Monthly Archives: January 2017

Uncomfortable

I consider conversation between people to be one of the most rewarding and exciting aspects of life. Recordings of the written word comes in second in my humble opinion due to the fact that what is written is subject to misinterpretation depending on many factors. Not to negate the misunderstanding caused by language barrier and incoherent speech patterns, but generally when you hear something it is pretty much just “what you heard.”

At no other time in history have I been more aware that there is such a massive amount of uncomfortable conversations occurring. Sadly, much of the most offensive exchange we are currently exposed to is not verbal but texted, posted, printed, or pre-recorded. The convenience of these methods of information exchange is undeniable. The quality is questionable.

The volume of discourse over the current political landscape is beyond comprehension, not only in America, but across the globe. The shifting sands of opinion and time will eventually settle, and new dialogue will resurface about whatever balance human existence regains.

Having witnessed these tumultuous events, and recognizing the multitude of newly vehement revelers of political opinion which had never, before now, given the topic much consideration, I began to wonder: Why? Why now? Have there not been millions of debatable issues over the past 40 years that failed to become more than a C-Spanned, red-eyed, remote flip of boredom? Certainly we have all been affected by this shuffling of interests in world affairs both public and private. But in the past many of those personally involved were understandably limited to the professions directly designed to be appropriating the need.  This political slugfest seems to have engaged everyone, from every perspective and every varied opinion into an extremely uncomfortable national discourse.

Yet when attempts are made to encourage everyone to become involved with their own end of life issues, the resistance is equally universal. Very few people seem to want to begin discussions with a loved one; that is until an acute trauma or terminal diagnosis is ripping the lives of their family, friends, and acquaintances apart.  As is common within proper social etiquette, there is a general outpouring of prayer, shared grief, and unified offers of support.

What will it take to make this “uncomfortable” conversation as popular as the raging debates around the world today over truth, rights, and political control? It is every bit an undeniable fact that we have a new President as it is that everyone will eventually die. Life goes on, and ends; the disproportionate lack of acknowledgement of death will not change the fact that it will occur for all of us.

What can help make conversations about death more comfortable? I believe it is honest, compassionate examination and understanding of the emotional, physical, and psychological needs of each other coupled with genuine, meaningful communication before a medical crisis occurs. Enough can never be said to help each other with what is often the most frightening, “uncomfortable” event we all will ever (and must) face.

The outcome of these “uncomfortable” discussions may even be peace of mind, increased knowledge of legal and financial responsibility, understanding of desired preferences for services and care due to changed independence, emotional release, insight into unanswered concerns, repaired personal conflicts and family dynamics, expression of personal choice, acceptance of everyone’s opinion, etc. You will never know if you don’t ask.
Just start talking!

© Caring Choices 2017

Animal Intuition

My husband, Jim, and I have been on the receiving end of caring kneading from some of our cats over the years.  Mercie (rest her soul) used to knead the back of my neck in bed at night which was especially welcome when I had a headache.  The methodical push of her soft-padded paws accompanied by her melodic, low purring was better medicine than the ibuprofen I’d taken before going to bed.  Just the other night when Jim wasn’t feeling well, Sundae seemed to sense this and kneaded his stomach in all directions with positive effect.  We know others who have similar stories about the comfort and care they receive from their furry friends.   It’s not difficult to find a story online about a cat in a nursing home who lays on the bed of a resident as they take their final breaths; or a dog that can sniff out cancer.  Animals are so well connected to the metaphysical; they just seem to “know” when it’s time to provide comfort or time to let go.

A few weeks ago, we chose to end the suffering of our oldest cat, Soxie, whose final seizf639e582_1028976ure was so intense and vivid, she seemed possessed.  It was horrifying to watch and hear; it will be a very long time before I can close my eyes and not see what she experienced.  When she was able, she retreated to an odd location where she’d typically go when she wasn’t feeling well.  She knew it was her time and she was “going inward” to prepare herself … and us.

Animals just seem to “know.”

We humans are animals too; some would say more evolved than cats and dogs.  Perhaps we’re more evolved in matters of business, literacy, art, and intelligence, but I’m not certain we are more emotional or more compassionate.

Some of us have such difficulty listening to our intuition when someone we love is sick or dying.  We tend to pursue all possible healthcare options until there are no more medical interventions to impede the natural progression of disease or age.  We focus on the next treatment option, the next surgical procedure, or the next drug; sometimes at the exclusion of the emotional and metaphysical components of the one who suffers.  This focus is sometimes so intense that we forget to look at the person right in front of us (or in the mirror) and ask “what do you need at this moment” or “how can I care for you today.”

Some people spend so much energy waiting for the other shoe to drop, we forget that there’s already one foot immersed in the disease and daily symptoms, or contemplating their final hours.

We need to pay more attention to our “animal” intuition.  We need to listen to those we love who are living with a chronic illness or a terminal disease.  We know our bodies and our minds better than anyone else in our life – family, friends, healthcare professionals, clergy.   Be mindful of the one who suffers and seek to understand what they need.  We need to recognize when it’s time to stop doing and just be still.   Then, provide care and compassion like we just seem to “know.”

©2017 Caring Choices

“You can’t take it with ya.”

Earlier this week, as I lay iced up on the therapy table after my session, I overheard a light-hearted laugh and discussion about plans for something that involved what I imagined to be a pretty hefty amount of cash. Having only caught the last exchange of the entire conversation due to unintentional proximity, I was struck by the gist of the ending phrase as the parties were walking past my doorway and continuing on about their day.  All that I could hear being said was “… might as well, you can’t take it with ya.” Now it’s not that I have never heard this saying before. In fact, very likely I have heard it hundreds, if not thousands, of times. But that day, it registered in my mind with a completely different reaction as any other time. Maybe it was the light-hearted giggle and soft tones, or maybe it was the representative acceptance of what I now imagined the meaning that this common phrase infers.

Having worked as a nurse for over 25 years, I have been exposed to the traumatic effects of the loss of independence and death. I have witnessed the impact of these events on patients, their families, loved ones and friends in a multitude of settings, circumstances and degrees of intensity too broad to include in this forum. In all of this time however, there were very few, if any, references to any material assets which would not be taken “with ya.”

There are, unfortunately, innumerous examples I can remember that involved the inability and unpreparedness to accept the new reality that had now been forced upon the present.

But when we say the phrase “you can’t take it with ya,” it seems there is an undeniable acceptance of death or changed realities already so well in hand that that it can be so casually joked about.  Why, then, is the reaction so intense for the grief stricken who are seemingly left helpless at this change in condition when it becomes a reality? Why is the reality of “can’t take it with ya” such an unimportant consideration until death becomes impossible to avoid?

The answer for myself is that I never want to imagine the “with” part of that statement.  I personally have filled out my Will and Five Wishes forms.  I write these blogs hoping to get others to address the possibilities of “with” before it becomes “now.”  I still don’t feel very casual about the “with.”

But this fact has not stopped me from recognizing the importance of planning for the time when I have lost my independence and have left this world and my family and friends to remain and deal with my departure in however they best can. (One glimpse of this inevitability came just last month when I underwent a right posterior total hip repair.) No one gets to choose how they die. Very few know when. Even fewer look forward to it sincerely. But there is nothing in this world stopping anyone from discussing how they may wish to be cared for in the event of a loss of independence, on any level, or how they would like to be treated and have their physical body and material things handled when that “with” finally becomes “now”.

Please, by all means with every breath of your life, hope for the best. But my friends, please also strive for happiness, love, and compassion in the world around you.  Perhaps more importantly, be prepared for the worst. Discuss your wishes, feelings, and beliefs with your family, friends, and loved ones. Get as much in writing and scanned into medical records backed up by legal consents and authorizations in the hope to lessen the tragic impact of inevitable changes on you and those you love. Don’t let the burden of “with” become someone else’s problem “now.”

©2017 Caring Choices