I mentioned before I'm a dietetic intern. I rotate in just about every area of the hospital... and one of the most significant things I've learned is... people die. Sorry not sorry to be blunt.
They don't die because the care is poor. Not always because they are a thousand years old. Not always because they are the sickest. Often because the mind and body can no longer handle the burden bestowed upon it. And in my opinion... that's okay.
Now it's kind of obvious that I'm the kind of person who wouldn't want to be kept alive if the rest of my days weren't going to be quality. If I arrest for more than 9 minutes... don't bring me back. Never going to be able to bathe myself again? Adios amigos. It's been real. That's always been my attitude. And basically the attitude of everyone on my mom's side of the family. My dad's side? Holy ventilators, those people are going to be alive forever.
It's easy for all of us to say out loud... but we never expected to apply it so soon.
Last week the God basically told us to put our money where our mouths were as my grandpa's health deteriorated. He was 91 years young, known for his musical talent, love of all desserts, and the cheesiest joke repertoire on the planet. Allow me:
Me: I'm so thirsty.
Grandpa: Really? I thought you were Hailey?
Me: Grandpa, you're so smart!
Grandpa: Just using my elbow!
Me: Have you seen that bag?
Grandpa: *points to grandma* Yeah she's out on the porch!
I can't even remember some of the longer ones. You never knew when that man was being serious. Probably because he never was. I digress...
During his last admission to the hospital, we all got the feeling that he wouldn't be coming out this time. I decided I needed to go home to spend what might be his last "good" days with him and possibly say goodbye.
That weekend I fed him pancakes, pumpkin pie, and Jello while he told me about how he painted the front of the house that morning and made pickles. It didn't matter that he didn't know what he was saying. He knew I was there and he knew we were spending time together. After talking to his doctor more, we felt confident that any further interventions would not extend his life by any significant amount, and would not increase the quality. He was admitted to hospice care and passed days after.
Peacefully, comfortably, and beautifully.
I think my dad had a hard time with the hospice decision. He is close with my maternal grandparents, and struggled talking about my grandpa's death as something that was inevitable. For him, it's easier to deal with things by blaming something.
Something must have killed him.
Something else could have been done.
Something might help him.
I understand that mode of thinking. I'm a blamer, too. And it was hard to decide when enough was enough for my dear grandpa. This morning though, on rounds, I got my answer from a very wise attending talking to his new residents about dealing with the death of patients.
"There's a point at which we stop doing things for people, and start doing things to people."
Simple as that.
I struggled with the idea of "giving up on" my grandpa. In hindsight, though, it wasn't our choice to make. The burden on his body became to great, and tipped the scale in favor of death. Re-balancing the scale would have involved doing things to him, an action I know would have been regrettable by all. Even dear old dad.
I didn't expect to get a life lesson on rounds this morning, but am I ever thankful to that attending.
And to you, grandpa. You taught me how to play piano, be horizontal, and throw out a one-liner without blinking an eye. You will be missed, and forever live on with every joke we tell and doughnut we eat.
I'll be seeing you.
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