When I was in high school, I read and fell in love with Kurt Vonnegut's 'Welcome to the Monkey House'. It's a collection of short stories across a range of subjects. Among them was a story about a society in which assisted suicide was voluntary and socially accepted.
The individual would choose the right time for them, they would go to a center staffed by PYT's (pretty young things) who would ease them into the afterlife with a cocktail of drugs. While waiting for the easing, the person would lie on a Barcalounger which, until I read the story, I never even knew existed.
That story was about an elderly man, anxious for the company of young people, who would show up at the center, go through the routine, up to the point of saying, 'I'm ready'. Before then, he would talk and visit and get the social interaction he craved. Then, instead of saying, 'I'm ready' he would say, 'I've changed my mind.'
This morning, thinking of my MIL who is failing based on the signs I'm seeing, I was thinking of my own end of life. For myself, I do not want to go through what she's going through. More than that, I do not want to put any of my family through what we're going through just to keep her going day-to-day.
Thinking all of that, I started with a kernel of a story, so here it is. Just a flash piece, perhaps six hundred words or so.
* * * *
Mom
"It'll be so easy, honey."
"But I don't want you to!" The words were said so forcefully they might as well have been accompanied by a foot-stomp.
"I'm old, dear. I'll be ninety in a couple of months. I've had my time and now it's yours. I don't want to burden you. I don't want you to have to do for me what your father and I did for your grandmother."
Tears swam in Maggie's eyes and her throat was thick when she said, "But don't you understand? I want to."
Gail shook her head, her eyes sad as she looked at her daughter, saw her distress. "No you don't. You weren't there for a lot of it, being off at college and then your job. You don't know what's involved and I won't subject you to that. I love you too well and I don't want you to see me that way."
"What way?"
"Weak, feeble, confused and unable to do anything for myself. I don't want to be like that. It's demoralizing and it's demeaning."
"You're doing okay now, aren't you?"
"Yes, so far, but I can feel it coming. I'm more tired than I've been. It's harder to get up in the morning, to get dressed and do the things I need to do. In a few months, at most, I'll need help just doing the simple things, and I don't want to be dependent like that."
Maggie knew her mother was proud. Always strong, always capable, ready to go the extra mile for those closest to her. Thinking back, she couldn't think of a single time her mother had ever complained about anything. She could understand, in her heart, her Mom's desire not to be dependent, to have to ask for help. More than that, she recognized that she was being selfish. She wasn't looking at the decision from her Mom's point of view, only her own.
The silence drew out while Gail waited for Maggie's acceptance. Beyond the windows the autumn sunshine glowed through the gold of the trees. Jays called and the whirrrr of a neighbor's lawn mower was a constant.
Maggie's head dropped forward and Gail's heart broke. She reached over to stroke her daughter's hair, noting the fragile fingers and almost translucent skin with the liver spots she hated so much. "It's for the best, love, really. No long, drawn out waiting. No pain, no suffering. No anger or frustration or wondering 'when'."
Under her hand Maggie's head moved - up and down. "When?" It was a whisper.
"Next Tuesday. I've already called them but I wanted to talk to you and give you time to think about it, to get used to it." She heard when her daughter began to cry and leaned forward, gathering the shaking form to herself. "It will be good, love. Good for you and good for David. No more worrying, no more waiting for a phone call. I'll be at peace and so will you."
"Does David know?"
"Yes. I called him last night."
"How did he take it?"
"He's not happy, but he understands. He was there with us during your grandmother's last few weeks, so he knows." She lifted her daughter's chin on her fingers, gazed into the bloodshot eyes and smiled sweetly. "He'll be here, and I'd like you to be, too, if you think you can."
Maggie sat up, slightly surprised. "They'll do it here?"
"Mm hmm. In the comfort of my own home." She sighed and looked out the window. "I've already checked the weather report. It's supposed to be sunny and warm, just like today."
* * * *
Now, for me, that's how I'd like to do it. To make the decision and not be a burden on my loved ones because, no matter how determined one might be at the end of life, it is hard work for those around you.
With my dad, who died of cancer, there were weeks of constant care by my mother and sister-in-law.
For my mom, it was months of dressings and doctor visits to deal with the staph infection that ultimately took her life. At the end for her, a stoic woman who never, ever, ever complained about anything, she said she just wanted to die because it hurt so much. She was ninety-three.
My father-in-law had been ill, in and out of the hospital several times over a period of months and finally dropped dead of a heart attack when he tried to get up to use the bathroom. His doctor had recommended that he check into a care facility, but my FIL refused. He had spots on his liver that had not yet been diagnosed when he died.
My MIL is still with us. Senile and unable to focus for any length of time, confused and incapable of following simple requests or instructions. We do almost everything for her, and clean up after her when she has 'problems'. Our living room carpet has bleach stains where 'problems' were solved.
It's a twenty-four hour per day, seven day a week exercise and, as far as I can see, all she's doing is waiting to die. She does nothing constructive or creative. Her days consist of watching the television she can't even see because of diabetes and glaucoma, listening to talk radio and sleeping. Half the time what we feed her comes back up halfway through her meal. Other times, we have to rescue the lap table so she can get up in the middle of eating to use the bathroom. Which is also her only "exercise" - the almost constant trips to and from the bathroom. She won't do any more because she can't. Even when she was able bodied she wouldn't walk, even when she was encouraged to get outside - just down to the corner and back.
She is the poster child for what I don't want to be. She is the example of how not to live a life - eat far more than you need of the stuff that isn't good for you. Drink sodas by the gallon, but never drink a glass of water or milk. Never exercise, never go outside, never do anything more than you absolutely have to.
In my place, I do what I can - I park as far from the store as I can manage and walk. I do more than I must, simply to keep moving, but when the time comes for me to go, I will not burden my family. Only half-jokingly I've told my daughter that I will get a notarized statement permitting her to take me somewhere and lose me so she doesn't have to bother.
It's a tough conversation to have, but for the strong willed and strong minded being dependent is the worst thing I can imagine. It's a giving up of self, a closing in and closing down process that is, to me, now when I'm healthy, unimaginably demeaning.
Me? I have my plans. It won't be like Maude in Harold and Maude. If I can handle it, it'll be quicker and less painful. Unless Fate takes over and decides for me.
And, on that happy note... I hope this gives food for thought and I hope you have a lovely day.
Best~
Philippa
Follow me on Twitter: https://twitter.com/PhilippaStories
No comments:
Post a Comment