No Signs of Life
Many years ago I visited a patient on my unit whom I had been told was in serious condition and the medical team which included social workers, was trying to decide how to handle her case. She did not appear to have any friends or family. No one visited her. There were no cards, flowers, no balloons or photographs. Nothing. One could say there were no signs of life.
Based on her medical condition and the fact that she seemed utterly alone, the plans for her did not include extraordinary measures. It seemed to me that the staff had decided that she would not want them. No one had asked.
I found her curled up in bed, covers tucked under her chin. The staff were right. Nothing anywhere to indicate that anyone cared about this woman. We chatted. I mentioned that she didn’t have many visitors. No, she said. I am far too vain to have my friends see me this way. And she laughed. She chose not to have visitors. She didn’t want photos or flowers. I assume she didn’t want to get too comfortable in the hospital. Not that I could blame her.
She was a happy, busy woman. She had many friends. Lived in a beautiful apartment and couldn’t wait to go home. She had a busy social life. She went to museums and out for dinner. She was a happy woman who was quite ill. She wanted to live. No one had asked.
And that is the problem. Assumptions were made by human beings who imagined themselves in her shoes, alone, in their minds unhappy, as if one cannot be happy being alone, and projected their feelings. I have a friend who is in his fifties. Athletic as can be. He sees elderly people who used to be athletic, now walking with canes, moving slowly, no longer able to do the things they used to do and tells us he would rather die than be like that. I can understand that. He’s speaking from the body of a healthy, relatively young man who can’t imagine life with physical limitations. He doesn’t see that these people are quite happy despite the fact that they are no longer athletic.They have found other pleasures. For some joy is found in memories.
I contacted the primary physician, a warm caring woman, told her of my conversation and asked that she visit. She asked this woman about her life. Asked about friends, family, her wants and needs. And realized that this woman had no intention of dying any time soon. Looking back it seems surreal. The patient had to convince the doctor that she wanted to live!
What if I had not visited her? What if the doctor had not asked these questions? My patient did not know that life and death decisions were being made for her. And she was quite capable of expressing her desire-had she been asked.
No one was at her side advocating for her. I assume no one was listed on her intake report as next of kin. These are the people most vulnerable to abuse of euthanasia. These are the people who are left without a voice because of assumptions.
What provisions will be made for these people? How will laws protect these human beings from the life experiences of others and from their unconscious projected fears? It isn’t death with dignity that is our problem. It is living life with dignity that should be prioritized.
