By Bob W Kirkpatrick
I wanted to die. It was a done deal, what with the doctors telling me I only had six months left anyway. I had a cancer that they couldn't treat but were trying chemotherapy anyway. All it did was make me feel worse.I spent my days and nights laying in bed, alternately sleeping and waking with only serious pain for companionship. Pain was a better friend than my care giver; which is to say that while the pain was always there, my care giver was only there when she had to be. My lucky draw gave me someone who always did the minimum. I had the cancer, but she claimed a list of her own personal troubles and believed she was more entitled to concern and attention than I.
There's something that happens to a lot of people who take chemotherapy and it's called chemo-brain. Thoughts are scrambled in a lightweight muddle akin to dementia but not as bad. Memories are often distorted or lost and this colored my perceptions with depression and insecurity. The minimalist approach to care left me feeling worse and worse about myself, adding unworthiness to the menu of thoughts marching through my mind. The lack of attention to me was interpreted as evidence of my low value. If I'd have had more strength and a touch more presence of mind, I would have offed myself and felt nothing more than relief as I faded away.
Poor care is, sad to say, a common thing. Especially here in America where we have such busy lives and see ourselves so important that we Twitter our every move and describe our greatness on Facebook. We are the best at stepping away from people of disability while declaring in clear politically correct tones just how empathic we are to the handicapped. Meanwhile nursing homes continue to be a growth industry and many are confined to isolated rooms at home. We stack our elderly and chronically ill like cord wood for someone else to worry about or, alternatively, when budgets are low, in an isolated room in the home. In both cases it can be ostracizing a human being from all they hold dear.
I managed to come back from that precipice, but more out of sheer luck and circumstances rather than the work of any person or group. Terminating the chemotherapy gave me a better perspective and a greater wit to view my situation. It allowed me to see that I did have value, even if it were only to myself. From there I pulled myself from the pit of despair into which I'd been cast by those who cared about me -but cared themselves more. It improved my outlook. The improvement is such that I am okay with the idea of my demise and will accept it with grace, I think, when my time arrives but I don't wish to accelerate its arrival. However, it surely caused a disconnect between myself and those I shared my sphere of existence with; after all, I was betrayed. The promises of concern, respect, and care were all swept beneath the carpet of personal convenience.
We need to take better care of those among us who suffer, because failing to do so sets a course across the proverbial slippery slope. Care in general suffers when convenience is given greater priority than the demonstration of human kindness. As we allow care to deteriorate we are setting the stage for our own discomfort and lost esteem if and when it becomes our turn to require care.
The purpose of pain control is to add quality of life to someone who's lacking in it. Without quality of life, existence easily loses its meaning in favor of the concept of a death with dignity, even if that death comes from a pistol barrel placed beneath the jaw or a plastic bag filled with helium over the head. Death of any kind can hold a great deal more allure than the emotional pain of isolation enforced by the self important thoughts of those upon whom we must rely. I know this to be true because I have experienced it.
But I was lucky. Circumstance smiled upon me and led me away from the abyss, perhaps so that I could explain just how much that human contact can mean to those with little to look forward to. Just as the tiniest of sleights can take a severe toll on the sensitive feelings of the suffering, the tiniest kindnesses can have tremendous positive impact as well.
I wanted to die. It was a done deal, what with the doctors telling me I only had six months left anyway. I had a cancer that they couldn't treat but were trying chemotherapy anyway. All it did was make me feel worse.I spent my days and nights laying in bed, alternately sleeping and waking with only serious pain for companionship. Pain was a better friend than my care giver; which is to say that while the pain was always there, my care giver was only there when she had to be. My lucky draw gave me someone who always did the minimum. I had the cancer, but she claimed a list of her own personal troubles and believed she was more entitled to concern and attention than I.
There's something that happens to a lot of people who take chemotherapy and it's called chemo-brain. Thoughts are scrambled in a lightweight muddle akin to dementia but not as bad. Memories are often distorted or lost and this colored my perceptions with depression and insecurity. The minimalist approach to care left me feeling worse and worse about myself, adding unworthiness to the menu of thoughts marching through my mind. The lack of attention to me was interpreted as evidence of my low value. If I'd have had more strength and a touch more presence of mind, I would have offed myself and felt nothing more than relief as I faded away.
Poor care is, sad to say, a common thing. Especially here in America where we have such busy lives and see ourselves so important that we Twitter our every move and describe our greatness on Facebook. We are the best at stepping away from people of disability while declaring in clear politically correct tones just how empathic we are to the handicapped. Meanwhile nursing homes continue to be a growth industry and many are confined to isolated rooms at home. We stack our elderly and chronically ill like cord wood for someone else to worry about or, alternatively, when budgets are low, in an isolated room in the home. In both cases it can be ostracizing a human being from all they hold dear.
I managed to come back from that precipice, but more out of sheer luck and circumstances rather than the work of any person or group. Terminating the chemotherapy gave me a better perspective and a greater wit to view my situation. It allowed me to see that I did have value, even if it were only to myself. From there I pulled myself from the pit of despair into which I'd been cast by those who cared about me -but cared themselves more. It improved my outlook. The improvement is such that I am okay with the idea of my demise and will accept it with grace, I think, when my time arrives but I don't wish to accelerate its arrival. However, it surely caused a disconnect between myself and those I shared my sphere of existence with; after all, I was betrayed. The promises of concern, respect, and care were all swept beneath the carpet of personal convenience.
We need to take better care of those among us who suffer, because failing to do so sets a course across the proverbial slippery slope. Care in general suffers when convenience is given greater priority than the demonstration of human kindness. As we allow care to deteriorate we are setting the stage for our own discomfort and lost esteem if and when it becomes our turn to require care.
The purpose of pain control is to add quality of life to someone who's lacking in it. Without quality of life, existence easily loses its meaning in favor of the concept of a death with dignity, even if that death comes from a pistol barrel placed beneath the jaw or a plastic bag filled with helium over the head. Death of any kind can hold a great deal more allure than the emotional pain of isolation enforced by the self important thoughts of those upon whom we must rely. I know this to be true because I have experienced it.
But I was lucky. Circumstance smiled upon me and led me away from the abyss, perhaps so that I could explain just how much that human contact can mean to those with little to look forward to. Just as the tiniest of sleights can take a severe toll on the sensitive feelings of the suffering, the tiniest kindnesses can have tremendous positive impact as well.
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