by Lorne Yacuk

Created on: May 31, 2007   Last Updated: October 31, 2008

Letting a Parent Die -Death With Dignity

One of the most difficult and brutal decisions some of us will have to make is whether to withdraw "life support systems" from a dying parent. Several years ago I faced this problem when my father had a stroke.

I thought the decision would be relatively easy for me since my father and I had often discussed this issue. Ironically, we talked about this matter the day before he had his stroke. He was very positive that he did not want to be kept alive on artificial life systems. He told me he had visited so many of his friends who were invalided in hospitals, lingering on for the inevitable outcome of death. He was adamant that he did not want to go that way, and charged me with the task of carrying out his wishes - if it appeared that he had little hope of recovery, he asked me to "pull the plug", as he put it. Of course he admonished me to make sure that there was little hope before I pulled that plug.

I visited him the day after the stroke only to discover that my pledge to him had become a heavy, confusing burden. He seemed to recognize me and gestured with his fingers as if trying to communicate. He held up two fingers, then, enclosed them with his other hand. I guessed at what he was "saying" but all my words were shaken off until he dropped his hands and turned his face away in frustration.

It was that moment that I knew that meaningful communication was going to be the key to my decision. He and I would have to understand each other to some minimal degree, whereby he could convey his wishes to me.

It never happened. Despite extensive rehabilitation efforts, we never established a method of communicating. I waited eight months as his efforts at sign language diminished, and he seemed to drift into a non-responsive demeanor. Once he caught pneumonia his physical condition deteriorated and I signed the "do not respond" papers. He passed away half a day latter. He died with the dignity that had marked his life.

I experienced considerable loss and guilt as to whether I had given him enough time to recover. But over the years I have developed a strong belief that I took the right steps no matter how much it hurt.

Today I am faced with a new problem: explaining to my grown children how I would like to be treated in my waning years. My experiences have confirmed, for me at least, that the ability to communicate is the ultimate measure. And it must be meaningful communication.

If I had to quantify it, I would wish to have at least 75% of my previous capacity to continue on. This may seem a high standard but I can't think of a worse condition than having thoughts without the ability to transmit these to someone else. The scenario of being trapped in my own body terrifies me. I am absolutely certain that even if I were fully alert, but couldn't convey my thoughts and feelings to loved ones, I would want quick release from this condition.

Finally, I can not think of a worse situation than allowing my loved ones to visit me, and see a non-responsive person. That immobile person is no longer me. I hope my offspring have the courage and understanding to allow me to pass on with grace.

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