End-Of-Life

— The One Decision AI Cannot Predict

We often talk about personalized medicine; we hardly ever talk about personalized death.

By Dr. Tal Patalon, MD, LLB, MBA

End-of-life decisions are some of the most intricate and feared resolutions, by both patients and healthcare practitioners. Although multiple sources indicate that people would rather die at home, in developed countries they often end their lives at hospitals, and many times, in acute care settings. A variety of reasons have been suggested to account for this gap, among them the under-utilization of hospice facilities, partially due to delayed referrals. Healthcare professionals do not always initiate conversations about end-of-life, perhaps concerned about causing distress, intervening with patients’ autonomy, or lacking the education and skills of how to discuss these matters.

We associate multiple fears with dying. In my practice as a physician, working in palliative care for years, I have encountered three main fears: fear of pain, fear of separation and fear of the unknown. Yet, living wills, or advanced directives, which could be considered as taking control of the process to some extent, are generally uncommon or insufficiently detailed, leaving family members with an incredibly difficult choice.

Apart from the considerable toll they face, research has demonstrated that next-of-kin or surrogate decision makers can be inaccurate in their prediction of the dying patient’s preferences, possibly as these decisions personally affect them and engage with their own belief systems, and their role as children or parents (the importance of the latter demonstrated in a study from Ann Arbor).

Can we possibly spare these decisions from family members or treating physicians by outsourcing them to computerized systems? And if we can, should we?

AI For End-Of-Life Decisions

Discussions about a “patient preference predictor” are not new, however, they have been recently gaining traction in the medical community (like these two excellent 2023 research papers from Switzerland and Germany), as rapidly evolving AI capabilities are shifting the debate from the hypothetical bioethical sphere into the concrete one. Nonetheless, this is still under development, and end-of-life AI algorithms have not been clinically adopted.

Last year, researchers from Munich and Cambridge published a proof-of-concept study showcasing a machine-learning model that advises on a range of medical moral dilemma: the Medical ETHics ADvisor, or METHAD. The authors stated that they chose a specific moral construct, or set of principles, on which they trained the algorithm. This is important to understand, and though admirable and necessary to have been clearly mentioned in their paper, it does not solve a basic problem with end-of-life “decision support systems”: which set of values should such algorithms be based on?

When training an algorithm, data scientists usually need a “ground truth” to base their algorithm on, often an objective unequivocal metric. Let us consider an algorithm that diagnoses skin cancer from an image of a lesion; the “correct” answer is either benign or malignant – in other words, defined variables we can train the algorithm on. However, with end-of-life decisions, such as do-not-attempt-resuscitation (as pointedly exemplified in the New England Journal of Medicine), what is the objective truth against which we train or measure the performance of the algorithm?

A possible answer to that would be to exclude moral judgement of any kind and simply attempt to predict the patient’s own wishes; a personalized algorithm. Easier said than done. Predictive algorithms need data to base their prediction on, and in medicine, AI models are often trained on a large comprehensive dataset with relevant fields of information. The problem is that we don’t know what is relevant. Presumably, apart from one’s medical record, paramedical data, such as demographics, socioeconomic status, religious affiliation or spiritual practice, could all be essential information to a patient’s end-of-life preferences. However, such detailed datasets are virtually non-existent. Nonetheless, recent developments of large language models (such as ChatGPT) are allowing us to examine data we were previously unable to process.

If using retrospective data is not good enough, could we train end-of-life algorithms hypothetically? Imagine we question thousands of people on imaginary scenarios. Could we trust that their answers represent their true wishes? It can be reasonably argued that none of us can predict how we might react in real-life situations, rendering this solution unreliable.

Other challenges exist as well. If we do decide to trust an end-of-life algorithm, what would be the minimal threshold of accuracy we would accept? Whichever the benchmark, we will have to openly present this to patients and physicians. It is difficult to imagine facing a family at such a trying moment and saying “your loved one is in critical condition, and a decision has to be made. An algorithm predicts that your mother/son/wife would have chosen to…, but bear in mind, the algorithm is only right in 87% of the time.” Does this really help, or does it create more difficulty, especially if the recommendation is against the family’s wishes, or is delivered to people who are not tech savvy and will struggle to grasp the concept of algorithm bias or inaccuracies.

This is even more pronounced when we consider the “black box” or non-explainable characteristic of many machine learning algorithms, leaving us unable to question the model and what it bases its recommendation on. Explainability, though discussed in the wider context of AI, is particularly relevant in ethical questions, where reasoning can help us become resigned.

Few of us are ever ready to make an end-of-life decision, though it is the only certain and predictable event at any given time. The more we own up to our decisions now, the less dependent we will be on AI to fill in the gap. Claiming our personal choice means we will never need a personalized algorithm.

Complete Article HERE!

We’re in the middle of a revolution on death

Mary Klein, center, speaks at a news conference in Washington on April 5, 2018, to urge D.C. officials to educate doctors about the city’s “death with dignity” law.

By Jon Meacham

Jon Meacham is the author of “The Soul of America: The Battle for Our Better Angels.”

Tuesday was to be the day — in the morning, because everything was taken care of. The goodbyes had been said, the tears shed, the coffin handmade. In the spring of 2018, Dick Shannon, a former Silicon Valley engineer with untreatable cancer, took advantage of California’s “death with dignity” law to end his own life once all other medical possibilities had been exhausted.

“My observation about the way people die, at least in America, is they . . . are not allowed the opportunity to be part of the process,” Shannon explained. “For my way of thinking, the part that bothers me just immensely is not being allowed to be part of that process. It’s my death. Go with what you believe, but don’t tell me what I have to do.” Discussing the ultimate decision with his doctor, Shannon remarked, “It’s hard to fathom. I go to sleep and that’s the end of it. I’ll never know anything different.” He paused, then said simply: “Okay.”

When the day came, Shannon was ready. The end-of-life medical cocktail was mixed in a silver stainless steel cup, and he drank it in front of his loving and tearful family. “I’ve accepted the fact that I’m dying,” he’d said earlier. “There’s nothing I can do to stop it. Planning the final days of my life gives me a sense of participation and satisfaction.” As he prepared to slip away, he told his family, “Just know that I love you — each and every one of you.”

America is becoming ever more like itself when it comes to death. From Walden Pond to Huck Finn’s lighting out for the territory, we’re a nation of individualists, shaped and suffused by self-reliance and a stubborn allegiance to the live-free-or-die motto of the Revolutionary era. With this twist: Baby boomers and their successor generations are insisting on being free to take control of death itself. Innovation, creativity and customization — the hallmarks of our time, an age in which we can run much of our lives from our mobile phones — are now transforming both how we die and the mechanics of remembrance that come afterward.

The coming revolution in death — and Dick Shannon’s story — is laid out with uncommon wisdom in a powerful, new HBO documentary, “Alternate Endings,” which debuts Aug. 14. Only eight states and the District of Columbia have death-with-dignity laws, but three of those states — Hawaii, Maine and New Jersey — have put their statutes on the books within the past year. And 18 other states considered such laws in the 2019 legislative season.

The movement has not attracted the same attention it once did; in the 1990s, Jack “Dr. Death” Kevorkian, the right-to-die advocate, drew considerable public alarm. As the documentary by Perri Peltz and Matthew O’Neill makes clear, the conversation has entered a new and compelling phase now that Americans are thinking about death as something as disintermediated as commuting, dating and shopping.

The United States has a long history of rethinking the rituals of death. Embalming became part of the popular understanding and tradition of death during the Civil War; the task then was to preserve the bodies of dead soldiers so their families could see them one final time. Abraham Lincoln may have done the most to raise the profile of embalming when he chose first to embalm his 11-year-old son and then when his own corpse was embalmed for the long train ride home to Springfield, Ill., after his assassination.

Now the death industry in the United States has evolved with the culture. For many, corporate consolidation has reshaped a funeral home industry, which was once made up almost entirely of local, family-owned companies. (And which, as Jessica Mitford wrote in her 1963 book “The American Way of Death,” unctuously gouged grieving families.) The Internet has disrupted the casket industry with Walmart and others selling directly to families. As “Alternate Endings” reports, there are now green burials (including using a loved one’s ashes to help restore coral reefs), space burials and even drive-through, open-casket viewings.

Once the great gatekeeper of life and death, organized religion, too, is losing its sway. In an era in which friends routinely ordain themselves on the Internet to preside at weddings, the rising numbers of Americans who are “unaffiliated” with any particular faith mean that institutions that once gave shape to life and meaning to death are being gradually supplanted family to family.

The issues raised by Dick Shannon’s story are the most profound. Many religious authorities — notably the Roman Catholic Church — oppose euthanasia (Greek for a “good death”). Such teachings face a generational head wind as more people (and states) move from deferring to institutions to simply making their own decisions. The questions involved are intricate and complex and painful — but it is plain to see that we are witnessing another rite of passage undergoing an irrevocable disruption.

When the Shannons held a “living wake” for friends to say goodbye to Dick, the family hung a banner on the wall: “Life is what you celebrate. All of it. Even its end.” Before passing, Shannon said, “I want it to be on my terms.” Given that death comes for us all, so, too, will many of us have to confront the agonizing decision that he faced with grace.

Complete Article HERE!

How To Fight For Yourself At The Hospital — And Avoid Readmission

By Judith Graham

Hands of an older woman in the hospital

Everything initially went well with Barbara Charnes’ surgery to fix a troublesome ankle. But after leaving the hospital, the 83-year-old soon found herself in a bad way.

Dazed by a bad response to anesthesia, the Denver resident stopped eating and drinking. Within days, she was dangerously weak, almost entirely immobile and alarmingly apathetic.

“I didn’t see a way forward; I thought I was going to die, and I was OK with that,” Charnes remembered, thinking back to that awful time in the spring of 2015.

Her distraught husband didn’t know what to do until a longtime friend — a neurologist — insisted that Charnes return to the hospital.

That’s the kind of situation medical centers are trying hard to prevent. When hospitals readmit aging patients more often than average, they can face stiff government penalties.

But too often institutions don’t take the reality of seniors’ lives adequately into account, making it imperative that patients figure out how to advocate for themselves.

“People tell us over and over ‘I wasn’t at all prepared for what happened’ and ‘My needs weren’t anticipated,’” said Mary Naylor, director of the New Courtland Center for Transitions and Health at the University of Pennsylvania.

It’s a mistake to rely on hospital staff to ensure that things go smoothly; medical centers’ interests (efficiency, opening up needed beds, maximizing payments, avoiding penalties) are not necessarily your interests (recovering as well as possible, remaining independent and easing the burden on caregivers).

Instead, you and a family member, friend or caregiver need to be prepared to ask plenty of questions and push for answers.

Here’s what doctors, health policy experts, geriatric care managers, older adults and caregivers recommend:

Start Planning Now

Planning for a transition home should begin as soon as you’re admitted to the hospital, advised Connie McKenzie, who runs Firstat RN Care Management Services in Fort Lauderdale, Fla. You may be too ill to do this, so have someone you trust ask your physician how long you’re likely to be hospitalized and whether you’ll be sent home or to rehabilitation afterward.

Ask if a physical therapist can evaluate you or your loved one at the hospital. Can you get out of bed by yourself? Walk across the room? Then discuss what difficulties might arise back home. Will you be able to handle your own bathroom needs? Get dressed? Climb stairs? What kind of assistance will you require?

Request a consultation with a nutritionist. What kinds of foods will and won’t you be able to eat? Does your diet need to change over the short term, or longer term?

Consider where you’ll go next. If you or your loved one is going to need rehabilitation, now is the time to start researching facilities. Ask a hospital social worker for advice or, if you can afford it, hire a geriatric care manager (now called aging life care professionals) to walk you through your options.

Before Being Discharged

Don’t wait to learn about the kind of care that will be required at home. Will a wound need to be dressed? A catheter need tending to? What’s the best way to do this? Have a nurse show you, step by step, and then let you practice in front of her — several times, if that’s what it takes.

Ann Williams watched a nurse give her 77-year-old mother a shot of Warfarin two years ago after being hospitalized for a dangerous blood clot. But when it was Williams’ turn to give the injection on her own, she panicked.

“I’m not a medical professional: I’ve only given allergy shots to my cats,” she said. Fortunately, Williams found a good instructional video on the Internet and watched it over and over.

Make sure you ask your doctor to sit down and walk you through what will happen next. How soon might you or your loved one recover? What should you expect if things are going well? What should you do if things are going poorly? How will you know if a trip back to the hospital is necessary?

If the doctor or a nurse rushes you, don’t be afraid to say, “Please slow down and repeat that” or “Can you be more specific?” or “Can you explain that using simple language?” said Dr. Suzanne Mitchell, an assistant professor of family medicine at Boston University’s School of Medicine.

Getting Ready To Leave

Being discharged from a hospital can be overwhelming. Make sure you have someone with you to ask questions, take good notes and stand up for your interests — especially if you feel unprepared to leave the hospital in your current state, said Jullie Gray, a care manager with Aging Wisdom in Seattle.

This is the time to go over all the medications you’ll be taking at home, if you haven’t done so already. Bring in a complete list of all the prescriptions and over-the-counter medications you’ve been taking. You’ll want to have your physician or a pharmacist go over the entire list to make sure there aren’t duplicates or possibly dangerous interactions. Some hospitals are filling new prescriptions before patients go home; take advantage of this service if you can. Or get a list of nearby pharmacies that can fill medication orders.

Find out if equipment that’s been promised has been delivered. Will there be a hospital bed, a commode or a shower chair at home when you get there? How will you obtain other supplies that might be needed such as disposable gloves or adult diapers? A useful checklist can be found at Next Step in Care, a program of the United Hospital Fund.

Will home health care nurses be coming to offer a helping hand? If so, has that been scheduled — and when? How often will the nurses come, and for what period of time? What, exactly, will home health caregivers do and what other kinds of assistance will you need to arrange on your own? What will your insurance pay for?

Be sure to get contact information (phone numbers, cell phone numbers, email addresses) for the doctor who took care of you at the hospital, the person who arranged your discharge, a hospital social worker, the medical supply company and the home health agency. If something goes wrong, you’ll want to know who to contact.

Don’t leave without securing a copy of your medical records and asking the hospital to send those records to your primary care doctor.

Back At Home

Seeing your primary care doctor within two weeks should be a priority. “Even if a patient seems to be doing really well, having their doctor lay eyes on them is really important,” said Dr. Kerry Hildreth, an assistant professor of geriatrics at the University of Colorado School of Medicine.

When you call for an appointment, make sure you explain that you’ve just been in the hospital.

Adjust your expectations. Up to one-third of people over 70 and half of those over 80 leave the hospital with more disabilities than when they arrived. Sometimes, seniors suffer from anxiety and depression after a traumatic illness; sometimes, they’ll experience problems with memory and attention. Returning to normal may take time or a new normal may need to be established. A physical or occupational therapist can help, but you may have to ask the hospital or a home health agency to help arrange these visits. Often, they won’t offer.

It took a year for Barbara Charnes to stand up and begin walking after her ankle operation, which was followed by two unexpected hospitalizations and stints in rehabilitation. For all the physical difficulties, the anguish of feeling like she’d never recover her sense of herself as an independent person was most difficult.

“I felt that my life, as I had known it, had ended,” she said, “but gradually I found my way forward.”

Complete Article HERE!

‘I don’t like dying’: 5-year-old who chose to forgo treatment, sparking debate, has died

By Travis M. Andrews

Michelle Moon and her daughter Julianna Snow.
Michelle Moon and her daughter Julianna Snow.

Most 4-year-olds cannot grasp the concept of death. Most don’t have to, but Julianna Snow was forced to consider and reckon with her own mortality at that young age.

Julianna, of Washougal, Wash., was diagnosed with Charcot-Marie-Tooth Disease, which is one of the world’s most common inherited neurological disorders, according to the National Institutes of Health. It’s a progressive disease that damages the nerves affecting certain muscles. In most cases, it’s relegated to the arm and leg muscles, sometimes so mildly doctors don’t even find it upon examination. But there are many mutations of CMT, and symptoms range in severity.

Julianna’s case was one of the most severe.

The disease affected the muscles she needed for chewing and swallowing, then those needed for breathing. Her lungs would fill with mucus and cause pneumonia. When this happened, doctors would need to perform nasotracheal suctioning, an exceedingly painful procedure in which a tube is threaded through the nose and down the throat, past the gag reflex and into the lungs in order to remove dangerous mucus build-up.

Julianna despised it.

Most children scream and need to be restrained during the procedure, but Julianna was eventually too weak to do anything but cry, her nurse Diana Scolaro — who often performed the procedure — told CNN. And while most children can be sedated for the process, Julianna was too weak.

She remained conscious for each one, feeling every second of pain.

After each session, Scolaro would tell Julianna, “Rest now, baby. Maybe you can make it two hours before we have to do it again.”

Scolaro told CNN, “It’s not for the faint of heart to take what she took.”

Juliana’s condition continued to worsen. She eventually required a pressurized mask to pump oxygen into her lungs, which were too weak to do it themselves. She was fed through a tube inserted into her stomach. Her tiny body had grown too frail to fight off another bout of pneumonia, or even the common cold.

In October 2014, Dr. Sarah Green sat down with Julianna’s parents, neurologist Michelle Moon and former Air Force pilot Steve Snow, to have a difficult conversation. The next time Julianna got sick, she would likely die. If doctors managed to save her, her quality of life would almost certainly be poor.

It was a decision Moon and Snow could have made on their own, and they had — they were going to bring Julianna to the hospital if she got sick again.

But then they decided to ask Julianna.

Juilanna Snow.
Juilanna Snow.

As Moon explained on Anderson Cooper’s “AC360, “Julianna had to go through hundreds of rounds of nasotracheal suctioning. She knows exactly what that was. She was awake for every single one. I think she has a right. I think she has a say.”

So Moon sat her 4-year-old daughter down to have a series of the most heart-wrenching conversations a parent could imagine.

“Julianna, if you get sick again, do you want to go to the hospital again or stay home?” she asked her daughter in a conversation she blogged about on her personal blog and for the Mighty.

“Not the hospital,” the girl said.

In another conversation, Julianna asked whether her mother wanted her to get treatment. Moon asked what Julianna wanted.

“I hate NT. I hate the hospital,” she said.

“Right. So if you get sick again, you want to stay home,” her mom said. “But you know that probably means you will go to heaven, right?”

“Yes.”

“And it probably means that you will go to heaven by yourself, and Mommy will join you later.”

“But I won’t be alone,” Julianna replied.

“That’s right. You will not be alone.”

“Do some people go to heaven soon?” the 4-year-old asked.

“Yes. We just don’t know when we go to heaven,” her mom said. “Sometimes babies go to heaven. Sometimes really old people go to heaven.”

“Will Alex go to heaven with me?” Julianna asked, referring to her 6-year-old brother.

“Probably not. Sometimes people go to heaven together at the same time, but most of the time, they go alone,” Moon told her. “Does that scare you?”

“No, heaven is good,” her daughter said. “But I don’t like dying.”

The two had many more conversations in this vein, Moon trying to ensure that, as much as possible, Julianna understood what dying means. Not only can most 4-year-olds not grasp the concept of death, most people can’t.

Still, a decision had to be made, and Julianna helped make one.

“I want to make it clear these are not Julianna’s decisions or choices,” Moon toldPeople. “They are Steve’s and my decisions, but we look to Julianna to guide us.”

Her parents respected her wishes.

“She made it clear that she doesn’t want to go through the hospital again,” Michelle told CNN. “So we had to let go of that plan because it was selfish.”

On Tuesday, Julianna died at 5 years old.

“Our sweet Julianna went to heaven today,” Moon wrote on the blog dedicated to her daughter. “I am stunned and heartbroken, but also thankful. I feel like the luckiest mom in the world, for God somehow entrusted me with this glorious child, and we got almost six years together.”

Since Moon first posted on the Mighty, a blog about people with disabilities, and began her own blog, Julianna’s story has received national attention. CNN wrote a two-part series on the family, which was also featured on “AC360.” People magazine profiled the family. Even the Korean Broadcasting System traveled to Washington state to film Julianna for a Christmas Day documentary (below, but not in English).

As her story grew, so too did backlash in response to their decision.

“Your daughter sounds super smart but, please, don’t let her be anything like the decision-maker on this. I’m so grateful my parents heard my articulate little 4 year-old thoughts, factored them in, and didn’t confuse my strong verbal skills with an older emotional age,” wrote one commenter on the Mighty.

“The fact that she used leading questions does not sit well with me. As an attorney, I cannot even use those types of questions when cross examining. So, to present the questions in such a format induces the child in subtle prompts to answer in a particular way … furthermore, a four year old lacks the full capacity to decide their own” mortality, wrote another.

“I am so sorry for the lack of support you and your husband get from people who do not know you or young Julianna,” one wrote in response.

Even bioethicists weighed in.

New York University bioethics professor Arthur Caplan told CNN, “This doesn’t sit well with me. It makes me nervous. I think a 4-year-old might be capable of deciding what music to hear or what picture book they might want to read. But I think there’s zero chance a 4-year-old can understand the concept of death. That kind of thinking doesn’t really develop until around age 9 or 10.”

Others disagree.

“To say her experience is irrelevant doesn’t make any sense,” Chris Feudtner, director of the Department of Medical Ethics at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia said in response. “She knows more than anyone what it’s like to be not a theoretical girl with a progressive neuromuscular disorder, but to be Julianna.”

Karla Langlois, a hospice nurse who worked with Julianna, agreed.

“I think she’s very capable of having input into the end of her life,” Langlois toldPeople. “I don’t know that it’s appropriate for every child but in this scenario it’s very appropriate.”

She lived, she was real, and she mattered.”

Read Moon’s full blog post about Julianna’s passing here.

Dear friends,

Our sweet Julianna went to heaven today. I am stunned and heartbroken, but also thankful. I feel like the luckiest mom in the world, for God somehow entrusted me with this glorious child, and we got almost six years together. I wanted more time, of course, and that’s where the sadness comes in. But she is free now.

I will have more to say later. For now, this is what is in my heart.

Today, I just want the world to know that there was a girl named Julianna.

She was a bright light. An old and delightful soul.

She loved love, and “everyone except for bad guys.”

She was an unabashed princess and she elevated everyone around her. We were all kings, queens, princes and princesses by association.

She urged us to play, to really focus on just playing. She encouraged us to be our most colorful and fabulous self. (One of her last words to me: “What’s that?” to my gray sweater…)

Her mind was “always going.” It took us to a beautiful world without limits.

Her words were startling. Sometimes I thought that people wouldn’t believe the conversations I recorded. How could a five year old know those things? But if you spent any time with her, you knew.

She fought hard to be here, harder than I’ve seen anyone fight, with a body that was too frail for this world. She was so brave — and I hated that she had to be so brave. This last fight was not to be won by her body. It was tired, and it needed to rest. And when it did, she was comfortable.

Today, she is free. Our sweet Julianna is finally free.

Please do not forget her. She lived, she was real, and she mattered.

I cannot believe that she’s gone. Already, I worry that some of her has faded, and I need to remember all of her. The way her warm little hands felt, the hugs she would give by asking you to drape her arm around your neck. The kisses she blew. They never ran out.

Please remember our precious girl: she was Julianna.

Complete Article HERE!

Dying Better, Even If It Means Sooner

Delaying death with excessive, expensive end-of-life care often does more harm than good.

Focus on the simple things, not extraordinary measures
Focus on the simple things, not extraordinary measures

By

Life expectancy in the United States has increased by 30 years in the last century. Despite our longer lives, many Americans continue to fight death’s inevitability in ways that are costly socially, economically and spiritually. Our over-reliance on medical “miracles” is causing us to throw more and more money at the final year of life rather than grapple with the difficult – but ultimately more gratifying – work of approaching death more willfully by removing the sense of crisis and making the most of the moments that remain.

Defying and delaying death often remains the focus of many care providers even when patients reach their 80s, 90s and 100s. These individual decisions add up to the single greatest expenditure in the national health system: Care in the last 12 months of life accounts for over 25 percent of total expenditures for both Medicare and Medicaid. And while some studies have argued for cost savingsassociated with hospice care, others show cost neutral effects of engaging hospice in the last months of life, depending on how cost is measured and over what period of life. Meanwhile, a number of states are passing aid-in-dying laws, which will have moral, social and economic impacts, but the bills are simply directed at ending suffering; the changes in dying made possible by such laws (notably in Oregon) have not been the subject of economic analysis to date.

In short, driving down end-of-life costs will be slow because these costs are sustained by medical practice and patient choice, both social and behavioral practices subject to slow change. While this level of spending is unsustainable, there are greater costs – constantly fighting against death’s inevitability is also deeply unsatisfying.

Looking back, many sons and daughters I have worked with regret having encouraged a parent to undergo a hip surgery. Spouses regret pushing for their loved ones to be intubated, and many patients struggle to balance the suffering with the life-prolonging effects of their treatments. Such regrets are the outgrowth of an approach to death that is focused on delaying death rather than being present and accompanying loved ones as they are dying. Accessing death-delaying treatments often comes at the expense of easing discomfort and being intentional about the nonmedical ways we can help our dying loved ones.

End-of-life laborers are very clear about limiting the extraordinary measures some of their patients allow in their own lives. Their plans, shaped by their work with the dying, give clear direction about how they want to live: deliberately and without much medical intervention as they encounter illness and disease later in life. They sometimes mourn the life-extending measures that can prolong life at a very low quality and instead encourage loved ones to be present as often as possible, continue routines, tell stories, touch our dying loved ones and find ways to meaningfully connect, like looking at photos, being together in nature, listening to music or sharing a favorite food.

Although our medical advances are partially responsible for our longer years, when we begin parting with life, many end-of-life laborers remind us to focus on the mundane, not the extraordinary. They encourage family members and patients themselves to pause before pursuing treatments, to be as deliberate and purposeful about planning as possible and to enjoy those things that have always delighted or engaged them for as long as possible.

The friends and family members who are most proud of how they helped their loved ones often talk about little tokens: a friend clipped part of a favorite flower so her friend could smell her yard one more time; a daughter got the quilting club to gather in the hospice room; a son dug up a favorite book and read and read and read until he was certain his dad could no longer hear his voice.

Obviously families who seek life-prolonging measures do so for more moments with their loved ones. Unfortunately, aggressively delaying death often becomes the focus of the final weeks and days. Pursuing significant medical care often distances us from our loved ones: time spent in waiting rooms, surgical units and follow-up appointments, rather than watching the geese take off over a lake, taking that final trip to one’s homeland or reconnecting with friends who have been distant.

As more of us live longer and die slower, the challenge for many Americans will be to avoid rushing toward solutions and to live, sometimes quietly and uncomfortably, in the shadow of death’s certainty. End-of-life experts have taught me that recognizing limits might save us from some of the real damage we do to each other – asking our elders to fight on too long, to endure too many procedures and tests and surgeries and to spend too much time in the hospital instead of at home or in the garden – or holding the hand of someone who loves them.

Complete Article HERE!

Nora Zamichow: Be honest about the end of life

Many of them will go to great lengths — even subterfuge — to avoid it.

Sure, nobody likes to deliver bad news. But shouldn’t physicians have mastered that?

In a recent study of doctors whose patients were dying, only 11 percent said they personally spoke with their patients about the possibility of death.

My husband, Mark, who died at 58, had an inoperable brain tumor. Yet at no time did any doctor look him in the eye and tell him he was going to die. They did tell him, at least initially, he could probably live another five years.

Eventually, doctors spouted euphemisms that even I, a former medical reporter, couldn’t decipher. Or they hinted, saying, “Treatment isn’t going our way,” without ruling out the possibility it might go “our way.” Finally, toward the end, doctors said, “Soon consider hospice.”

Doctors say it can be hard to predict the timing of death. Or that they don’t want to squash hope in a patient and family. Or that they don’t have time for the kind of conversation that must occur when they forecast death.

When a doctor actually told me my husband was dying, I asked her to tell Mark, thinking he might have questions I would be unable to answer. She scuttled off to his hospital bedside and returned so quickly I knew no conversation had taken place. He was sleeping, she said.

Instead, I told Mark.

I learned my husband was “failing to thrive” when I was asked to attend a meeting in a conference room at the University of California, Los Angeles’ intensive care unit with five doctors. I had briefly met one doctor. I didn’t know the others. The topic of the meeting, I was informed, was the treatment plan for Mark.

Weeks earlier, Mark had been diagnosed with the tumor, which could be treated with radiation and chemotherapy. Back then, the talk was about winning more time for Mark.

At the conference room meeting, no one actually used the word “dying.” They said they could no longer help him. One doctor advised hospice. I felt like the air had been knocked out of my lungs. No one had hinted previously that my husband’s situation was so dire. Instead, we had been told about people who managed to live years with a brain tumor.

I had seen Mark’s UCLA oncologist just two days earlier. He had been optimistic, offering several treatment suggestions, cheerily informing me he was heading off on vacation and would see us on his return.

I called our family doctor.

“Your oncologist has not leveled with you,” she said.

Those are words no one should have to hear.

I understand it’s not easy to tell someone he’s dying. When I told my husband, he said:

“That was not the deal.”

He was not ready to die. Before his diagnosis, my husband had regular physicals showing he was healthy. He ran his own public relations business and delighted in his four children.

What happened, we wondered. Why didn’t we know Mark was dying until white-coated strangers sitting in a conference room told me? Was it our obstinate desire to cling to every shred of hope in spite of evidence to the contrary?

I don’t think so.

In recent decades, technology has advanced so significantly that the art of diagnosis has changed. Doctors no longer count on in-depth conversations with patients eliciting intimate details about symptoms. Instead, they consult a battery of test results and scans.

And electronic medical records have meant that doctors are often typing their notes as they talk with patients. “The technology has become incredibly complicated,” said one oncologist. “Intangible things get lost, like talking to patients.”

The crunch between technology and communication is most apparent at the end of life. It is reflected, in part, by how we train doctors. In four years of medical school, the average amount of instruction on death and dying is 17 hours.

In 2013, only three of 49 accredited schools of public health offered a course on end-of-life care. Students do not learn more about dying, one report says, because death is a medical failure.

In effect, we have created a medical system that treats death as a separate event having nothing to do with life.

In my husband’s case, we resigned ourselves to death. Unlike our doctors, we talked and talked about it. On my daughter’s first day of fifth grade, my husband entered hospice.

I began reading to Mark about death, mostly essays and poetry. We speculated about dying, what it would be like.

Initially, we thought hospice staff could give guidance. But when my husband rolled his eyes at one social worker, I realized we would tackle this as we had much else in our marriage: winging it and together.

In my husband’s final weeks of life, he wanted a hamburger and fries every day. He spoke less and less. Yet he was still the wordsmith. When I bumbled at pronouncing the word “schadenfreude” (glee at another’s misfortune), he raised one eyebrow and corrected me.

One afternoon, he ate only a bite of his burger, then asked me whether it was possible to have hamburger juice. I began breaking his pills into smaller pieces.

The next morning, I found my husband smiling at the ceiling and asked what he was smiling at. “Death,” he said. I found it oddly comforting.

Mark died three days later.

Zamichow is a Los Angeles journalist and former Los Angeles Times staff writer who wrote this for the newspaper.
Complete Article HERE!

Death Is A Hard Sell

I had a very interesting weekend. On Saturday, June 2nd, I attended a day long event at the Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center. The program was titled: Moving Beyond Cancer to Wellness.

It was a great program full of interesting workshops. There was also a small vendors area. A bunch of cancer-related agencies set up tables and on them they displayed their brochures for the programs and support they offer people living with cancer.

I thought this would be the ideal setting for networking with other like-minded folks, so when I visited each of the vendors I introduced myself and proudly handed the person at the table a copy of my book. The reactions were nearly always negative or at least alarm. Once the person saw the title, The Amateur’s Guide To Death and Dying; Enhancing the End of Life, the smiles that greeted me when I first approached the table soon turned to dismay. Their reaction to the book was as if I had handed them something disgusting.

It was immediately clear to me that bringing a book about death and dying to a cancer survival event was a huge faux pas. Despite my protestations that the work their agency was doing and the information in my book were very much alike. The only difference being their outreach is disease-specific, while my book is about mortality. I wasn’t able to convince them.

So ok, I get it. Death is a hard sell to the disease-specific crowd. Apparently contemplating one’s mortality, even when it is staring us in the face is not the politically correct thing to do. But why is that? Facing our mortality doesn’t undercut a person’s commitment to fighting his/her disease process. I contend that consciously facing the prospect of life’s end really helps put our effort in fighting a disease into perspective.

Curiously enough the reaction I got from the other participants at the Moving Beyond Cancer to Wellness event was much different from that of the vendors. I think most people who encounter their mortality through a disease process, like cancer, know, deep down inside, that this could be the beginning of the end. Why else would people react as they do when they get a diagnosis?

The other participants at the event, the ones I showed my book to, had a much less phobic reaction to it. I contend that this is because they’ve already put themselves there, at death’s door. This sort of takes a lot of the sting out of death.

Were they any more enthusiastic about taking a long hard look at their own mortality? Probably not. But then again, they weren’t as resistant to the idea as were the ostensibly well people manning the vender tables.

I try to imagine what things would be like if we all were encouraged to examine the end of our life, much in the same way as women are encouraged to do a periodic breast self-exam. I mean, examining one’s breast for lumps, or other abnormalities doesn’t increase your risk for breast cancer, right? Neither does facing one’s mortality in a conscious, upfront way hasten death.

Finally, on Sunday I met with a young couple for their weekly couple’s counseling session. Once we were all settled in, I handed them a copy of my book. (I just love watching people’s reactions.) The young man spoke first. “That’s a bit scary.” He said after he read the title. “Scary, I mean for the people who need this book.” I replied, “I suppose it is. But you know what’s even scarier? Not thinking about the end of life before it’s too late. I mean, are you certain that you’re not among those who need this book? Are you certain that you will live to see the end of the day?”

Death is a hard sell in our death-denying culture. Yet, each of the people I encountered this past weekend will, in time, face the end of their life. That’s a given. The big question is; will they have the time or even the inclination to face their mortality in a way that will enrich their lives as they live it to the end?