When Great Trees Fall is a poem by Maya Angelou about death, loss, grief and recovery. It's today's blog title because today's blog is all about a great tree I know that recently fell. My dear friend had been diagnosed with uterine cancer about four years ago and, it had appeared until recently, was going to be one of the rare birds who beats the odds. She didn't. The cancer came back with a vengence a few months ago and quickly turned almost every one of her organs into a toxic mass of cancer.
The hardest part of this is not losing her, I know with all my heart and soul that we shall meet again. It's knowing she suffered. Because she was in the hospital and not at home, the medical staff was taking life-saving measures. That meant she wasn't getting the amount of morphine she needed to really be free, and stay free, of the pain. Once the team finally agreed to put her on hospice, she passed quickly, but until that happened, she suffered. She suffered physically and she suffered emotionally. That part pains me more than my own grief.
Having been with loved ones who die at home, I do not think enough people understand the value of hospice care. Dying should be an act of dignity, pain free and stress free. On hospice care, these ridiculous attempts to prolong an evitable course are traded in for attempts at comfort, ease, and spiritual guideance. In the hospital the least required amount of pain management is usually the norm, where in hospice whatever is needed is what is given. And yes, I know for fact that sometimes an overdose of morphine assists the last breath. And it's merciful and it's dignified and it's humane.
How often I've heard people say, "I couldn't stand to see him suffer anymore, I had to do something." And they're talking about a pet that they've put to sleep. I do not for the life of me understand why we are so afraid of our own death that we can't have the same sense of humanity for our loved ones.
I'm writing this completely without editorializing, so excuse my lack of proper form and punctuation. I'm just too emotionally engaged in this issue at the moment to care about details, that, in the end, do not matter. More later...........
The hardest part of this is not losing her, I know with all my heart and soul that we shall meet again. It's knowing she suffered. Because she was in the hospital and not at home, the medical staff was taking life-saving measures. That meant she wasn't getting the amount of morphine she needed to really be free, and stay free, of the pain. Once the team finally agreed to put her on hospice, she passed quickly, but until that happened, she suffered. She suffered physically and she suffered emotionally. That part pains me more than my own grief.
Having been with loved ones who die at home, I do not think enough people understand the value of hospice care. Dying should be an act of dignity, pain free and stress free. On hospice care, these ridiculous attempts to prolong an evitable course are traded in for attempts at comfort, ease, and spiritual guideance. In the hospital the least required amount of pain management is usually the norm, where in hospice whatever is needed is what is given. And yes, I know for fact that sometimes an overdose of morphine assists the last breath. And it's merciful and it's dignified and it's humane.
How often I've heard people say, "I couldn't stand to see him suffer anymore, I had to do something." And they're talking about a pet that they've put to sleep. I do not for the life of me understand why we are so afraid of our own death that we can't have the same sense of humanity for our loved ones.
I'm writing this completely without editorializing, so excuse my lack of proper form and punctuation. I'm just too emotionally engaged in this issue at the moment to care about details, that, in the end, do not matter. More later...........
This post first appeared on Life, Liberty, And The Pursuit Of Sanity, please read the originial post: here
