Tag Archives: death

Life and Death… What would you do?

Posted on by
1

~
I have a lot of fun, hopefully interesting and much less serious things to blog about (and absolutely no time in which to do so), but I read something on a friend’s page today that got me thinking about this.

Said friend just got back from the hospital after a scare that involved chest pain. Nothing conclusive was shown (that’s a good thing) and returning for another test (right away) was recommended.

This got my friend thinking about what she would do if it turned out to be something serious enough to require invasive surgery such as a multiple bypass; (an uncle had one) Would she, at her (retirement) age put herself through such an invasive and recovery intensive procedure such as that, or accept that life is finite and just go on about the act of living?

Hopefully, it is tendon/muscle/ligament and/or irritation of the pleura or pericardium, perhaps/most likely something that is easily fixed by a shot of antibiotics, some mild medication or just rest and recovery and this will all be a mute point for my friend.

Since my cancer scare a year and a half ago, I’ve thought a lot about such things.  What would I do if it it was ovarian cancer?  Would I have chemo?  Would I accept localized radiation?  Or would I just tell everyone I love that I love them, live my life with as much zeal as possible and then go into hospice on a morphine drip when that was no longer possible?

I’m pretty sure that in that case, I would chose the latter. As a matter of fact, I am as positive as one can be without actually having to make that decision.

Like my friend, I do not have any children relying on me; if I did, I would most likely feel a different responsibility to them.

During that time, I also watched my close friend Houston battle stage four prostate cancer.  For a year and a half after the diagnosis (when they told him he only had a short few months to live) he was mostly confined to bed in a nursing home and was in and out of hospitals for surgeries and complications of his disease and treatment.

He fought; he fought valiantly and up to the end remained positive and determined to beat it.

With my medical background, I knew that the prognosis and the likelihood of that happening was so miniscule that statisticians would not be able to quantify it. Granted, I have seen miracles, but did not really expect one in his case.

But this was his fight, not mine, his decision, not mine, HIS… NOT MINE. As long as my dear friend wanted to fight, I would be there with him, holding his hand (even when it required a gloves, gown and a mask to do so) and would support his decision 110%.

I know death. I know death all too well. In addition to having danced with it myself on more than one occasion, I have been with people when it came. I have seen the beauty and peace one feels when ready to end the pain and pass over, I have seen and felt the horrible struggle of those clinging to life they were not ready to let go of as it was traumatically torn from them, and I, as as medical professional have had people beg me to let them die in peace with dignity when the law would not allow it. That is the most heartbreaking thing of all.

So while my friend pondered what they would do and I watched mutual, concerned, loving friends beg, plead and demand action, I remembered a choice I made a year and a half ago.

A little known fact about surgery, about general anesthesia. More people die from general anesthesia, than from the illnesses and injures that require the surgery.

When I went in for my first surgery a year and a half ago, I updated my will and my advanced directives.

The most difficult choice, was finding someone to carry out those directives.

I needed someone (and a backup) that “loved me as much as they loved their dog”

That sounds weird.

I needed someone that loved me enough to pull the plug should things go bad.

I could not choose anyone whose religious beliefs would preclude them from doing that.

We take our beloved fur children to the vet and have them “put out of their misery” when their short lives are going to be filled with nothing but pain, misery and suffering, yet only in Oregon and Washington states, do we have a death with dignity law in which we can make that choice for ourselves.

Whilst that choice would be made by only me and my doctor, well ahead of time, the idea behind it is the same.

Do you love me as much as your dog?

Do you love me enough to pull the plug and end all of our suffering?

Luckily, I have dear friends Janet and Betsy who agreed to do that for me should it come to that.

My advanced directives are clear…

WHAT! You don’t have advanced directives?

Fill them out, have them notarized, DO IT NOW!

Having worked in emergency medicine for well over a decade, I (and most, if not all of my colleagues) would prefer to just have “no code” tattooed on my chest.

Since that is not an option, my advanced directives are clear.

No respirator, no feeding tube. If I can’t be brought back with basic CPR and a zap with a defibrillator, save my loved ones and the staff the hassle of trying to bring me back from a vegetative state.

You see, the brain dies after 4-6 minutes without oxygen. You can “save” someone and get their heart beating again, but it does not mean that they will “live”

As a paramedic, I experienced this far too often.

The expectation, the legal mandate was to “save lives”.

In the absence of “no code” orders signed by the patient and the physician (and not expired), at the bedside, we were required to do what we were trained to do.

Yes, it sounds exciting and exhilarating to bring someone back from the dead and get their heart beating again.

The harsh reality is, that in most cases, they “come back” brain dead, only to code over and over again in the ICU as their family mourns their death many times over, and is driven to bankruptcy in the process, or they “live” in a vegetative state in a nursing home being fed through a tube and have their diaper changed by underpaid staff.

I cried far more often for the patients I “saved” than the ones I lost because I did not feel like a hero, I felt like Dr Frankenstein, only prolonging pain and suffering.

I am not afraid of death. I’ve been clinically dead once as a child with a severe allergy/asthma attack brought back to life with an intracardiac injection of epinephrine and as an adult made peace with the fact that the most likely scenario is that I was going to die after a river guiding accident that fractured my spine and pelvis.

and please in the name of all that is sacred to you, harvest my organs and give them to people who need them. What! You don’t have an organ donor card/endorsement on your license? If you are so inclined DO IT NOW!

What I am afraid of, is having a stroke or an accident and not having a choice, putting my friends and loved ones through hell on earth and being a drain on the system.

But back to my friend.

I fully expect her to live a long and productive life and have strongly recommended that she get back in for the tests ASAP. After all, you can’t make a decision if not given all the information you need in which to make it.

But if for some reason, that is not the way it goes and she makes a choice not to undergo something so invasive.

I support her decision.

I will be there for her.

~L


Share

Back to the Boat and Remembering Ben

Posted on by
Reply

~
On Sunday, I went back to dragon boat practice for the first time since November of 2008.

I realized while out on the water, that I had not set foot (or rather butt) on a dragon boat since he died.

His death wasn’t the reason (per se) that I didn’t go back. In addition to the triathlon training, about the time I thought I might be able to go back, I was dealing with the illness, mental issues and traumatic death of my mother.

While out on the water, I thought about Ben; I thought about him a lot.

I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to go back, but I did. I don’t know if I will ever want to steer the dragon again (that is just too intimately tied to Ben and can’t imagine anyone but him coaching me to do so) but it was good to be back.

We do this drill called “hookey”; Despite the fact that someone different was calling it out, I could hear Ben’s voice. (he was so funny when calling it out)

I wanted to laugh and I wanted to cry. (I have tears streaming down my face as I type this)

Today, I finally sanded, dragon decaled and varnished my dragon boat paddle, a project that Ben and I were going to do together.

It was November 10th of 2008, while driving back from Eastern Washington that I got the news that my friend and Dragon Boat Steering Coach Ben died the Saturday before.

He was steering the boat at practice when he had a massive heart attack. They were very close to the dock and the paramedics arrived right away.

They could not revive him and he was pronounced dead at the hospital an hour later.

I can’t imagine how terrible it must have been for my friends, my team to watch one of our most beloved members and coaches die.

I think I hurt for them the most.

I felt guilty for not being there. Although it was said that the heart attack was too massive for anyone/anything to help, I still felt guilty for not being there to do my medic thing and even more so, because I was not there for my friends.

Between the ten hour shifts and commute and training for my triathlon and the STP, dragon boating was the part of my life that got let go. On the week days that I actually got home in time for a practice, I was too exhausted to go. Weekends were spent logging long hours on the bike, swimming or running.

I kept saying that I was going to find the time/energy to go back, and each time I didn’t.

Ben certified me to steer the dragon boat and at one time when I was having a melt down because I did not feel experienced enough to handle a task I was given (in the conditions location it was being held in) and be responsible for the safety of the crew. I had Ben take over my boat and I left the event in tears feeling that I had failed everyone. He gave me a couple of days and then let down his gruff exterior and let his true loving nature show.

Ben was only 61 (at least I think so-the article I wrote on dragon boating last year listed him as 60)

Ben had an infectious grin and made everyone around him smile and laugh.

He was a good coach, and good friend and a good person.

He will be sorely missed.

I was told that at the following Sunday’s practice, the other association’s team paddled alongside our boat (which was three deep in each seat rather than two) out to the flagpole at the end of the waterway and both boats did Bens “salute” with the paddles.

Later, there was a memorial event for him on the water, dragon boat teams from Portland Oregon and Seattle came to Tacoma to participate and honor Ben, who touched the lives of so many.

Once again, life reminds me that we never know when our last moment on this earth will be.

We never know when we may see someone for the last time.

We should treat every day is if it were our last and love and cherish those we care about.

Paddles up Ben.

Paddles up!

~L


Share

rapture? (not what you think)

Posted on by
6

~
This post is not what you think it’s going to be.

While there has (and will be) plenty of fodder for those who disagree with and/or mock certain religious sects and/or warn against false prophets and scheisters, there really is a greater message that kept popping up through out this whole (non) event.

Many times, from people of many different faiths (or lack thereof) I read the following statement.

“We should all treat every day as if it was our last on this earth”

Regardless of one’s faith and belief in the afterlife (or lack thereof) those words ring true.

Time and time again, I have seen people taken from this life unexpectedly, traumatically and with regrets. As a paramedic, I saw people panic and fight the inevitable, only to lose their battle for life in a way that I would not wish on anyone.

It is not always sudden.

The last words spoken to me by my own mother when I (rather forcefully and emotionally) indicated that she needed to follow post surgical instructions and take care of herself were angry, “I’M THE ADULT, You don’t get to tell me what to do!”. After those words, she took the phone off the hook, barred the doors and windows, refused to answer the pleas of her best friends and neighbors (and the police who were called for welfare checks) through the doors and windows and screamed “GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE”. Legally, no one, not even the police could force entry under these circumstances.

Just as I predicted, just as I told her would happen if she did not at least try to do something, anything to improve her health (not in her psychological makeup to do so, then or ever), she died alone, in her home. I will spare you the details relayed to me by the medical examiner, but they will haunt me for the rest of my life.

While this event (and the life and events leading up to it) were traumatic and will take a lifetime to work through, I do have to give her credit for dying on her own terms, in her own home.

Thank goodness, it does not always end that way.

During my 13 years as a paramedic, I saw a lot of people die. The fact is, if it’s someone’s time, if the injury (and illnesses cause injury to the heart, brain and cells) is too great, even the best and most swift medical intervention can not stop the inevitable.

I have watched a lot of people die.

When someone is ready to die, to move on, to be released from pain and is at peace, it is a truly beautiful thing to watch, and this may sound weird, but I consider myself blessed to have been there for these moments.

Today, one of my very best friends from high school was there when her best friend, father of her children and husband was released from these earthly bonds after a courageous battle with cancer.

I have been privileged over the last year and a half not only to witness this courageous battle, but to experience the love, faith, laughter, tears and finally acceptance of the inevitable.

Even from across the country, I knew that if not today, it could be tomorrow or the day after.

When today’s email came, I did not need to read it to know why it was sent.

This journey was truly amazing, not for the medical treatments and remissions, but for the love and faith Craig and his family displayed even though the most challenging of times.

While he fought the good fight, he and his family also prepared themselves for the end of that battle.

They lived every moment as if it was their last.

While he still had the strength, the family reinforced connections and made memories.

When he could no longer do so, they made sure he had friends visit and call and constantly, they made arrangements to be with him 24/7 and let him know how loved he was.

My amazing friend Nina, almost daily, shared her joy, her sorrow, her fears, her courage and her vulnerability with her friends and loved ones. I’m pretty sure she never slept.

In his last moments on this earth, Craig was surrounded by loved ones (friends, family and pets) in a peaceful place with a beautiful view.

Sometimes we look at other beliefs with skepticism at best.

I can say that the honest, giving, loving, non-judgmental way in which Craig and Nina lived their lives is as “Christ like” as I have ever seen.

I honestly don’t know if there is a heaven or not.

Even though we are of different faiths, I thoroughly believe that if there is one, that Craig is there and he will be joined by Nina and the rest of his family.

I love this photo of their family. What makes it even better is my friend Nina’s statement, “The irony of this photo is that Craig isn’t exactly a fan of the dog.”

For those who are interested in the physical and spiritual journey, Craig’s Caring Bridge website is available here

My heart breaks for the loss my dear friend suffered today.

But there is also joy for the life they lived together and knowing that his last moments here are the best that anyone could ever hope for.

~L

~

Share

Rest in Peace Lovey

Posted on by
3

~
This afternoon it became apparent that Lovey was not going to make it after her brief rally Friday night/Saturday morning.

She stopped eating and drinking (I got as much water down her as I could) and became unable to stand or sit upright again.

I brought her upstairs this morning and set her up in the bathtub with food, water and towels for comfort & warmth.

I couldn’t force her to spend her last bit of time on this earth locked in the bathroom wrapped in a towel in the bath tub.

I gently took her outside and laid her in the grass under the grape arbor.

She nibbled a bit of grass, laid her head down and that was it.

And of course, I cried like an idiot.

All the books say that I should have just “destroyed’ her immediately because if she had a disease, even one she pulled through from, she would still pose a threat to the rest of my small flock.

I had to try to nurse her back to health.

I know some people think “What’s the big deal;it’s just a chicken”.

She was a sweet bird, a funny bird, she gave me fresh eggs (and occasionally a run for my money)

I’m going to miss her

0627001042.jpg

I know that chickens are fragile creatures who can have a number of congenital issues as well as cancers. She came from a different source than Mary Ann and Ginger,who thankfully appear healthy and happy so who knows. I know I will never get another chicken from that farm.

I’m sad, and I feel guilty.

~L

Mood: Sad and Guilty

~

Share

One year ago today

Posted on by
Reply

~
One year ago today, my mother died.

I’ve written plenty about that time, the circumstances surrounding her death and my unfortunate childhood.

I will not post about any of that today.

It will take a long time a lifetime to deal with it all.

No one and no situation is all good or all bad.

But I needed to do something today. To, if not honor observe the “anniversary”.

Last week, I received what the public administrators office deemed, “personal effects with sentimental value”.

I will not go into what was or wasn’t there or why.

But there were some things that I knew I needed to re home.

He roommate Pat (and Irish Catholic) left her with many items some of which I received last year and a few that came last week.

I have already re homed three crucifixes. If one was raised with them (I was not, I was raised Methodist) it’s a comforting symbol. For someone like me (who although not a Christian would imagine the it would be about resurrection and life teachings not death) the image of a dead guy nailed to a cross is rather disturbing.

With that said, I know that it is a sacred symbol to many people and I could not dispose of something that Pat considered sacred and that my mother kept. It may not be a sacred object to me, but I respect the fact that is is a sacred object to other people and will treat it as such.

The first three crucifixes were re homed to my friend Jessica in Madison Wisconsin, my friend John in Bonney Lake and Dale.

There was another crucifix in this last batch.

I knew that if I put it out on Facebook someone who appreciated it would take it.

But I emailed my neighbor Francine (a practicing Catholic)

As it turns out, she and her husband were just saying that they needed one for the hallway of their house.

Yes, it was meant to be.

The other items proved slightly more challenging.

First, the photos, letters and unpublished writings of my Bob’s Watson part of my mother’s “first” family, the Watson family also known as the “First Family of Hollywood” back in the day.

These were not my family memories (heck, I was a result of what she was stuck with and she never got over her first husband) but they were someone’s family memories.

I could not throw them away.

My mother was married to Delmar Watson (probably best known to most of you as “Peter the Goat Boy” in the Shirly Temple version of “Heidi”

Since the family was famous, and Delmar was a renowned photo journalist, I was able to track down the reporter who wrote about Delamr’s death and find a family contact.

I contacted the family and they are happy to have what was left to me for the museum.

Another item was the photo book I created for my mother a few years ago. She loved that book and reported carried it with her wherever she went. Her best friend Joyce loved that book and wanted a copy.

Those of you who have been to my home have seen my copy on my coffee table.

I am sending Joyce my mother’s copy.

The last item is a bit more difficult. Her boss’s wife is an actor (I used to act with her in productions at Plaza Players) and artist. She did a painting of the front of the office (a beautiful old Victorian home) with “Thumper” (the kitty office mascot) in front and tittled it “Thumper’s Castle” Thumper died not long ago. I did not want to just send the painting back as that could be considered an insult to the artist. Instead, I sent an email offering to send them the painting, explaining that I’d be happy to keep it, but I thought that it might be more meaningful to them. If they do not want it, I will not dispose of it.

So we will see what we see on that one.

In any event, this is difficult and will be difficult for a time.

But I felt that I needed to observe the day in a respectful manner and this is what I came up with.

~L

Mood: Gotta Sad
~

~

Share

In memory of Louis Mrkvicka

Posted on by
Reply

~
I received the news today when I stopped by my mailbox on my way home.

He died in April, but because his family had old contact information for me that I gave them in 2004 (a business card from a place I no longer work with a cell phone number I no longer have), I did not get notice until my Christmas card was replied to this week..

He died over here, on this side of the bridge, in a hospital in Seattle and I never knew.

I can’t even read the full text of his obituary or sign his guestbook because they have been archived. Yes I could pay to unarchive them, which I won’t do. I think he knows how I feel.

But I want to remember the Lou that I knew and loved, and honor the lessons he taught me, not dwell on the negative.

Louis Mrkcvicak was my “step-father in-law”

Yeah, it sounds weird, and pretty far removed from what most people consider “real family” but he taught me a lot about what “real family” is.

My family history is convoluted at best but requires some explanation (I will leave out the drama) for this relationship to make any sense.

My parents divorced when I was three years old.

I have no memory of my biological father.

I tried to find him several times growing up, asking questions of my mother resulted in being stonewalled and lied to (I knew his name and where we lived when I was born)

When I was older (in my 20′s) I was able to use some means that I won’t go into here to find him.

I learned that he was no longer in California and lived in this strange place called Sequim Washington (isn’t that near Canada?) I had our dispatcher take a polaroid picture of me in front of my ambulance and I sent him a letter. I told him that I didn’t want anything from him other than to know him and fill in the blanks of my family history.

I waited and waited and waited and did not get a response.

I thought perhaps my mother was right, that he didn’t love me, didn’t want me and was afraid that I’d want something from him (all later proved to be untrue)

I finally received a letter back, with the last name Mrkvicka on the return address.

The letter was from my step-mother (gee, didn’t know I had one) who re-married after my father died two years previously. She and Lou met at the hospice.

I lived in California at the time (1980-something) and had never heard of Sequim Washington. Heck, I had never even been to Washington.

It was in Washington that I met my stepmother Helen, and Lou.

Lou was a jolly Norwegian who was always armed with a big bear hug and an off color joke (Oh how Helen hated those jokes)

He was the perfect offset to Helen’s rather rigid and stoic nature. I was sad that I was too late to find my father when he was alive, but I did get a “step father in law” and a fine one at that.

When I was in a Colorado hospital in 1997 with a fractured spine and pelvis, it was Lou who (unknown to me) alerted all of the friends on my email list what had happened to me and encouraged them all to send me well wishes because I had sent them cheer (in the form of silly email jokes and updates) for so many years. My room was filled with flowers, candy, balloons, well wishes and stuffed animals.

It was only when a friend brought me in a printed copy of an email that I knew what Lou did.

Helen died in 2004 and I drove the icy roads from Tacoma to Sequim to attend the funeral.

I didn’t know anyone there aside from Lou.

After the service, I was feeling like I didn’t belong because I wasn’t his “blood” family.

He and his family brought me over to their table, sat me down, gave me food and told me that I was indeed family. (as it turns out, his daughter was adopted and there were all sorts of adoptions, halves, steps and other non-traditional relationships.)

I was told that my relationship with him was not “odd’, that it was normal for him and his family and that I fit right in.

Lou taught me that family is not about blood, it is about love.

That my friends, is an amazing legacy.

Rest in Peace Lou, I love you!

~L

Mood: Sad

~L

~

Share

Covert Operation Calico

Posted on by
3

~

There are friends you call when you need to move furniture. That would be my friend Houston.

And there are friends you call when you need to move a body. Apparently, that would be me.

When Houston called late one night after finding his dear sweet Callie the Calico dead (she just fell asleep on the chair and never woke up) I instructed him to wrap her up and put her in the freezer until we came up with a plan.

Initially, he wanted to try to bury her in Wright Park.

Once I convinced him of the impossibility of burying a dead frozen cat in one of the most high traffic areas in the city (not to mention well patrolled) we came up with a more fitting plan for Callie’s last resting place. It was still a bit risky, because I’m sure there are laws about where one can bury a pet.

But you know what? I’m wiling to risk getting in trouble (when it’s not hurting anyone or the environment) in order to help a friend honor the life and passing of a fur child.

I had instructed him that since this was a covert operation, that we would need shovels or spades that would fit in our daypacks, and at least one pack large enough for kitty.

When doing something covert, one doesn’t want to be seen walking into the woods with shovels and a black plastic bag. It tends to attract attention, which we did not want.

I had several “Plan B”s in the event that we were stopped or questioned. I told he and Morgain our “cover story” (we were looking for late season Chanterelles) and other stories that might be needed. I even made him park in an area that I could get kitty out of the box and into my pack with out anyone seeing that I was loading something out of a box into the pack.

When I go covert, I go covert, and it planned down to the last detail and what to do/say in every possible worst case scenario. Callie was getting a respectful and sacred burial.

My friends thought my planning and precautions were hilarious.

I supposed it was.

At one point, we all had to giggle. Here we were, I with a frozen, dead cat in my daypack (that I couldn’t fully zip because of the bulky blanket she was wrapped in) and Houston walking behind me making sure that the body didn’t fall out pretending that we were going out for a picnic. Morgain had her bright orange backpacking “poop trowel” in the side of her back, so we were giggling that we were just going out for a picnic and that Morgain has to poop a lot.

The more serious I tried to be about this, the more they giggled at me.

I decided against taking the heavily used wooded trail, and instead chose to take the shoreline to an area that is difficult to get to and not heavily traveled (especially not in the rain, as the sun was going down)

So there we were, the three of us walking down the beach at sunset to do something that we likely shouldn’t have been doing, like three naughty kids out on an adventure giggling at the absurdity of it all.

But it only got more complicated as some of the local teenagers had chosen the same isolated area to smoke pot.

They didn’t want to light up in front of the old folks and we didn’t want to bury a body (even if it was feline) in front of the kids; so we had a good, long standoff reminiscent of “The Good, Bad and the Ugly”.

Finally, the kids backed down, the tides cooperated and the rain, impending darkness and incoming tide gave us privacy.

We explored several options, and decided on what we could only describe as a “natural cathedral” overlooking the water. We looked around some more and decided that was the spot. The digging wasn’t easy considering the tools we brought had to fit in our day packs (we were after all going on a picnic and looking for late season Chanterelles; oh yeah, we were geocaching if we’d been seen digging) and we had to chip away at clay and bring rocks up from the beach. I even had a story if we were caught with the dead cat, but it was a good one, and I’m going to save it, in case I ever need to use it again. (let’s hope I don’t need it for a very long time)

So the three of us quietly laid Callie to rest in her cathedral with the beautiful view, sang amazing grace and spoke a blessing

I think anyone, human or four legged would have felt it was a fitting farewell.

We started the long trek back down the beach after the sun set and the tide started moving back in.

Rest in Peace Callie.

~L

~L


Share