My Final Post

I’m going to have to file this post under the heading “My Children Think I’m Morbid” although a part of me might argue with that because I don’t think the action I’m describing here ended up being the least bit morbid. In fact, it turned out to be one of the most rewarding actions my husband and I ever took in our lives. I do recognize, however, that most people think that filling out an Advance Directive is, in fact, a morbid thing to have to do.

When my late husband, Bill, and I filled out our Directives, it started out feeling a bit morbid but by the end of the procedure, it had become one of the most enlightening conversations we ever had. We actually did two different sets of forms, one form that was given to us by the mortuary that we used to arrange for our end–of–life services, and a second form that was given to us by our primary care physician. The two forms contained very different questions and all of those questions were important ones.

Most of the questions on both forms were relatively easy to answer but one of the questions was definitely not easy to answer. In fact, it took us several days to come up with an answer that was sufficient to meet our needs. This question involved this subject of when we would choose to terminate life-extending actions. It was easy enough to say that we would choose to discontinue these actions when our life no longer seemed worth living. The hard part, of course, was deciding exactly what made our lives worth living and when those elements were irretrievably gone.

As most of my close friends know, I can be a bit compulsive about certain things. Because my husband was six years older than me and because my health was considerably better than his at the time we filled in the forms, I took this question far more seriously than he did in the beginning. My father died at the way-too-early age of 48 years after an extended illness, and my mother had to make many of the medical decisions as his condition became critical. I was still a teenager at the time but I was very aware of how difficult it was for her making many of the decisions that were necessary.

It was quite easy for Bill and I to say that we did not want to artificially extend our life span if our condition was such that we could no longer enjoy our life. The difficult part was putting into words exactly what made our lives worth living. I had been married to Bill for almost 50 years at the time we chose to fill out these forms and I thought I knew him very well. But when I pinned him down on exactly what was necessary to ensure that his life was worth living, and when I realized that there was a possibility he would not be able to explain this to me as his illness progressed, I knew how important it was to be absolutely clear in my understanding of this matter.

Because I also recognized the possibility that anyone, even people in apparently good health (as I was at the time) could suddenly have an event like a stroke occur that would leave them unable to communicate on this vital issue, I also recognized that I needed to be able to spell out very clearly to Bill and/or my children exactly what made my life worth living. As we began the process of communicating on this issue, we both realized that it was not going to be as easy as we originally expected to understand our own wishes, let alone understand our partner’s wishes.

The process of examining our own considerations on this subject and our own preferences proved to be both extremely difficult and very wonderful. Bill surprised me repeatedly as he began to voice the conditions he felt were necessary to make a life worth living. I would never have guessed that being able to go out and putter in his garage would be so near the top of his list. Nor did I recognize that the ability to listen to music would also be near the top. I wasn’t surprised to hear that the ability to give and receive hugs was his number one item (Bill was a great hugger), but I was surprised when I realized that such an ability would also be right at the top of my own list.

Working together on our lists was extremely helpful to the process. Many of the items that Bill put near the top of his list were not things that we were in the habit of doing regularly. Once I had seen his list and borrowed heavily from it for my own list, we began to make certain that the activities at the top of our list were done frequently from that time forward. Lots more hugging took place after we completed our lists and I have to add that now that Bill is gone, those hugs are the thing that I miss most of all.

The subject of this blog, as the subtitle denotes, has always been about how to make the final 15% of one’s life fulfilling. Many of the activities that Bill and I did during those last years of his life were based on what we learned about each other as we filled out those Advance Directives. Now that Bill is gone, and I am left behind to plan for the remainder of my own life, I still refer back to the realizations I had while filling out those forms. I am currently working hard to rearrange my own life to take advantage of the fact that I have unlimited choices about what I want to do in the future and that I need to give high priority to the items that were on that list.

I hope my own children never have to make those important decisions for me about when it’s time to accept the inevitable, that death comes to us all eventually, and stop life–extending measures. The benefits of completing the forms extend far beyond just knowing when it’s time to allow life to end. Done properly, the information is also vital to making sure to live life fully all the way up to the end. I’m glad we had both sets of forms. The ones provided by our physician were very strong at covering the legal issues and I appreciate that those decisions have been made. The ones given to us by the mortuary focused much more heavily on spelling out what made life worth living and how we wanted to handle the last occasion in our life, whether it be a full–fledged funeral or a simple end-of-life party. The best part of the forms, as we did them, was the spelling out in great detail exactly what made our lives worth living. The benefits were so apparent, that I found myself wishing we had done the forms years sooner. Imagine all the extra hugs I might’ve received if I’d only recognized just how much my husband loved giving and receiving them.

Note: This will be my final post on this site. I have moved into a new stage of life now and will be started a new blog soon based on my greatly changed circumstances.

Counting Down from One Hundred by Sevens

If you’ve ever been tested by a doctor to see if you have memory problems, or if you’ve ever accompanied someone else who has undergone the testing, you know exactly what counting down from 100 by sevens indicates. It’s a test that is commonly done to measure whether you have any signs of dementia. My husband, who was first diagnosed with dementia in 1995, has had the test many times while I have sat by and watched. I haven’t had the test done on me by a doctor yet, but I have attempted to do it on myself innumerable times. All I have to do is forget a word or forget to do something important, or have any other little memory lapse and I get a panicky feeling that is only quelled by starting to count down from 100 by sevens. Okay, I know, how could I tell if my answers were wrong if I truly had dementia! All my answers might be wrong and I would never know it. But common sense doesn’t enter into it when I’m overcome by that panicky feeling.

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Why should I react so strongly to the thought that I might be developing dementia? Dementia is an expensive illness. My husband’s dementia has reached the stage known as moderate. He would not be able to live by himself; he is not able to drive; he has no idea if the bills get paid, the dishes get done, or any of the other vital tasks of running a household are accomplished. If he was a widower or if I had lost my marbles too (that is Bill’s description of his illness, by the way, not mine), he would have to be in a nursing home. Like many people in our age group, we are relatively comfortable in our retirement financially, but our budget would not cover two people in a nursing home at the same time for any extended period. That’s a cold hard fact of life. The fact that I talk about it and make back up plans is one of the reasons that some people think I’m morbid, but I consider it being practical.

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