Young Adult Catholics

Throughout the past few months, my family and I have been struggling through questions about quality of life for the terminally ill.  As we accompanied my very sick grandmother throughout her six month journey in the hospital, none of us could help but ask, “Is this even fair to her?”  She moved from hospital to hospital, nursing home to nursing home, on a roller coaster of good days and bad days, unconscious days and wide awake and talking days.  Since all of my family lives at least an hour’s ride from her main hospital room, it was a difficult challenge to visit as often as possible, but somehow my grandfather managed to do it almost every single day.  Finally, after six months away from home, my grandmother passed away the day before Easter.

The process had been long and trying, and thankfully we’d all had our chance to say goodbye in our own way.  It leaves me wondering, though, how the process of dying could be made more peaceful in a situation like this.  My grandmother suffered through stage four liver failure–which I knew nothing about before she first went to the hospital.  She spent over a month in a coma, and then miraculously woke up on Christmas Eve.  I’m very grateful that I had the chance to see her awake and trying to talk (the tracheotomy that was placed during her coma made conversation nearly impossible), as I’d been out of the country when she first went to the hospital.  Throughout the next few months she was in and out of consciousness, sometimes awake and somewhat aware of her surroundings, other times seemingly lost in her own body.  For much of the time she was on a ventilator, and throughout the entire process she was fed through a feeding tube.  Nurses helped her sit up a few times–but mostly she laid in bed.

It was sad to watch her die so slowly, but at times it was even sadder to watch my grandfather struggle to make decisions.  Everyone in the family agreed to support him, even though he often didn’t understand the severity of the situation.  Did he have a blind hope that his beloved wife’s health would improve?  Of course.  But who could blame him?  She would have a few terrible weeks, and as soon as he’d start to consider signing a DNR, she’d wake up and try to talk with us again.

As my family seeks closure when we bury my grandma this week I can’t deny that I’m thinking  a lot about what it means to let someone die with dignity–and to let survivors grieve with dignity.  I can’t imagine that many people want to spend the last days of their lives unable to move, eat, drink, or communicate with their loved ones.  And I can’t believe that anyone wants to decide to terminate life-saving medical procedures for loved ones.  I’m grateful for the advances in medicine and science that allow so many people life, but sometimes science seems to make it hard to know when to let go. . .