We have the slightly the same problem in the United States. We can talk about it, but we don't have a way to end life medically when that time comes, with the exception of Oregon, and one other state? I can't blame it all on politicians.
In American, it seems like many of us think modern medicine will cure most disease, or we fall victim to rhetoric like "death squads".
The reality is when that time comes, and modern medicine gives gives up; we are sent home to die. Oh yes, a bureaucratic nonprofit steps in and finally the aganoizing patient is given opioids, and benzodiazepines. The problem is the Palliative Care is hit, or miss. The doctor never seems to come around and read adjust medication levels, and the nurses--well they try.
My father died of liver cancer. He had a tumor the size of a football in his abdomen(by the way, he had a tumor for at least 15 years. I don't know when it turned cancerous, but all professionals overlooked the bulge in his upper right quadrant. Not one professional palpated his abdomen--I guess they don't do that anymore? And he had good insurance?
Well, finally one doctor promised to save his life, but reneged after further review, the hospital then sent him home. He was miserable all summer. The medications never quite took away the pain. It didn't help that the Hospice doctors weren't increasing dosages.(I looked at the dose of morphine, and I was tempted to buy smack off the streets, but he was just too conservative to break the law. My greedy, manipulative sister played around with his medication so she could talk him into giving her more wealth.(She is already extremely wealthy). The nurses, when told, looked the other way. My retched sister told the nurses, 'I want him to spend quality time with his grandkids'. My father couldn't stand kids, and barely put up with his own.
My father gradually went from 190 lbs to 65 lbs, and was beyond miserably for weeks. His last words to me were, "Son when will it end?"
He went into a semi coma and eventually died. He was blue. He would wake up from bad dreams and scream. He was in hell!
Sorry to unload, but we need to know just how terrible death can be. There's nothing sacred, natural, or peaceful about it. We need a passionate way to end life when that day comes.
I don't go a day without thinking about my father's agony. My father was a mean, nasty person, but they pain he went through was so disturbing; I can't get the horrid ordeal out of my life. It's been nine years, and I'm still not over it.
Maybe, this is not the time to talk about this problem? I got sidetracked by a comment before me--sorry.
It's never the wrong time to talk about this problem, and I'm sorry for your loss and pain.
My wife's father died a similar way, as did my grandfather. It pisses me off to a great degree that, as a society, we aren't willing to discuss the matter of dying with dignity. It's not like it's a new idea - the Roman Stoics did.
In many ways, our society seems infantilised in comparison.
In American, it seems like many of us think modern medicine will cure most disease, or we fall victim to rhetoric like "death squads".
The reality is when that time comes, and modern medicine gives gives up; we are sent home to die. Oh yes, a bureaucratic nonprofit steps in and finally the aganoizing patient is given opioids, and benzodiazepines. The problem is the Palliative Care is hit, or miss. The doctor never seems to come around and read adjust medication levels, and the nurses--well they try.
My father died of liver cancer. He had a tumor the size of a football in his abdomen(by the way, he had a tumor for at least 15 years. I don't know when it turned cancerous, but all professionals overlooked the bulge in his upper right quadrant. Not one professional palpated his abdomen--I guess they don't do that anymore? And he had good insurance?
Well, finally one doctor promised to save his life, but reneged after further review, the hospital then sent him home. He was miserable all summer. The medications never quite took away the pain. It didn't help that the Hospice doctors weren't increasing dosages.(I looked at the dose of morphine, and I was tempted to buy smack off the streets, but he was just too conservative to break the law. My greedy, manipulative sister played around with his medication so she could talk him into giving her more wealth.(She is already extremely wealthy). The nurses, when told, looked the other way. My retched sister told the nurses, 'I want him to spend quality time with his grandkids'. My father couldn't stand kids, and barely put up with his own.
My father gradually went from 190 lbs to 65 lbs, and was beyond miserably for weeks. His last words to me were, "Son when will it end?"
He went into a semi coma and eventually died. He was blue. He would wake up from bad dreams and scream. He was in hell!
Sorry to unload, but we need to know just how terrible death can be. There's nothing sacred, natural, or peaceful about it. We need a passionate way to end life when that day comes.
I don't go a day without thinking about my father's agony. My father was a mean, nasty person, but they pain he went through was so disturbing; I can't get the horrid ordeal out of my life. It's been nine years, and I'm still not over it.
Maybe, this is not the time to talk about this problem? I got sidetracked by a comment before me--sorry.