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.
Thanks for reminding me to dust off and complete my Advanced Care Directive, which I started at the beginning of the pandemic but never finished.
ReplyDeleteI love the humanity of this, and the way you honour your mum through this process. It is a privilege, you are right, and far preferable to having to make decisions on their behalf when things have been let run.
ReplyDelete