On Death & Dying

Michael Scally MD

Doctor of Medicine
10+ Year Member
How to have a better death
https://www.economist.com/news/leaders/21721371-death-inevitable-bad-death-not-how-have-better-death

Until the 20th century the average human lived about as long as a chimpanzee. Today science and economic growth mean that no land mammal lives longer. Yet an unintended consequence has been to turn dying into a medical experience.

How, when and where death happens has changed over the past century. As late as 1990 half of deaths worldwide were caused by chronic diseases; in 2015 the share was two-thirds. Most deaths in rich countries follow years of uneven deterioration. Roughly two-thirds happen in a hospital or nursing home. They often come after a crescendo of desperate treatment. Nearly a third of Americans who die after 65 will have spent time in an intensive-care unit in their final three months of life. Almost a fifth undergo surgery in their last month.

Such zealous intervention can be agonising for all concerned (see article). Cancer patients who die in hospital typically experience more pain, stress and depression than similar patients who die in a hospice or at home. Their families are more likely to argue with doctors and each other, to suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder and to feel prolonged grief.

Most important, these medicalised deaths do not seem to be what people want. Polls, including one carried out in four large countries by the Kaiser Family Foundation, an American think-tank, and The Economist, find that most people in good health hope that, when the time comes, they will die at home. And few, when asked about their hopes for their final days, say that their priority is to live as long as possible. Rather, they want to die free from pain, at peace, and surrounded by loved ones for whom they are not a burden.

Some deaths are unavoidably miserable. Not everyone will be in a condition to toast death’s imminence with champagne, as Anton Chekhov did. What people say they will want while they are well may change as the end nears (one reason why doctors are sceptical about the instructions set out in “living wills”). Dying at home is less appealing if all the medical kit is at the hospital. A treatment that is unbearable in the imagination can seem like the lesser of two evils when the alternative is death. Some patients will want to fight until all hope is lost.

But too often patients receive drastic treatment in spite of their dying wishes—by default, when doctors do “everything possible”, as they have been trained to, without talking through people’s preferences or ensuring that the prognosis is clearly understood.

...
 
My Father’s Body, at Rest and in Motion
My Father’s Body, at Rest and in Motion

His systems were failing. The challenge was to understand what had sustained them for so long.

The call came at three in the morning. My mother, in New Delhi, was in tears. My father, she said, had fallen again, and he was speaking nonsense. She turned the handset toward him. He was muttering a slow, meaningless string of words in an unrecognizable high-pitched nasal tone. He kept repeating his nickname, Shibu, and the name of his childhood village, Dehergoti. He sounded as if he were reading his own last rites.

“Take him to the hospital,” I urged her, from New York. “I’ll catch the next flight home.”

“No, no, just wait,” my mother said. “He might get better on his own.” In her day, buying an international ticket on short notice was an unforgivable act of extravagance, reserved for transcontinental gangsters and film stars. No one that she knew had arrived “early” for a parent’s death. The frugality of her generation had congealed into frank superstition: if I caught a flight now, I might dare the disaster into being.

“Just sleep on it,” she said, her anxiety mounting. I put the phone down and e-mailed my travel agent, asking her to put me on the next available Air India flight.

My father, eighty-three, had been declining for several weeks. The late-night phone calls had tightened in frequency and enlarged in amplitude, like waves ahead of a gathering storm: accidents were becoming more common, and their consequences more severe. This was not his first fall that year. A few months earlier, my mother had found him lying on the balcony floor with his arm broken and folded underneath him.

She had taken a pair of scissors and cut his shirt off while he had howled in double agony—the pain of having to pull the remnants over his head compounded by the horror of seeing a perfectly intact piece of clothing sliced up before his eyes. It was, I knew, an ancient quarrel: his mother, who had ferried her five boys across a border to Calcutta during Partition and never had enough clothes to split among them, would have found a way to spare that shirt.

Then, too, my mother had tried to play it down. “Kicchui na,” she had said: Look, it’s nothing. It was a phrase that she, the family’s stabilizing counterweight, often clung to. “We’ll manage,” she’d said, and I took her word for it. This time, I wasn’t so sure.

 
I hate to admit it but myself and Jess just updated my will last week. I found it very troubling for some reason. I always accepted the fact that dying overseas was a very real possibility. Now with my health I want it set in stone what measures I do or don't want taken to "save" me. It was quite a reality check that I didn't enjoy! I'd much rather pass at home then a hospital. Know I'm upset all over again damn it. I'll live forever.
 
I'm going polar bear then. No knife! Bare knuckle. And yes I'll probably shit myself before being mauled by him. lol
Let that big beautiful majestic beast do what it was made to do. Call it "recycling". Still better than living a full life right to the bitter end and being incapable of most everything you were once able to do. Having nursing staff tell you what you can and cant do. Be left in a room watching reruns of cheers while scratching your feeble useless balls. Prolly wont even be able to stand half the motherfuckers your forced to deal with everyday...its so sad man. Its hard to tell the miles a man walked when your left to be forgotten about. Just another old ass in the room. Old people are nearly invisible as is. Depressing

Over my vaca my MIL was showing us around her workplace which is a nursing home. Had my wife and 2 boys with me. Took the whole tour of the damn place. All those old ppl are just happy as flies on shit if you even say HI to em. They were really happy to see my two young boys. And they didnt even know em...sad little shit like that brightens their day up. After all was said and done and we were heading out. My wife noted one of the residents rooms had a balloon sticking up and a "happy bday" attached to it. A very old man was just slouched over his wheel chair. Apparantly napping. My wife brings up the idea. Hey, maybe we should go sing to him. Itll teach the boys some thing and itll be fun. Random act of kindness she said. There was no takers but i doubled back on that and i backed her up saying it was a good idea. We went in and sang him happy bday and he was quite taken back. Apparantly hadnt had visitors in quite some time. He was suprisingly quick witted for 92 and well spoken. He was still all there. In the middle of our intended short visit some thing caught my eye. I realized he was a WWII Veteran and that immediately struck up my interest and even my boys. Turns out he was with the Army stationed in the pacific. He brought Marines to shore during Okinawa. Had alot of cool ass stories and medals to back it up. I enjoy stories like that. Especially from the greatest generation to ever live. So all in all it was a cool ass visit and we stayed for every bit of an hour soaking it up. Turns out the man was in a major car accident recently as is trying to get fit enough to leave so he can bury his son who recently died of agent orange complications all these years later.
 
Let that big beautiful majestic beast do what it was made to do. Call it "recycling". Still better than living a full life right to the bitter end and being incapable of most everything you were once able to do. Having nursing staff tell you what you can and cant do. Be left in a room watching reruns of cheers while scratching your feeble useless balls. Prolly wont even be able to stand half the motherfuckers your forced to deal with everyday...its so sad man. Its hard to tell the miles a man walked when your left to be forgotten about. Just another old ass in the room. Old people are nearly invisible as is. Depressing

Over my vaca my MIL was showing us around her workplace which is a nursing home. Had my wife and 2 boys with me. Took the whole tour of the damn place. All those old ppl are just happy as flies on shit if you even say HI to em. They were really happy to see my two young boys. And they didnt even know em...sad little shit like that brightens their day up. After all was said and done and we were heading out. My wife noted one of the residents rooms had a balloon sticking up and a "happy bday" attached to it. A very old man was just slouched over his wheel chair. Apparantly napping. My wife brings up the idea. Hey, maybe we should go sing to him. Itll teach the boys some thing and itll be fun. Random act of kindness she said. There was no takers but i doubled back on that and i backed her up saying it was a good idea. We went in and sang him happy bday and he was quite taken back. Apparantly hadnt had visitors in quite some time. He was suprisingly quick witted for 92 and well spoken. He was still all there. In the middle of our intended short visit some thing caught my eye. I realized he was a WWII Veteran and that immediately struck up my interest and even my boys. Turns out he was with the Army stationed in the pacific. He brought Marines to shore during Okinawa. Had alot of cool ass stories and medals to back it up. I enjoy stories like that. Especially from the greatest generation to ever live. So all in all it was a cool ass visit and we stayed for every bit of an hour soaking it up. Turns out the man was in a major car accident recently as is trying to get fit enough to leave so he can bury his son who recently died of agent orange complications all these years later.
Puts life in perspective bro. Teaching our children compassion is one of the greatest gifts we can give. I'm sure that old man won't forget anytime soon what you did for him. And what a great lesson for your children. Good shit bro.
 
I'm going polar bear then. No knife! Bare knuckle. And yes I'll probably shit myself before being mauled by him. lol

Panda Bear for me. I have lived in the cold most of my life, I don't want to be laying on the ice torn apart waiting to die in the cold.
 
I did some security work at an old people's home cos the fuktards realised frail bodied people are easy as shit to rob for ID cards & cc's.

We had to build them a bus stop on the grounds so they could walk 20m and happily sit for hours waiting for a non existent bus.

On their walk back from the fake bus stop they would tell you how they spent the day at work and visiting relatives. A mish-mash of vague old memories they thought they just experienced live when in reality they just sat in a bus stop.

Sad as fuck.
 
This Cat Sensed Death. What if Computers Could, Too?
This Cat Sensed Death. What if Computers Could, Too?

Of the many small humiliations heaped on a young oncologist in his final year of fellowship, perhaps this one carried the oddest bite: A 2-year-old black-and-white cat named Oscar was apparently better than most doctors at predicting when a terminally ill patient was about to die.

The story appeared, astonishingly, in The New England Journal of Medicine in the summer of 2007. Adopted as a kitten by the medical staff, Oscar reigned over one floor of the Steere House nursing home in Rhode Island.

When the cat would sniff the air, crane his neck and curl up next to a man or woman, it was a sure sign of impending demise. The doctors would call the families to come in for their last visit. Over the course of several years, the cat had curled up next to 50 patients. Every one of them died shortly thereafter.

No one knows how the cat acquired his formidable death-sniffing skills. Perhaps Oscar’s nose learned to detect some unique whiff of death — chemicals released by dying cells, say. Perhaps there were other inscrutable signs. I didn’t quite believe it at first, but Oscar’s acumen was corroborated by other physicians who witnessed the prophetic cat in action. As the author of the article wrote: “No one dies on the third floor unless Oscar pays a visit and stays awhile.”

The story carried a particular resonance for me that summer, for I had been treating S., a 32-year-old plumber with esophageal cancer. He had responded well to chemotherapy and radiation, and we had surgically resected his esophagus, leaving no detectable trace of malignancy in his body. One afternoon, a few weeks after his treatment had been completed, I cautiously broached the topic of end-of-life care.

We were going for a cure, of course, I told S., but there was always the small possibility of a relapse. He had a young wife and two children, and a mother who had brought him weekly to the chemo suite. Perhaps, I suggested, he might have a frank conversation with his family about his goals?

But S. demurred. He was regaining strength week by week. The conversation was bound to be “a bummah,” as he put it in his distinct Boston accent. His spirits were up. The cancer was out. Why rain on his celebration? I agreed reluctantly; it was unlikely that the cancer would return.

When the relapse appeared, it was a full-on deluge. …
 
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Anand Avati, Kenneth Jung, Stephanie Harman, Lance Downing, Andrew Ng, Nigam H. Shah. Improving Palliative Care with Deep Learning. arXiv:1711.06402 [cs.CY]. [1711.06402] Improving Palliative Care with Deep Learning

Improving the quality of end-of-life care for hospitalized patients is a priority for healthcare organizations. Studies have shown that physicians tend to over-estimate prognoses, which in combination with treatment inertia results in a mismatch between patients wishes and actual care at the end of life.

We describe a method to address this problem using Deep Learning and Electronic Health Record (EHR) data, which is currently being piloted, with Institutional Review Board approval, at an academic medical center. The EHR data of admitted patients are automatically evaluated by an algorithm, which brings patients who are likely to benefit from palliative care services to the attention of the Palliative Care team.

The algorithm is a Deep Neural Network trained on the EHR data from previous years, to predict all-cause 3-12 month mortality of patients as a proxy for patients that could benefit from palliative care. Our predictions enable the Palliative Care team to take a proactive approach in reaching out to such patients, rather than relying on referrals from treating physicians, or conduct time consuming chart reviews of all patients. We also present a novel interpretation technique which we use to provide explanations of the model's predictions.
 


When my father was dying of pancreatic cancer last summer, I often curled up with him in the adjustable hospital bed set up in his bedroom. As we watched episodes of “The Great British Baking Show,” I’d think about all the things I couldn’t promise him.

I couldn’t promise that the book he’d been working on would ever be published. I couldn’t promise he would get to see his childhood friends from England one more time. I couldn’t even promise he’d find out who won the baking show that season.

But what I could promise — or I thought I could — was that he would not be in pain at the end of his life.

That’s because after hearing for years about the unnecessary medicalization of most hospital deaths, I had called an in-home hospice agency to usher him “off this mortal coil,” as my literary father still liked to say at 83.

When a doctor said my father had about six months to live, I invited a hospice representative to my parents’ kitchen table. She went over their Medicare-funded services, including weekly check-ins from a nurse and 24/7 emergency oversight by a doctor. Most comfortingly, she told us if a final “crisis” came, such as severe pain or agitation, a registered nurse would stay in his room around the clock to treat him.

For several months, things went well. His primary nurse, who doubled as case worker, was kind and empathetic. A caretaker came three mornings a week to wash him and make breakfast. A physician assistant prescribed drugs for pain and constipation. His pain was not terrible, so a low dose of oxycodone — the only painkiller they gave us — seemed to suffice.

In those last precious weeks at home, we had tender conversations, looked over photographs from his childhood, talked about his grandchildren’s future.

But at the very end, confronted by a sudden deterioration in my father’s condition, hospice did not fulfill its promise to my family — not for lack of good intentions but for lack of staff and foresight.
 
My uncle is drinking himself to death. He is loaded with money and is traveling the world. But is not drinking only acholol a ed. Is having seizsures. Brouht him to hoospital instantly checked hiimself out. So look like hes just trying to die.
 
HOLLY BUTCHER: 1990-2018
http://www.samanthawillsfoundation.org/contributors/2018/1/6/holly-butcher-1990-2018

It’s a strange thing to realise and accept your mortality at 26 years young. It’s just one of those things you ignore. The days tick by and you just expect they will keep on coming; Until the unexpected happens. I always imagined myself growing old, wrinkled and grey- most likely caused by the beautiful family (lots of kiddies) I planned on building with the love of my life. I want that so bad it hurts.

That’s the thing about life; It is fragile, precious and unpredictable and each day is a gift, not a given right.

I’m 27 now. I don’t want to go. I love my life. I am happy.. I owe that to my loved ones. But the control is out of my hands.

I haven’t started this ‘note before I die’ so that death is feared - I like the fact that we are mostly ignorant to it’s inevitability.. Except when I want to talk about it and it is treated like a ‘taboo’ topic that will never happen to any of us.. That’s been a bit tough. I just want people to stop worrying so much about the small, meaningless stresses in life and try to remember that we all have the same fate after it all so do what you can to make your time feel worthy and great, minus the bullshit.

I have dropped lots of my thoughts below as I have had a lot of time to ponder life these last few months. Of course it’s the middle of the night when these random things pop in my head most!

 
Williams PA. Acceptance in the End of Life. JAMA Oncol. Published online January 04, 2018. Acceptance in the End of Life

Last summer my terminally ill 4-year-old daughter died. My wife and I decided later in her life to change her code status to “do not resuscitate.” Her final days were not plagued by trips to medical clinics or diminished by adverse effects from dubious treatments. Her final moments did not involve being rushed to the intensive care unit or having her body crushed by chest compressions and intubations. She slipped away peacefully in my wife’s arms, her hand clasped within mine. Depending on the circumstances, these interventions both drain and sustain life in varying proportions. I had no more knowledge of the future than does one with a terminal cancer diagnosis. But sometimes the greatest peace of all is the acceptance that comes with understanding the limits of humanity.
 

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When Ann Vandervelde visited her primary care doctor in August, he had something new to show her.

Dr. Barak Gaster, an internist at the University of Washington, had spent three years working with specialists in geriatrics, neurology, palliative care and psychiatry to come up with a five-page document that he calls a dementia-specific advance directive.

In simple language, it maps out the effects of mild, moderate and severe dementia, and asks patients to specify which medical interventions they would want — and not want — at each phase of the illness.
 
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