Life and Death

I’ve been following a discussion on the CBC website, one that has garnered a plethora of heated comments surrounding death and dying. More specifically, the discussion centres on a story currently ongoing in Winnipeg, where courts have ruled an 84 year old man must remain on life support until a dispute over whether doctors can disconnect him against the families wishes, can go to trial.

The elderly man was admitted last October with pneumonia and heart disease, and suffers brain damage sustained in a fall several years earlier. His family refuses to allow the man to be disconnected from the machines, because according to Orthodox Jewish beliefs, this would be tantamount to murder. They believe that only God has the power to decide who lives and who dies, and have taken the hospital to court to prevent the disconnection from occurring. Current ethical guidelines regarding life support machines say that doctors can make the final decision, provided they have given the family 4 days notice- however, these guidelines were only released two weeks ago, and the family received the ruling in December. The trial will go on, Grandpa will stay on the machine, and a judge, not God, will decide his fate in the end. http://www.cbc.ca/news/yourview/2008/02/winnipeg_man_to_remain_on_life.html

This article has left me thinking about the issue, and death and dying in general. Is this case really about God being the one to choose, or is it about the difficultyin letting go ?  Is it really death we fear, the unknown, or the thought of leaving our loved ones behind – or having them , leave us?

My first experience with death left a massive void in my life. I was about 7. I remember every detail during those days, the expressions on the adults around me, the conversations and the confusing funny feeling I felt inside that seemed distinctly alien.

I knew something was up late one afternoon, the very second the phone rang. Mom grabbed the phone in the kitchen, said hello, then quickly turned around to look at me strangely and went around the wall into the dining room, waving me outside with her hand. I didn’t go. Discussion on her side was limited  to one word acknowledgements- no questions,only yes, yes, no.  Looking stunned, she hung up the phone and called my dad inside. They went into the bedroom, shutting the door and I heard my mom crying. Neither said anything when thee came out a while later, and something told me not to ask any questions or talk about it.

The story unravelled itself  in a rather dramatic fashion to following morning. My dad had collected my Nanni from her home, and on the way back they were followed by an RCMP car. Remarking on the strangeness of it to my mom and I when they arrived, at that point they didn’t realise that he had, in fact, parked in the driveway behind them after entered the house. He knocked at door, they let him him, and his face said everything. I peeked out the door of the bedroom I’d been banished to,only to see my Nanni (grandmother) collapse in tears and wails of obvious pain.

The RCMP officer left a short time later,the crying was quieter, and my parents came into my room to explain everything to me. My dear uncle who worked in a mine near Tumbler Ridge, had fallen out of a boat, at night, on Babine Lake and was missing. My poppa(grandfather) who was also working up there at the time, would  stay there until they could find him, or his body.

The days following were dazed and tragic. Hope mingled with sadness at the knowledge that time was not on our side – the more days that passed , the less likely they’d find him. And they never did.

 The lake is cold and deep,fed by underground springs and no amount of dragging or diving recovered his body or any trace of him. It came to light that he and his buddy had been drinking in the boat, were likely completely drunk, which contributed to his death.

 He was  soon officially labelled missing, and presumed drowned.

As ridiculous as it sounds, when a body of a loved one is not recovered, there remains for a period of time, some hope that they might have survived. Nanni was insistent that he could have made it to shore, and was wandering around the bush somewhere, so unable was she to accept his death and to some extent I’m not sure she ever made peace with his absence. There was  to be no closure for her.

Death is the one common denominator that unites us all, regardless of race, religion or beliefs. Facing our own mortality as we age becomes more of a reality  when we see our grandparents and parents start to leave us behind. But why do we feel so vastly different about how we confront and approach death?  We think its humane and loving to put down a much loved pet that is suffering in illness or injury, I think we ll agree on that, yet we balk at the topic of assisted suicide or euthanasia when  referring to a human loved one who is in the same situation.  The thought of having to deal with “pulling the plug”  would send some people right around the bend.

I personally don’t fear death, but then again, I’ve been in a couple of situations where I stared it in the face.  Following complications of the emergency c-section birth of my last son, I was forced to undergo another surgery only 10 days later. Opting to have a general anaesthetic meant that for a brief period of time upon waking, I would be without any kind of pain relief at all, until they were sure all my vitals were fine and I was responsive. Although I went in knowing this, I was completely unprepared for the overwhelming blanket of searing pain I would actually feel when I woke up. Gasping for help, the nurses administered my first dose of painkiller promptly, but it made no difference. I closed my eyes against the blinding pain, unable to deal with its hold on my body. I started breathing slower, shallower, the mere task of taking a breath too much to bear.The slower I breathed, the better I felt…..and then I heard alarms going off, and nurses yelling, but it seemed so far away and wasn’t real to me. I couldn’t open my eyes. Someone was yelling at me , it seemed as if through a wall, telling me to breathe, that my baby was going to need me….  and it was  only then that I remembered my family and  started consciously breathing again, but the experience left me shaken.

Up until I always though I would fight death when it came, but here I had so completely given into the ease and peacefulness of simply ceasing to breathe. What did that say about me? I hadn’t been scared at the time, because giving in seemed to be a very welcoming option. But I knew then, that to some extent, we can and do control when we depart this earth.  And although I went through a bit of a crisis coming to terms with all this,and my personality changed somewhat , it left me with a deeper appreciation of how fragile our existence really is, and how little of it should be wasted.

I don’t fear death - I do think its going to be a another wonderful adventure - but I  do fear not getting everything done that I want to accomplish before it comes to visit me again. And perhaps, so should you- life really is too short to waste a minute.