COVER STORY
blood pressure reading and shook his head. “She needs to go to palliative care,” he said. It was a shattering statement. I knew what palliative care meant. It’s where you go to die. My partner received the last rites of the Catholic Church. I called our children who arrived from Sydney the next day to find their mother at a low ebb and close to death. Other family members were by now arriving too. Then she sat up and asked if she could have a cup of tea. Two teams of doctors were stunned. She had clearly not been expected to live. Within four days she was heading home, the palliative care staff lining the corridor, applauding and smiling. Her two best friends came from Auckland and Sydney and we had a high old reunion that lasted several days. We had our new granddaughter home for Christmas and dared to hope (that word again) that this could be beaten. But by early February this year, my partner was back in palliative care. This was the first of four more stays, the last, in May, being the shortest.
A
nd in those final months while the children and I did all we could think of to keep her spirits up, we lost count of the number of times she was told: “You don’t have long”. One doctor spoke fairly dismissively of “short term gains” which scientifically was probably justified. But we were all for short term gains – the more the better. A nurse, when questioned about the build-up of fluid in my partner’s legs and feet, replied: “Oh, that’ll just stay like that now.” She didn’t add “until the end” – but
she didn’t have to. I wasn’t alone in starting to feel that there was a constant effort to squeeze all the hope out of her. This is not a criticism of the palliative care staff who are outstanding people, but there was, for me at least, a detectable culture that made it clear you’re here for one reason only and we may as well get on with it. Again, there’s no question of pointing fingers here. Doctors are scientifically trained to rely on facts to which many can add extensive experience. In my experience they are humane, conscientious and for the most part compassionate. But death (like war and the generals) is probably too important to be left to the doctors. As a society we have abrogated our responsibility to the terminally ill and shoved it all on to the shoulders of the medical profession who have clearly decided that honesty – occasionally even brutal honesty – is the best policy. But doctors are above all human. They can and do make honest mistakes as all the medics I’ve ever met are among the first to admit. But as far as I can tell there’s been little or no debate about the “you don’t have long” policy. So, what so we want from our (seriously overworked and underresourced) doctors and nurses? Do we really want them to tell our dying loved ones lies? Surely not. But do we want them to crush hope? There needs to be more open and honest debate among the public, the medical profession, the faithful and the atheists about just how we deal with the lead-up to life’s end. The one size fits all approach leaves no room for hope – and it doesn’t seem to be working.
BY THE NUMBERS 1 in 3 Australians have had a family member receive palliative care.
8 in 10 people sought help for grief after the death of a family member. Only 1 in 10 Australians have nominated a person to make health care decision for them if they become too sick to speak for themselves. palliativecare.org.au
THE HARDEST CONVERSATION “They come to us for hope,” said the family GP. “And we provide it where we can. But what if we can’t? “In all honesty the writing was on the wall for your partner from day one. I didn’t want to lie about that but I didn’t feel like giving a woman who should have been at the height of her life’s powers the unvarnished truth.” It’s a serious ethical question for doctors: Where does hope end and science begin? “I frankly don’t know,” he said. “But remember. We are G.P. not G.O.D.”
HOW can any medico go to work each day knowing not one of their patients is going to get better? But that’s what palliative care staff are called on to do and it takes a very special kind of person to respond. Doctors, nurses, kitchen, domestic and secretarial staff are all well aware of the condition of their patients. That they manage to keep going is a source of amazement. That they do so with genuine and limitless compassion, professionalism and commitment is nothing short of incredible. “You don’t get used to it,” one nurse said. “You don’t want to get used to it because then it would become routine and we can’t have that. Everyone’s different, everyone’s special. We sometimes see them go home but know they’re coming back. “Some are here for a matter of days or even hours while we get to know others. It’s hard not to form friendships and of course we grieve when we lose friends. But that’s the job. We want to maximise comfort and wellbeing while minimising pain.” Minimising the physical pain is relatively straightforward given modern drugs and modern knowledge – but the mental side is much harder.
Self Funded retirees protest the high cost of hearing aids Self Funded Retirees are up in arms at the high cost of high quality hearing aids! But that is now changing thanks to a local clinic. Local, Independent Hearing Aid Specialist at Hear4Good , Lisa Burley has decided to ensure that the clinic will offer high quality devices at reasonable prices.
“We have people coming to us who have been quoted $10,000, which is ridiculous! You do not need to pay these sorts of prices to get better hearing”, Ms Burley says, “Our advice is always get a second opinion and don’t fall for high pressure hard sales techniques, when its something as critical as your hearing, you need to be sure, Hear4Good are the people you can trust”.
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(07) 5477 0144 August 2020 / YOUR TIME MAGAZINE 5
23/07/2020 10:51:25 AM
