worked. But by morning I had no voice and felt awful. I called in sick.

At noon the phone rang. It was the second year. “You know Mr. T, who we admitted last night?”

“Yes,” I said.

“He had that heart attack during the night. Got taken to the cath lab. You made me look really good.” We had worked on the assumption that it could be early in a heart attack though the first labs and the ECG were negative. I had insisted on cardiac monitoring and repeating the enzymes. The resident had finished the note after I left and the night team had gotten the second and abnormal set of enzymes.

82 year olds are tricky. With some memory loss he couldn’t tell us much except that “I don’t feel right.” He was right not to drive and we were right to keep him in the hospital. And if it had all been normal in the morning, I still would not have felt bad about it. The residents are looking for a definitive diagnosis, but sometimes it’s “Old guy, don’t know,” until you do know.

 

Previously posted on everything2.com in April 2010. I am not sure if this branch was dead or not, but the moss grows on it here in the wet winter anyhow.

I took the photograph in the woods last weekend.

Go on

I must go on without you
the Beloved opens the path before me
let the past fall behind, the clear parts
and the murky, we alter each memory when we
pull the file in our brain and refile it,
I have duty you see, though I will miss you
terribly and keep inviting you along
as our paths diverge by millimeters
I wonder if you mind perhaps you are relieved
or perhaps you refuse to feel whether you mind
or not, we walk in parallel for now and can still
touch fingertips across the gap, more than
fingertips actually, but not for much longer.
I am still small compared to you yet when I said
to the Beloved that I don’t see how to
carry all of this, my back was infinitely broad and strong
for a period, as if a dream. Kiss me and leave, then,
if you must and I will love you always.

The picture is of early morning fog clearing 1/10/16.

Armour Suit IV: Walk like a toddler

At each massage, one every two weeks, I have locked my hips back up in the Armour suit. This is really annoying.

My massage person says he wants to be able to lie face down like a baby: head, arms and legs all lifted and playing. That is core strength. Babies can do that… why can’t we? He says that when he does play therapy with kids, by a certain age they lose that. He picks them up and flies them around lying on his arms: by age 4 or 5, they fold up. They have lost touch with that core.

I think about that.

During a massage a few months ago he pokes my lower belly. “Tilt your hips using your abdominal muscles.” Feels weird, but I do. “You aren’t engaging your core.” I find it really annoying to have to relearn how to walk.

Engaging my core. Little children who have just learned to walk do lead with their bellies. And they can still lie on the floor on their bellies, all limbs up.

I am trying to picture an adult who walks with their belly. Who? The Buddha’s belly comes to mind. But I can’t see him walking. Who? Toshiro Mifune: the old samurai movies. He and the others walk like small children: from their core, from their bellies.

I try it for two weeks. I flatten the arch of my lower back by using my abdominal muscles, not my gluteus maximus. I walk with my feet apart a bit, my belly leading. I am trying not to walk with my toes gripping the ground. I walk with toes up. He says I have walked with my toes gripping the ground for years, and that is the only place that I have early arthritis.

It feels a bit silly to walk like a samurai. When I do it right, I can feel that engaged core and my legs and hips feel looser. It is not elegant, not a catwalk uptight shake your ass walk. It is more of a loose free walk, like a toddler, like a buddha. I don’t care. I have to concentrate to keep my abdominal muscles flattening the arch of my back, and so I walk slower.

After two weeks I am back: it’s worked. Partially. My hips are LESS locked. The metatarsal phalangeal joints, the big toes, are less sore then they’ve been for years. And I can feel that abdominal core.

Skiing I try to do the same thing. Engage the abdomen and keep it engaged, and ski with my toes up. I ski slowly and with great swooping turns, letting the skis do the work. Rentals. They give me 158s the first day, I talk them into 165s the second day and then I am on 172s. Finally feels stable. I am getting used to that core feeling. I quit when I get too tired, going in before my kids.

Walk like a toddler, walk like a samurai, walk with core engaged.

First published on everything2.com January 7, 2016. I needed the right picture: this is my sister and me about a month before she died of breast cancer. I miss her so.

The enemy

SoFarSoStu has tagged me for the three days, three quotations and tag three other people.

“The rules are to post 3 quotes over 3 days and nominate 3 bloggers each time to carry on with the challenge.”

I have to say quotation because I can hear my sister scolding me for “verbing” words.

My quotation is from Walt Kelly: “We have met the enemy and he is us.” Pogo Possum says this while he is looking out over the dump, and all the trash that humans have created and thrown away. This was a late strip in the series and earlier other swamp characters were complaining about the dump: then trash is identified from each character.

Last night I hoped I would remember a dream. I dream that I am in flowing water and I keep seeing creatures in the water. I pass over one at last that is huge and black. I think, a whale? But it is a gigantic crow, in the water, waiting to rise. A crow, a trickster, a giant black bird. It is not dead or drowned, it is awake and watching.

Three bloggers to continue quotations if they wish:

trablogger

ompong

Amanuensis Sobriquet-Reverie

I took the picture from the top of the mountain, skiing last week. I suspect skiing is not the best activity for my carbon footprint, but I do love it… and the world is so beautiful, isn’t it?

 

 

 

Wind chimes

try to feel good
try not to feel bad
no anger, grief, negativity

no

I don’t try to control the wind
it blows hard or soft
gentle and warm
ice finger tickling
or roaring howling rain
or snow blown against my face

I let the wind blow
through me
I feel the wind
sometimes I curl up and batten the hatches
for a particularly hard blow
it’s best to ride it out

and the vast sea depths
change slowly

The picture is the Polar Plunge on Marrowstone Island yesterday: the temperature was 46 degrees. Happy New Year.

I dreamed of rain: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gslOWN5SJlw

 

 

Armour Suit III

My trial run for this vacation is swimming 400 yards. The swim is slow but fine. However, at 4:30 am I start having vertigo and throwing up. Have to cancel clinic. Lasts about 4 hours. Not reassuring for our Christmas plans.

My daughter has her wisdom teeth out on Monday before Christmas, so is instructed to not exercise heavily for five days. I got dry sockets and was sick as snot in college, but mine were much more impacted. She does fine, stops the hydrocodone in 24 hours, and drops to a 200mg ibuprofen three times a day by Christmas. On with the ski plans!

We head for a family resort on the east side. Up to to slopes on a hotel ski bus the first day, renting skis. For the first time ever, my goal is to ski gently. I have been skiing since age 9, but have not skied in five years and had two major bouts with strep A that affect my muscles. The second time my fast twitch muscles didn’t work for ten months. The first goal was to survive and the second is will I get my muscles back?

I rent downhill skis. Last time I skied telemark, but they don’t have any to rent, and anyhow, tele is harder. In college I had 190cm dead straight Heads for downhill, so now they rent me 163cm skis. We ride the lift up. 20 degrees at the top, an inch of new snow on groomed slopes and gorgeous. And… I can ski.

I am trying NOT to engage the armour suit. My massage person thinks that’s what made me sick swimming, reengaging it and just trashing my muscles. He’s right, I think. I just swam the way I always have, but slowly. My goal down the hill is NOT to fall into old patterns. I ski gently, let the skis do much of the work, carving swoopy turns. Every so often I get quickly and feel the suit kicking in and I back off. I drag my right pole for balance when I am tired.

My daughter asks for pointers on our third or fourth run. She has not skied for five years either. She is doing the work and I show her how to finish a turn using the curve of the ski. Finishing the turn lets her slow down, so she gets the swoopy feel in the turn but doesn’t lose control. On the lift we watch people. Nearly everyone drops their hands. Try turning your lower body with your arms dropped behind. Doesn’t work. Hands and shoulders down the hill and let the lower body do the turning….

I can ski! I ski with my toes lifted, not curled and gripping the ground. It changes my balance and I have to pay attention not to engage the suit. By 11 I want food and on the chair at 2 I am on my last run: I can feel the cold through my coat. We have a few more days, save energy. Also my right shin is informing me that I’ve bruised the crap out of it…

And the next day! Bruised shin, but more skiing, still gently. Now I have hope that I will get muscles back! Hooray for hope! Hooray for skiing toes up! Hooray for skiing without armour!