My dad passed away this summer; dad was 84. He was denied the opportunity to chair his own death panel. And it cost you and me $90,000.
A year ago dad started bleeding through his nose. He often got nose bleeds, but after two days he called me and we went to the emergency room. He was diagnosed with low blood platelets and was given prednisone to stop the bleeding. It worked.
His blood doctor, a very competent young man with a soft Irish brogue (dad thought he was being treated by a leprechaun) told him that he would like to run tests to determine what was causing his condition. Dad was adamant, he didn’t want to know, didn’t want chemo, if that was a solution, and wanted to live out his days keeping his food down.
So things went well until this past spring, when his bleeding started up again. More prednisone was prescribed, but this time dad got weaker. Finally one Saturday morning in May, dad became incoherent. I called his primary care doc, but it was a weekend and another physician was on duty. I made that phone call at 1:30 p.m. and received a response at 5:30 p.m.
In the meantime I couldn’t wait, as mom was witnessing all of this, and since I didn’t know what to do, I called 911 at about 3 p.m. (Weeks earlier, dad’s regular doctor had voiced discomfort about talking of end of life decisions – this because dad didn’t want to know why his red blood cell count was now low and his white blood cell high). Remember the leprechaun knew dad’s wishes too.
So we ended up in the emergency room where an earnest young ER guy informed me that dad’s heart would stop if he didn’t get his potassium levels up. I was armed with dad’s living will and was his power of attorney.
I said that perhaps just keeping him comfortable would be the best solution, but he interviewed my dad with a really loud voice (dad was hard of hearing) and after he explained the potassium, we were “off to the races.” I really think that guy could have sold dad a timeshare in Acapulco that afternoon.
Dad worked for the federal government for 41 years. He had great heath insurance – like Congress’ insurance, like Dick Cheney’s insurance. And I believe “they” could smell it. So now dad is in the ICU and tests are being ordered.
I turn to the new physician assigned to dad and explained that I was conflicted about the amount of invasive stuff that was about to be done. I really think this young doctor is good, and maybe someday will be great, if he would just learn to listen. He tersely asked me if I didn’t want treatment, why did I bring him to the hospital? I told him I didn’t know what else to do. At that point I felt that dad was becoming a chemistry experiment.
After two blood transfusions and a nuclear “juice” injected into his lungs, the hospital decided that dad would be transferred to a “rehab” nursing home.
I decided that a hospice would be best.
Dad lived for three weeks: one week in the hospital and two more in hospice. He couldn’t leave his bed. We said our goodbyes and he told me that he loved me and that I was a good son. As much as I appreciated the time we had, it wasn’t what he wanted. And for a guy who had his sock drawer color coded, and who was a gentleman always immaculate in appearance, needing diapers was degrading.
He was kept comfortable with a great palliative doctor, and only once got angry and suicidal – when a female chaplain offered him a teddy bear to hold. (He asked me if they thought he was senile, and then said some things that I can’t print…).
So, everybody knew that dad didn’t want his quality of life to be compromised. But it still cost $65,000 of tests in the hospital and another $25,000 of medical work in hospice. Dad’s share was $350. His death certificate said that he died of leukemia.
On my old talk radio show, I used to joke about Dr. Death and the “Jack Kevorkian Pension Plan.” I am not joking now. As former Governor Dick Lamm once said: “we have a duty to die.” Especially if we want to.
Where’s Jack when you need him?
Tom Jensen is a musician, broadcaster and educator living in Denver. EDITOR’S NOTE: This is an online-only column and has not been edited.
