Category: People With Disabilities

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‘I have my life in my own hands’

— A filmmaker spent three years with Paralympian and triathlete Marieke Vervoort to explore her wish to die by euthanasia

By Amy Woodyatt

Throughout her storied career, triathlete and Paralympian Marieke Vervoort captured the imagination of her native Belgium and the wider world.

But it wasn’t just her stack of sporting achievements that drew attention.

Vervoort lived with a degenerative spinal and muscle condition and had long been vocal about how one day she wanted to – and would – end her life by euthanasia.

Euthanasia involves a physician administering a drug to end the life of a patient who is suffering, usually with a debilitating or life-limiting condition.

“Everyone is pushing me and asking me, ‘When are you going to die? Do you know already the date that you’re going to die?’” she told documentary maker Pola Rapaport, who last year directed the film “Addicted to Life” about Vervoort.

“I said, ‘F**k you.’ … You don’t know when you want to die. When the time comes, when I feel it’s enough, then I will decide.”

She was a Paralympic gold medalist at London 2012, winner of silver medals at Rio and holder of a European record for the T52 100 meters, but Vervoort’s condition caused her near-constant pain and made sleeping very difficult.

She received euthanasia approval in her native Belgium in 2008, but far from signaling the end of her life, Vervoort was very vocal about how the ability to control her own destiny empowered her to continue to compete at the highest level and make the most of her remaining days.

Documentary maker Rapaport, who encountered Vervoort’s story after reading a news report about her, says she was instantly captivated by the athlete and how the “paradoxical” permission to die “had given her a kind of liberation of spirit.”

“Her knowing that she could choose her date of dying and the conditions under which she would die, and whom she would have with her. … The fact that that had given her so much mental liberation and spiritual liberation, I thought, was a fantastic story,” Rapaport told CNN Sport.

Vervoort had been living with her illness, which caused paraplegia, since her teens, and as she got older, she became involved in wheelchair basketball, swimming and triathlons. By the time she applied for euthanasia, she had already considered and planned to die by suicide.

“I no longer have a fear of death,” she explained. “I see it as an operation, where you go to sleep and never wake up. For me, it’s something peaceful. I don’t want to suffer when I’m dying … When it becomes too much for me to handle then I have my life in my own hands.”

Rapaport added: “She told us on day one, ‘The time is not here for me to call my doctor and tell him that I want to go now. But when the bad days outweigh the good days, that’s when I will do it.’”

Ultimately, that moment ended up coming over a decade after she was granted the approval for the procedure.

A love for life

Vervoort won gold in the T52 100m wheelchair race and silver in the 200m race at the London 2012 Paralympics, then claimed two further medals at Rio 2016.

Apart from her athletic endeavors and achievements, Vervoort made sure to live to the fullest toward the end of her life, making time for wheelchair bungee jumps, Lamborghini racing with driver Niels Lagrange, trips abroad and time with her close friends.

Vervoort’s continued enthusiasm for living in spite of her suffering was the result of being granted the choice to do what she wanted with her life, Rapaport said.

“The most important central theme of the film is that when a person has control over their personal body, mind, spirit, that it gives them freedom to live. And in this case, having control over decision-making about the end of your life,” Rapaport explained.

“She had incredible highs and really amazing successes that still astonish me and I think astonished her fans and the Belgian public and the royal family. And she also had horrendous lows,” Rapaport said.

Vervoort was named a Grand Officer of the Order of the Crown by Belgium’s King Philippe, whom she met in a ceremony in 2013, along with Queen Mathilde.

By the end of her life, seizures and excruciating pain had become almost daily for Vervoort, which also understandably contributed to a decline in her athletic ability.

The day Rapaport and her husband, Wolfgang Held, who is also a filmmaker, met Vervoort, the athlete experienced a seizure, which at the time led them to believe she was dying in front of them.

“It was grueling to watch. It was very upsetting to watch when Marieke would go into the seizures, and over the three years that we shot with her on and off, it happened more and more frequently,” Rapaport added.

“I didn’t want it to be a film only about this marvelous Paralympic athlete who triumphs in the face of incredible odds. I really wanted the audience to get the sense of what this young woman goes through on a regular basis,” she explained.

An ongoing conversation

In 2019, after a small party with friends and family, Vervoort died through euthanasia at her home in Diest, Belgium, at the age of 40 – and although it has now been some four years since her passing, conversations around euthanasia are still as relevant now as they were then.

Although a few European countries including Belgium, Luxembourg, the Netherlands and, recently, Portugal allow euthanasia under certain conditions, euthanasia and assisted suicide are not legal in most countries, and assisting a suicide, or providing a means to die by suicide, is punishable with jail time in many places.

The Vatican condemned euthanasia in its strongest language yet in 2020, calling it an “act of homicide” that can never be justified.

Meanwhile, debates resurface in Belgium over patients who have died by euthanasia on the grounds of psychiatric reasons.

Last year, the European Court of Human Rights ruled that Belgium didn’t violate the rights of a person with depression when it accepted her decision to go ahead with a euthanasia procedure after her son, with support from Christian advocacy organization ADF International, mounted a court case that was highly publicized in the country.

In Belgium, 2,966 people died by euthanasia in 2022, comprising 2.5% of all deaths in the country that year, according to the country’s Federal Commission for the Control and Evaluation of Euthanasia.

Of euthanasia performed in 2022, nearly 90% of patients were over the age of 60, with almost 60% of the 2,966 who died having cancer, about 20% affected by multiple diseases and about 9% affected by nervous system diseases.

Rapaport told CNN Sport she wanted Vervoort’s experience – shown through shots of the athlete grimacing and crying out in pain, as well as footage of her seizures – to help people to understand why people would decide to die by euthanasia.

“It’s not an advocacy film. It doesn’t have any statistics. There’s no politicking in it. I felt that the more you can enter into this young woman’s experience, the more you will understand the arguments for assisted dying, no matter what country you’re in,” Rapaport added.

“Her story does expand the conversation, and you see what a person goes through and her case: how [the right to die as she wanted] improved her life immeasurably.

“That’s what I thought was so beautiful about her story, that this permission made her life so much better in the meantime, and it really allowed her to live to the maximum. And that was just unbelievably inspiring,” she added.

Rapaport hopes the film will keep conversations around death ongoing.

“It’s something generally people don’t want to talk about until they absolutely have to; even then, they don’t want to talk about it. But having control over that really can transform the rest of a person’s life and that is all we have.

“That’s all we have because we’re all going there,” Rapaport added. “It’s just a matter of when, how and how it will be handled.”

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Thinking of Becoming a Guardian?

What you should consider before you agree to be responsible for an incapacitated loved one

By Patty Blevins

What you should consider before you agree to be responsible for an incapacitated loved one

If you haven’t had any experience with guardianship for adults with dementia, it’s likely you don’t understand just how complex it is. You are not alone. Many family members of the estimated 6.5 million dementia patients in the U.S. struggle to understand if it is an option for their loved one.

Many more people will face that decision because the number of people with dementia will grow to 14 million by 2060, according to Centers for Disease Control estimates.

An adult son making food for his mother with dementia. Next Avenue
In determining whether to place someone under a guardianship and curb their legal rights, the court may call on a geriatrician or psychiatrist to assess the person’s functional behavior, cognitive function, disabling conditions and ability to meet their essential needs.

The simplest definition of guardianship is the position of being responsible for someone else. State courts appoint a guardian to make decisions for another person if the court finds the person to be incapacitated or unable to make safe, reasonable decisions for themselves, according to National Academy of Elder Law Attorneys (NAELA).

The simplest definition of guardianship is the position of being responsible for someone else.

Guardianship is serious business. People placed under guardianship, who are called wards, may lose their independence in making decisions about their finances, legal issues and health care. According to the U.S. Department of Justice, full guardianship can control whether wards can vote, who they may marry, where they live and if they can make end-of-life decisions for themselves.

An article in the American Journal of Alzheimer’s Disease and Other Dementias explains that the two tasks that are regularly evaluated in determining capacity are an individual’s ability to manage personal finances and take medications as prescribed.

Choosing and Monitoring Guardians

In determining whether to place someone under a guardianship and curb their legal rights, the court may call on a geriatrician or psychiatrist to assess the person’s functional behavior, cognitive function, disabling conditions and ability to meet their essential needs. A geriatrician is a specialty doctor who treats people over 65 with a focus on diseases like dementia that primarily affect this age group.

The National Academy of Elder Law Attorneys says guardianships offer safeguards. Guardians, for example, must periodically update the court on the ward’s finances and health status. Even then, courts have the authority to initiate unscheduled reviews of guardians’ decisions about their wards’ finances, property and health care.

Guardianship, “when properly used,” is a beneficial method to protect an incapacitated person for whom no other means are available to assist with informed decision making, the organization says.

That describes the original intent of guardianship, but it assumes the guardian is honest and accountable. Unfortunately, this is not always the case. Ample examples of abuse are documented by researchers and prosecutors.

An article in the Journal of the American Geriatrics Society first published in April 2022, sought to make a quantitative evaluation of guardianship in the United States but the authors found little consistent standards and data collection regarding the impact on patient care and the quality of life of people subject to guardianship.

Impediments to Oversight

The inconsistencies included fundamental matters, including the following:

  • The scope of the guardian’s duties.
  • Minimum standards for guardians. As of 2020, there were two states that had yet to require a background check.
  • Determination of incapacity. In the past, this decision often defaulted to a physician based solely on a psychiatric or medical diagnosis.
  • Regular independent reviews of the ongoing necessity of guardianship.
  • Educational requirements for guardians. Guardians are often required to serve in many roles that they may have minimal or no training. The National Guardianship Association (NGF) partnered with the Center for Guardianship Certification (CGC) to standardized educational content and offer certification.
  • Other drawbacks of guardianship included:
    • Once guardianship is assigned, there is greater tendency for the person to become lost to follow up. People who have been labeled as incompetent or incapacitated have limited ability to advocate for themselves, contact an attorney or access funds for court proceedings.
    • There is a greater tendency to assign full guardianship instead of less restrictive alternatives.

    Recent Guardianship Law

    In 2017, the Uniform Law Commission, a non-profit association that provides states with model legislation to clarify and standardize laws across jurisdictions , released The Uniform Guardianship Conservatorship and Other Protective Arrangements Act to encourage the “trend toward greater independence for persons under guardianship.”

    “Over 40% of the American population has never discussed their wishes for end-of-life care with loved ones.”

    The act addresses many of the previous inconsistences and proposes solutions going forward. So far, seven states have enacted the model guardianship statute in full and many more have adopted parts of it, according to the National Center on Elder Abuse.

    Alternatives to Guardianship

    There are multiple alternatives to guardianship but Americans need to start talking to each other. “Over 40% of the American population has never discussed their wishes for end-of-life care with loved ones,” according to the article in the Journal of the American Geriatrics Society. These measures should begin at the first sign of memory loss or preferably when getting ready for retirement to delay or prevent guardianship.

    • Tell your family your wishes and write them down in an advanced directive (living will and health care power of attorney).
    • Create a value history. A value history is based on values and beliefs and it provides a person’s future care choices.
    • Evaluate limited (partial) guardianship as an alternative to full guardianship. In this case, guardianship is granted only over the areas for which the person lacks the capacity for rational decision making (finances).
    • Designate a durable power of attorney and list two or three backup candidates for this important position if the first choice is not available. This agent could be responsible for financial, legal and personal matters.
    • Investigate care management services. Care managers are usually nurses or social workers that are trained to identify and provide for a client’s medical, psychosocial and financial needs.
    • Find a payee. Many organizations offer money management services which serve as a payee for vulnerable clients.
    • Enlist the help of your primary care doctor. You may have to teach them about guardianship and the role you would like them to play, but they could become your greatest asset.

    Guardianship as the Only Answer

    Appointing a family member or friend as your guardian often is the ideal solution. But sometimes a court-appointed guardian is the only answer. My own experience is an example.

    I felt a sense of relief at the appointment of a guardian outside the family. It relieved us of the possibility of having to tell him that he had to stay in a nursing home for his own safety.

    My father was diagnosed with multi-infarct dementia in 2016. The disease transfigured him from an intelligent, robust, fun-loving father into, let’s say, something different. My mother already had passed away, and my three siblings and I agreed that his guardian should be the same sibling who was listed as his Health Care Power of Attorney.

    That legal document lets you state your medical wishes and appoint another person to make sure those wishes are followed if you are incompetent or no longer able to make your own health care decisions.

    Release, Then Relief

    We all arrived at the courthouse and my father surprised all of us by saying he didn’t want my sister, who had his Health Care Power of Attorney, to be his guardian. Another court hearing was scheduled, at which he agreed to have the court appoint a lawyer to be his guardian.

    I felt a sense of relief at the appointment of a guardian outside the family. It relieved us of the possibility of having to tell him that he had to stay in a nursing home for his own safety. We would not be the ones sifting through his financial records to explain his debt and explain that his mortgage was being foreclosed on. We could preserve a few remnants of a familial relationship and focus on being supportive.

    The guardianship duties performed by the appointed attorney were far from flawless. But, overall, they served as the best answer for the situation at the time.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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End of Life Care for People with Developmental Disabilities

Why talking about this taboo subject with your loved one early on is important

Charlotte Woodward and her mom, Darcy Woodward

By Beth Baker

Planning for our own death or that of a loved one is difficult. According to a survey by The Conversation Project, 92% of us think it’s important to discuss our end-of-life wishes.Yet only one-third of us do so. 

For those with intellectual and developmental disabilities (IDD), those conversations happen even less frequently.

“Death in general is still a taboo subject,” says Dr. Kyle Sue, at the University of Alberta, who treats people with developmental disabilities of all ages. “For people with a disability, health practitioners don’t know how to bring it up, or they don’t know how much the person will understand. There’s a level of discomfort in trying to include them.”

IDD includes conditions that appear before the age of 18 that affect physical development, learning, language or behavior. Some conditions begin in utero, such as Down syndrome which is caused by an extra chromosome. Others are from a birth injury, such as cerebral palsy. One common disability, Autism Spectrum Disorder (ASD), likely has multiple causes and may not appear until after age one.

“I’ve thought about the end of my life. I know for a fact that I won’t be in denial of it… I would flat out accept it. Maybe I’ll give my body to science.”

An estimated 1-3% of Americans have IDD conditions, according to Margaret Nygren, CEO of the American Association on Intellectual and Developmental Disabilities (AAIDD). Improvements in heart surgery and other advances have greatly extended the lives of many.

Most notably, the average life expectancy for people with Down syndrome is now 61, compared to just 25 years old in 1983. Children with cerebral palsy are also living longer. A study in BMC Neurology found that 80% of children with mild CP will live to be 58 or beyond. Although this is good news, it presents new challenges as individuals outlive their parents or other caregivers.

Diseases associated with aging, such as Alzheimer’s disease, are becoming more common, especially for those with Down syndrome. Some 30% of people with Down syndrome in their 50s have Alzheimer’s, and 50% of those in their 60s.

Having conversations about end-of-life wishes is important while the individual can communicate.

Nothing About Them Without Them

Charlotte Woodward defies stereotypes regarding people with Down syndrome and other disabilities. As is common in Down syndrome, she was born with a heart defect and has had four open-heart surgeries including a heart transplant — one of the few people with Down syndrome to receive an organ transplant.

Woodward studied sociology at George Mason University, concentrating on discrimination against people with disabilities in the medical system, and she is now only the third person with Down syndrome to be a registered lobbyist. She works to advance the Charlotte Woodward Organ Transplant Discrimination Prevention Act, introduced by Washington State Republican representative Jaime Herrera Beutler and California Democrat Katie Porter.

“Actually, the most respectful thing you can do is to give them the opportunity to express their wishes.”

“I’m still in my thirties. I want to live my life to the fullest,” says Woodward, who is Education Programs Associate with the National Down Syndrome Society. Still, “I’ve thought about the end of my life. I know for a fact that I won’t be in denial of it. I won’t be angry or bargain. I would flat out accept it. Maybe I’ll give my body to science. And I would like to get my last will and testament in place and advance medical directive as well.”

Her mother, Darcy Woodward, 58, finds such conversations difficult. “There’s definitely a concern about the future among parents of children with disabilities. We’re trying to make sure things are in place to protect our children who will hopefully have long healthy lives. I try not to think about it, but I know it’s important.”

In the past, someone like Charlotte would not have a seat at the table when it came to planning her health care. But in the 1980s that began to change, explains Leigh Ann Kingsbury, a North Carolina gerontologist who wrote one of the first guides on end-of-life planning for people with IDD.

People with disabilities who receive Medicaid-funded services must have an annual plan for their care. “Up until the ’80s these planning processes were really perfunctory — professionals getting together and saying ‘here is what we think is best for Susie Jo’ in a highly patronizing, not culturally relevant manner,” says Kingsbury.

That began to change when advocates demanded that their voices be included. In the 1990s, the slogan “nothing about us without us” became a rallying cry in the disability community.

Advanced Directives

“People with IDD can and do create advanced directives for their care,” says Nygren. “The thing that’s different is they need some help discussing and thinking through the options, the way people without IDD can do it independently.”

But many medical professionals and caregivers are reluctant to include people with IDD in decision making. “I never met a person with IDD who didn’t understand the cycle of life,” says Nygren. “People aren’t automatically comfortable about it, but there’s awareness. People want autonomy and control over decisions that affect them. Actually, the most respectful thing you can do is to give them the opportunity to express their wishes.”

A person smiling at home. Next Avenue, developmental disabilities, end of life care
Charlotte Woodward

According to Nygren, the number of those with extreme intellectual limitations who cannot understand or speak is small, compared to the overall population of people with IDD. Even then, people who know them well know their likes and dislikes that can help inform care.

Dr. Brian Chicoine has been medical director of the Adult Down Syndrome Center in Illinois since 1992. The center was the first clinic to serve adults with the disability. He cautions that there is nuance about how and when you talk about death. “Our patients are so concrete. They can become so focused on the fact that they’re dying, they have trouble living,” he explains.

Many have a different understanding of time, he adds. For example, the parents of a patient bought cemetery plots for themselves and their son. “This was a very bright guy, but for the next five years we dealt with his depression,” as the young man focused on his death which was far in the future. “So we have to be careful with these conversations,” says Chicoine.

Barriers in the Medical System

Whether or not you have disabilities, having a good relationship with your primary care physician is important for having your choices honored at the end of life. But finding a doctor can be tough for those with IDD. Physicians often do not want to treat people with disabilities. An article in the October 2022 issue of Health Affairs entitled, “I Am Not the Doctor For You” about three focus groups of physicians across disciplines and regions of the U.S. found considerable reluctance and outright prejudice towards people with disabilities.

“Some participants … revealed negative attitudes … and commonly used outdated or ableist language (for example, ‘mentally retarded’),” according to the study. Some admitted that they had turned away people with disabilities from their practice. One reason is time constraints. Explaining medical issues to someone with an intellectual disability takes more time, yet doctors are reimbursed for a 10-minute appointment even if it takes 30.

“Even a person who is very, very ill or who has a psychiatric illness or Down syndrome can say ‘Don’t do this to me.'”

Pervasive “ableism” is common including in the medical profession. Many providers assume that a person with IDD has a poor quality of life. Such assumptions can have serious consequences. An article in a recent Journal of the American Board of Family Medicine entitled, “Ableism at the Bedside,” found that people with IDD had a higher risk of mortality from COVID-19 compared to others with similar medical problems.

In one case, ICU physicians repeatedly pushed for a “do not resuscitate” order to be in place for a woman with Down syndrome. Her primary care doctor and family refused. The woman went on to a full recovery.

Medical schools and residency programs offer little training to help providers feel more comfortable treating this population.

Sue begins end-of-life conversations when a patient he’s followed for years develops more serious symptoms.

“When I bring it up, I’m not saying, ‘Okay let’s talk about dying.’ I begin by asking what are they seeing? How is your child compared to ten years ago? How are things at home? For everyone who has serious health conditions, we do need to talk about planning for the future. As conditions change, it’s best to be prepared well ahead of time, rather than making difficult decisions in a crisis. I’ve found that families are quite receptive,” Sue says.

Palliative Care

If a person ends up in the ICU, communication can be very challenging. Palliative care specialists must assess their level of pain, for example, if they cannot converse. Treatment choices can be hard to determine, especially if there is no guardian or caregiver who knows the patient well. Guardians are typically family members, even if they have not been living with the patient. The staff of group homes who may know the patient best are usually not included in hospital decisions.

“No matter who the patient is, we always want to get as much information from a person based on what they do and don’t want, what they do or don’t value,” says 2021 Next Avenue Influencer in Aging, Dr. Jessica Zitter, a specialist in both critical care and palliative medicine at a public hospital in Oakland, California, and author of “Extreme Measures — Finding a Better Path to the End of Life.”

“The first principle is to try to elicit from a person the things that are important to them. Bring that information into their health care plan and medical decisions. Even a person who is very, very ill or who has a psychiatric illness or Down syndrome can say ‘Don’t do this to me.'”

Ultimately with a life-threatening illness, no matter the patient’s disability, “What we really need to be saying is, we’re not going to abandon you. We want to do what you want until the last moment. We’ll hold your hand,” says Zitter.

Supported Decision Making

Supported decision making is a process that helps people with IDD make decisions about important life issues. A team of family members, friends, neighbors, professionals or volunteers manages discussions to help the individual decide things about jobs, marriage or housing.

The process can also be used for end-of-life planning.

Darcy Woodward is exploring how to disband her guardianship and transition to supported decision making. She recognizes that Charlotte can make her own decisions. “I wouldn’t want guardianship to transfer to a stranger who would disregard Charlotte,” she says.

For parents of adults with IDD, such planning is critical, which is why The National Down Syndrome Society plans to publish an end-of-life guide. “It’s really about proactively planning for end-of-life care,” says Rachel Grimm, manager of health programs, aging and caregiving for NDSS.

“We want readers to recognize that having a backup plan and planning for the future are so important for happiness and sustainability. We’re encouraging families to find a lawyer to walk them through,” Grimm says.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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What happens if you’re incapacitated?

— How to get your advance directives in order.

By Morey Stettner

It’s not fun to do advance directives. But there are ways to make it simpler and easier.

There are some thorny tasks that everyone knows they should tackle.

Every so often, they think, “I should do this.”

Then they don’t.

Take advance directives. You’ve surely heard that you should think ahead and consider the type of healthcare and medical treatment you’d want if you become incapacitated.

If you don’t make these decisions now–and complete the necessary forms to state your wishes–someone else will make the decisions for you later. You know that, right?

For some of us, procrastination isn’t the only barrier to checking this off our to-do list. Confusion plays a role as well.

Just as it’s hard to track our immunizations (when did you get your last tetanus shot or pneumonia vaccine?), it’s tricky to recall when (or if) we filled out advance directives.

“People sometimes forget they filled out the forms,” said Scott Brown, president and chief executive of ADVault, a Richardson, Texas-based provider of advance care planning tools

If you did sign them, where are they? Who knows about them? Are they easily accessible if you’re suddenly unable to convey your wishes?

Advance directives typically consist of a living will and a power of attorney for healthcare. Each state has its own statutory advance directive form. To find your state’s legal form, use the menu bar at PREPARE for Your Care.

Because these state forms are legal documents, the wording can be dense and formal. The Five Wishes advance directive, which meets legal requirements in most states, is written in plain English.

After completing the proper forms, you might think you’re all set. You’re not. The forms won’t magically plop into the hands of medical providers as they’re weighing whether to, say, resuscitate you during a medical emergency or administer artificial feeding or hydration.

“Most people adopt a ‘set it and forget it’ mentality,” said Scott Halpern, M.D., director of the University of Pennsylvania’s Palliative and Advanced Illness Research (PAIR) Center. “They may never revisit it. That’s why advance directives tend to not have an impact because they get lost” and complacency sets in.

Halpern suggests that individuals initiate conversations with both their physician and their family and close friends about their “concerns, values, goals and fears” as they relate to advance care planning. For example, tell them what forms of medical intervention you’d find acceptable and unacceptable–and what level of life-sustaining treatment you’d like if you’re deemed permanently unconscious.

J. Randall Curtis, M.D., is director of the Cambia Palliative Care Center of Excellence at University of Washington School of Medicine. He’s also been diagnosed with ALS.

“I’ve completed a living will and a durable power of attorney,” he said. “But I think much more important than these documents is having in-depth and ongoing discussions with my wife, closest friends and my palliative care physician to make sure they understand my values and goals and my current views of ‘states worse than death.'”

When sharing your end-of-life wishes with your doctor, it’s likely that your clinician will enter your comments into your electronic health record. Once that happens, any other healthcare provider with access to those records (such as a hospital system) can retrieve them.

What if you’ve completed multiple forms over time? Perhaps an estate-planning attorney or doctor prompted you to fill out advance directives years ago. A decade later, a financial adviser urged you to do so. Now you have duplicative forms that may contradict one another. Laws vary by state when it comes to which end-of-life wishes take precedence.

“It’s usually last-in-time,” Brown said. “The most recent document” holds sway.

To be safe, review your advance care plan every year or two. Changes in your health, personal relationships or attitude about life-sustaining treatment can lead you to change your directives.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Cancer, Religion and a ‘Good’ Death

It is hard to know how much my patient, caught in an eternal childhood, understood about his cancer.

By Mikkael A. Sekeres, M.D.

When I first met my patient, three years ago, he was about my age chronologically, but caught in an eternal childhood intellectually.

It may have been something he was born with, or an injury at birth that deprived his brain of oxygen for too long — I could never find out. But the man staring at me from the hospital bed would have been an apt playmate for my young son back home.

“How are you doing today, sir?” he asked as soon as I walked into his room. He was in his hospital gown, had thick glasses, and wore a necklace with a silver pendant around his neck. So polite. His mother, who sat by his bedside in a chair and had cared for him for almost half a century, had raised him alone, and raised him right.

We had just confirmed he had cancer and needed to start treatment urgently. I tried to assess what he understood about his diagnosis.

“Do you know why you’re here?” I asked him.

He smiled broadly, looking around the room. “Because I’m sick,” he answered. Of course. People go to hospitals when they’re ill.

I smiled back at him. “That’s absolutely right. Do you have any idea what sickness you have?”

Uncertainty descended over his face and he glanced quickly over to his mother.

“We were told he has leukemia,” she said. She held a pen that was poised over a lined notebook on which she had already written the word leukemia at the top of the page; I would see that notebook fill with questions and answers over the subsequent times they would visit the clinic. “What exactly is that?” she asked.

I described how leukemia arose and commandeered the factory of the bone marrow that makes the blood’s components for its own sinister purposes, devastating the blood counts, and how we would try to rein it in with chemotherapy.

“The chemotherapy kills the bad cells, but also unfortunately the good cells in the bone marrow, too, so we’ll need to support you through the treatment with red blood cell and platelet transfusions,” I told them both. I wasn’t sure how much of our conversation my patient grasped, but he recognized that his mother and I were having a serious conversation about his health and stayed respectfully quiet, even when I asked him if he had questions.

His mother shook her head. “That won’t work. We’re Jehovah’s Witnesses and can’t accept blood.”

As I’ve written about previously, members of this religious group believe it is wrong to receive the blood of another human being, and that doing so violates God’s law, even if it is potentially lifesaving. We compromised on a lower-dose treatment that was less likely to necessitate supportive transfusions, but also less likely than standard chemotherapy to be effective.

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“Is that OK with you?” my patient’s mother asked him. I liked how she included him in the decision-making, regardless of what he could comprehend.

“Sounds good to me!” He gave us both a wide smile.

We started the weeklong lower-dose treatment. And as luck would have it, or science, or perhaps it was divine intervention, the therapy worked, his blood counts normalized, and the leukemia evaporated.

I saw him monthly in my outpatient clinic as we continued his therapy, one week out of every month. He delighted in recounting a bus trip he took with his church, or his latest art trouvé from a flea market — necklaces with glass or metal pendants; copper bracelets; the occasional bolo tie.

“I bought three of these for five dollars,” my patient confided to me, proud of the shrewdness of his wheeling and dealing.

And each time I walked into the exam room to see him, he started our conversation by politely asking, “How’s your family doing? They doing OK?”

Over two years passed before the leukemia returned. We tried the only other therapy that might work without leveling his blood counts, this one targeting a genetic abnormality in his leukemia cells. But the leukemia raged back, shrugging off the fancy new drug as his platelets, which we couldn’t replace, continued to drop precipitously:

Half normal.

One-quarter normal.

One-10th normal.

One-20th normal.

He was going to die. I met with my patient and his mother and, to prepare, asked them about what kind of aggressive measures they might want at the end of life. With the backdrop of Covid-19 forcing us all to wear masks, it was hard to interpret their reactions to my questions. It also added to our general sense of helplessness to stop a merciless disease.

Would he want to be placed on a breathing machine?

“What do you think?” his mother asked him. He looked hesitantly at me and at her.

“That would be OK,” he answered.

What about chest compressions for a cardiac arrest?

Again his mother deferred to him. He shrugged his shoulders, unsure.

I turned to my patient’s mother, trying to engage her to help with these decisions. “I worry that he may not realize what stage the cancer has reached, and want to avoid his being treated aggressively as he gets sicker,” I began. “Maybe we could even keep him out of the hospital entirely and allow him to stay home, when there’s little chance …” My voice trailed off.

Her eyes above her mask locked with mine and turned serious. “We’re aware. But we’re not going to deprive him of hope at the end …” This time her voice trailed off, and she swallowed hard.

I nodded and turned back to my patient. “How do you think things are going with your leukemia?”

His mask crinkled as he smiled underneath it. “I think they’re going good!”

A few days later, my patient developed a headache, along with nausea and dizziness. His mother called 911 and he was rushed to the hospital, where he was found to have an intracranial hemorrhage, a result of the low platelets. He slipped into a coma and was placed on a ventilator, and died soon afterward, alone because of the limitations on visitors to the hospital during the pandemic.

At the end, he didn’t suffer much. And as a parent, I can’t say for certain that I would have the strength to care for a dying child at home.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!

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Should diabetes treatment lessen for older adults approaching the end of life?

by American Geriatrics Society

One in four people aged 65 or older has diabetes. The disease is the seventh leading cause of death in the United States and a major contributor to heart disease. Experts have recommended that the best way to slow the progression of diabetes—and help prevent its many complications—is to maintain strict control of blood sugar levels. For healthy younger people, this means keeping the target blood sugar level (known as A1c or HbA1c) lower than 6.5 percent to 7.0 percent.

For older adults who have a limited life expectancy or who have advanced dementia, however, maintaining that target blood sugar level may cause more harm than good. For example, these older adults may not live long enough to experience potential benefits. What’s more, maintaining these strict blood sugar levels can raise the risk of potentially harmful events such as (also known as hypoglycemia). This can cause falls or loss of consciousness.

For these reasons, many guidelines now suggest targeting higher HbA1c targets—such as between 8.0 percent and 9.0 percent—for older adults who have multiple chronic conditions or limited life expectancy, or who live in nursing homes.

There is not much existing research to guide health care practitioners as to what the appropriate levels of diabetes medications are for this group of older adults. There is also little information about the effects for these individuals of taking fewer or lower dose of diabetes medications.

Experts suspect that lessening diabetes treatment in these older adults has the potential to prevent unnecessary hospitalizations due to lowering the risk for harmful drug events and increasing the patients’ comfort.

In order to investigate the issue, a team of researchers conducted a study—one of the first national studies to examine potential overtreatment and deintensification of diabetes management in nursing with limited life expectancy or dementia. The researchers chose nursing home residents to study because admission to a nursing home could give healthcare practitioners a chance to learn more about patient goals and preferences and to review and adjust medications accordingly. The researchers published their results in the Journal of the American Geriatrics Society.

The researchers examined information from Veterans Affairs nursing homes from 2009 to 2015. Their goal was to learn more about older adults with diabetes, particularly those nearing the end of their life or who have dementia. The researchers investigated whether these older adults were overtreated for diabetes, whether they had their diabetes medication regimens lessened, and what effects might result from lowered doses, types and/or different kinds of medication.

The researchers wanted to learn specifically how often diabetes treatments were lessened. Among the nursing home residents identified as potentially overtreated, the researchers examined how much their diabetes treatment regimens were lessened during the 90 days of follow-up.

The researchers did not consider insulin dose changes, because insulin doses may be influenced by factors such as eating habits.

The researchers said they observed potential overtreatment of diabetes in almost 44 percent of nursing home admissions for veterans with diabetes and veterans who had limited life expectancy or dementia. Potentially overtreated residents were about 78 years old and were nearly all male and non-Hispanic white. Two-thirds of the residents had been admitted to nursing homes from hospitals. A total of 29 percent had advanced dementia, almost 14 percent were classified with end-of-life status, and 79 percent had a moderately high risk of dying within six months. Many were physically dependent and had and/or potential diabetes-related complications. In addition, about 9 percent of overtreated residents had a serious low blood sugar episode in the year prior, emphasizing the need for deintensification.

Nearly half of residents received two or more diabetes medications, and those with higher HbA1c values of between 6.5 percent to 7.5 percent received more diabetes medications than those with lower HbA1c.

The researchers concluded that many veteran nursing home residents with limited life expectancy or dementia may be overtreated for their diabetes at the time of admission. The researchers suggested that future studies examine the impact of deintensification on health outcomes and adverse events to better understand the risks and benefits of management strategies in this group of .

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‘I’ve been saying goodbye to my family for two years’

Last year the author wrote about parenting with motor neurone disease. Here, he reflects on the end of life, before his death two weeks ago

Joe Hammond with his wife, Gill, and sons Jimmy (left) and Tom in 2018.

By Joe Hammond

In the beginning I was just a dad who fell over a bit and then couldn’t drive the car. Then we had a name for what was happening to me: motor neurone disease. The rest of my physical decline has taken two years and I now write with a camera attached to a computer, which tracks reflections from my pupils. I can use the same device to talk with my synthetic voice. It’s obviously slower to use, and has trained me to get to the point, in much the same way that dying has.

In the room next door, as I write, I can hear Jimmy, my two-year-old son, offering to take passengers on a bus ride to various destinations. It’s half-term and Tom, my seven-year-old, has wandered out into the garden. He’s smiling, looking back at the house, as he points out a squirrel to someone standing inside. There’s adult laughter, too. I can hear Gill, my wife, talking with one of my carers.

I’m in an adjacent downstairs bedroom, suspended in a sling that hangs from the ceiling hoist. It’s positioned over a bedpan, and my floppy neck is wedged upright between a pillow and a piece of foam. I usually stay here for a while because it also has a view of the garden. It’s gusty and leaves are twirling down from an ash tree.

I realise I’ve been saying goodbye to my family for two years. Always imagining this version of myself, without a voice or moving parts. But now I’m here, I can see that we’re all just interested in the same thing: how anxious all these squirrels are as they bury their treasure in the turf. How they keep looking back over their shoulders. And how life just carries on, until it doesn’t.

There was a moment halfway through my decline when Tom needed to check whether he would die one day. He was wrapped in a blanket on my lap as I confirmed its inevitability. He sobbed and I pulled the sides of the blanket in around him. After a few moments his tears came to an end, and five minutes later he was upside down on the sofa giggling at his toes.

Children walk past spiders’ webs all the time and see little things dying. Death is all around them; they know this better than their parents, who have often forgotten. I know I had. But children haven’t reached this stage yet. Death and dying can be known. It doesn’t stop them laughing at a fart or making an empty crisp packet go pop.

Jimmy was at my bedside a few mornings ago dispensing imaginary ice-cream. I was staring upwards, and I could hear him low down to my right. I opened and closed my mouth to show that I was eating some of the “[va]nilla” on offer but, silent and motionless, I don’t know if he noticed, and then I heard him padding away into the next room.

I can’t be active in the life of my children. I have to see what the day brings. There was the moment last week when Tom rested his cheek into my upper arm, gently twisted the top of his head upwards against my flesh like a nestling cat, then twirled away. It was a moment that must have lasted five seconds at most but I kept it with me – held on to it – for days, as if I wasn’t just making contact, but taking an imprint.

I owe these moments to materials that are both plastic and hollow. To an expanding network of tubing crisscrossing my body: transparent blues and yellows, concertinaed or smooth. The largest gauge of tubing has the central importance of the eastbound M4 heading into London. This is the one swooshing air and oxygen into my lungs, but there are other tiny subcutaneous tubes more like narrow Cornish lanes, trickling a minuscule palliative cocktail just under the skin of my bicep. The other key thoroughfare is the one delivering sticky beige nutrition through a macaroni-sized tube running directly into my abdomen.

Tubes are now a way of life and, with so many doctors and nurses coming and going, there’s plenty of spare tubing lying around. This place is like a fisherman’s cottage but with coils of plastic everywhere – in wicker baskets or hanging from hooks. A lot of it ends up in the bath with my two boys. Or it becomes part of Jimmy’s marching trumpet band.

When I was diagnosed, my heart broke in different ways, but some of those feelings have softened. It was always the tiny pieces of future that hurt. I’d imagine Gill and Tom and Jimmy unloading shopping, or just being listless together on a Sunday.

But I’m very still with this disease now: I’m an observer, sensing lives happening in other rooms. I hear bottles and cans rattling in plastic bags. I see the rain at three o’clock on a Sunday. All this detail goes by or around me and I see it working. I see three people moving and turning together – and it’s no longer breaking my heart. It’s just sad and comforting. I didn’t expect the end of my life to feel like the future.

Hammond and his family at home last month.

I see and hear my family clowning around and I want so much to be in there with them – teaching my children to brush their teeth in the style of a camel. Instead I’m unnaturally still – observing the way their bodies move to express or receive humour. The way a back curves, or a head is thrown back. Watching hands thrust out wide, or even the opposite of such movements. All the infinite expressions. But I’m not clowning around any more; I just see it going on – how ornate it is, how beautiful.

Other losses are simpler and more incremental. Sometimes they are nothing more than adaptation and sometimes, like the loss of my voice, they are devastating. I lost my swallow very quickly. There was a three-week period when Gill made sure I had lots of really nice soups, and that was it. Food was a thing of the past. I’ve never got over that loss.

I’m fortunate that my ventilator filters out the aroma of most foods, replacing them with a smell like the inside of a plastic bucket. Occasionally smells get through, like roast lamb or the mist that comes from Tom peeling an orange, but mostly I’m assailed by food memories. The most recent is of the yellow Styrofoam containing takeaway from a Lebanese restaurant. Other food memories are more permanent and catastrophic, and these are all the foods I ever made or shared with my young family.

When the boys are in bed, Gill climbs up on to my hospital bed and sometimes falls asleep. It can feel like I’ve been waiting the whole day for this moment. Watching Gill asleep always feels like such peace to me, and some of this article would have been written with Gill by my side in that way.

It’s really hard to cry when you rely on a mask for air. I use a mask that’s attached to my nose, so when I cry my mouth stretches wide open and all the valuable air gusts out, like a badly insulated letter box. And the camera I use to communicate can’t track the progress of my pupils, so crying is a form of incapacitation. It’s so much easier for Gill, who can stretch out on the bed and sob without any of these secondary difficulties. It’s not that we’re always crying together. It just happens sometimes. Recently Gill’s been reading to me from old travel diaries, written in the days before we had children. Stories of mountains and recklessness on motorbikes, other countries. The past feels so luxurious.

But now it’s the present. It’s all been leading up to this. Sad but no longer broken. Here with Gill. It’s a magical kind of sadness, saying goodbye. A bit like preparing to travel again, but no longer together.

Complete Article ↪HERE↩!