Advanced Care Directive

The kitchen table is as good a place as any. We sit down with the booklet. It’s a job that has to be done. The sooner it is over, the sooner it is out of the way and we can get on with our days.

The Advanced Care Directive forms are a necessity. It’s not that the directions are set in stone, but in my case, it’s solidifying something that will be happening sometime in the future – that being the decline and demise of my mother.

Before I go on, please know, my Mum is very fit and well. A sprightly 83-years-old, she is social, healthy, sociable and fast thinking. She reads a book a week, is up on current affairs, enjoys different types of cuisine and loves her cat, her garden, keeping the house neat and tidy and life in general. She drives, though is cutting back on the night driving. She has had two knees and one hip surgically replaced. She’s doing bloody well. As is my stepdad, who’s a few years younger than mum. Both are aging gracefully and with few dramas to date. Watching what some friends are enduring, we are very fortunate.

But the doctor has been at her to get her Advanced Care Directive forms in place, and although we, the family, are pretty much aware of her wishes, it is good to sit down and talk about this. We got enduring power of attorney forms in over fifteen years ago. These forms are going into more granular details.

Sitting next to her, it’s an honour to sit next to your mum and watch as she fills out these forms in her increasingly spidery handwriting and ask her to think about what she would like to happen if she is to be placed in care, if she can’t make her own decisions, and ultimately, what does she want to happen when she is actively dying, and when she dies.

And asking these questions of somebody who is thirty-years younger and in good health is an academic exercise. When you’re 83, and you have the knowledge that things could go tits up at any time, it must me very different. And confronting.

We talked about what a care home would look like to her. She’s like her hair done regularly, and her nails – because her nails grow really quickly. She wants to keep her dignity. That’s very important.

There was a discussion about what was important to her during these times. Her friends and family and her cat were first mentioned.

“What about if you were diagnosed with some hideous cancer, and the treatment which would prolong your life would be long and painful.”

“Nope, keep me comfortable and let me go. If I can’t give directions for this myself, then I’d be better off dead. Why should I suffer?”

This concept of quality of life versus quantity of life was mirrored through her wishes.

And of course, we got to after death arrangements.

“They can have my organs,” she told me proudly. “I’m an organ donor.”

“At your advanced age they might not want them.”

“Then again, they might.”

You never know. She’s fit and healthy. If they want them, they can have them. We're good with that. 

“And they should let the family know I’m going. None of this secretive business.”

“I’m good with that.”

“What do you want done with your body?”

“I want to be cremated. I hate burials.”

Cool with that one too. I’m not fond of burials either. I’ve only been to one and it left me traumatised (saying that it was the burial of a two-week-old premature baby. It was horrific.)

“Do you want a funeral, or a memorial service.”

“Yeah, you can have one of those. You three can sort that out. ”

“Do you want hymns?”

“Hell no. You know I’m not churchy.”

“What about songs? You know, Always Look on the Bright Side of Life? Good Riddance? Am I Ever Going to See Your Face Again?”

“Don’t be silly.”

“But why not? Music is music. I’d love them to play Reckless at my funeral. It’s my favourite song.”

I didn’t want to tell my mother that the music that reminds me of her is that awful Stars on 45 compilations of 1960’s songs. Depending on what my sisters think, she might be facing the flames to that crap.

Regardless, we got all of this down in the booklet, and she can proudly take it to the doctor and get it lodged. I have a feeling that my stepdad is going to be harder to pin down. Mum was a nurse for 40 years and has seen it all. She knows that having this stuff in order, and having your wishes out there with the family is a good thing. And the discussions will be ongoing as her life takes its turns over the next years or decades she has left.

It's a bit confronting, but it’s good to have this done.

Today's song: