Everyone should ask themselves, “How do I want to die?”
BY MARK FOURRE
As doctors, we are trained to solve problems.
If an arm is broken, we set it. If a heart valve is leaking, we replace it. If infection strikes, we do our best to cure it. There is real satisfaction when, as physicians, we make an accurate diagnosis and deploy an effective treatment.
Perhaps that’s why, when there is no problem to be solved, we don’t always do our best work. Death, after all, is not a solvable problem. All our patients will die. We can’t fix that. And too often, as a result, we don’t do all we should, or could to help our patients accept the inevitable.
Physicians are not alone, of course. Our society generally does a poor job of seeing death as a natural outcome of life. Many of us maintain the myth of our own invincibility long past our 20s. And where death was once something that typically happened at home in the presence of family and friends, it more often happens today in a hospital or nursing home.
When confronted with the question, “How do you want to die?” many of us might answer “I don’t.” But this question, the kind of death we want for ourselves, lives with us every day of our lives. It is true that extending life is a desirable and legitimate goal of our healthcare system, but the quality of our lives — and of our deaths — have a place as well.
None of us can solve death as if it’s a problem, but we can all have goals for the end of our lives. And it is that change, from problem-solving to goal-setting, which can lead us as physicians to do better by our patients when it comes to end-of-life care.
Of course, better end-of life-care, like better health overall, is not just the doctor’s responsibility. Just as everyone needs to do their part in the work of extending and improving life by not smoking, exercising and eating a healthy diet, so, too, must our patients take an active and informed role in good end-of-life planning.
The rewards can be a bit counter-intuitive. Research shows that among those who are given a terminal diagnosis, having an end-of-life plan that includes goal-directed care like hospice leads to care that is not only less costly, but patients on average are happier and actually live longer than those who exhaust every treatment option.
The good news is members of the medical community are beginning to embrace these changes. Across the MaineHealth system, for instance, events were planned around National Healthcare Decisions Day on April 16, organized to raise awareness of better end-of-life planning. And every day the conversation is growing among doctors, nurses and other practitioners about the need to talk to our patients about the benefits of creating advanced directives for healthcare and thoughtful end-of-life options such as hospice care.
For all this good work, though, the most important lessons I learned about death and dying didn’t come as part of my medical training. They came from my parents.
During my internship year, my dad as a relatively young man in his late 50s, had to struggle with the decision of whether to undergo chemotherapy for advanced lung cancer. He decided that his goal was not to pursue more days alive, but rather, to live the rest of his life meaningfully.
He chose to forgo chemotherapy and identified the goals he wanted to meet before dying. He completed the design of a church he was working on. He deliberately and intimately connected with family and friends. He put his financial affairs in order. He even planned his entire visitation service and funeral, including designing the memorial card handed out at his wake.
Importantly, he didn’t do this alone. He had to talk with a lot of people. Everyone important to him knew the plan. His family, his doctor, his business associates and his close friends all understood what to expect. And we all knew that my dad was living the way he always had, in a thoughtful and loving manner.
And, he spent time conversing with his God. “I don’t have a problem with dying,” he would say. “I’m just not sure I agree with the timing.”
My father was able to have the kind of death he wanted because he thought about it beforehand and took steps to insure that he died the way he had always lived.
Years later, my mother died from Parkinson’s disease. I am grateful to this day for the afternoon she spent with me not long after her diagnosis putting her thoughts down into a medical directive that would guide my family through the end stages of that illness. It was a natural and rewarding conversation in part because we didn’t set out to produce a perfect document, just one that would work for my mom and our family.
As a doctor, I have seen the alternatives to these thoughtful deaths.
I remember the first time I responded to a code in the hospital. I was a young medical student. A “code” or “code blue” is called over the intercom system of a hospital when a patient has had an unexpected cardiac arrest.
Amongst all the commotion, the thing that stood out the most to me was the patient. She was very frail, very old — and lifeless. The whole scene struck me as too much. It felt invasive and out of place.
Despite the apparent futility of the efforts, the “code” continued for what seemed to be a very long time. As is the case with the vast majority of “code blues,” the effort was not successful.
There is a reason why 65 percent of older physicians have an advanced directive, compared to 20 percent of the population generally. We know the limits of modern medicine. As a result, we know how we would like to die.
As physicians we must resolve to build end-of-life conversations into the care of all our patients. The time to start the conversation is long before a terminal diagnosis. And as with smoking cessation, progress will depend not on one conversation but instead on an ongoing dialogue.
If you are a patient and your doctor hasn’t brought up end-of-life care, don’t be shy. Ask. The time to start is now, and it is a conversation that should include not only your doctor, but all those close to you.
As an integral and inevitable part of life, death is not a problem. But our failure to plan for it is. Let’s solve it, together.
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