“We will have to remove his ventilator, he has to die, there is no other option!”
...whispered a relative in the dark corridors of the Municipal Hospital.
I was aghast and looked silently into the eyes of my husband. He silently echoed the acknowledgement of a statement just made so insensitively and in a matter-of-fact way by a person, who was related and had seen ways of the world.
There hung a deathly decision on the pale and gaunt face of my Uncle of 72, whose son’s life and death he was given to decide.
His son, 32 then, unmarried, unemployed, uneducated. He had met with an accident which left him paralyzed neck down. His vocal cords, too, were crushed. All he could move was his eyes and lips to smile feebly, cry silently, but eloquently.
Sameer! It meant whiff of air!
My cousin. I spent my entire childhood with him. He was a few years elder to me. I was his baby sister. I ate my 'Jamuns', only if he brought them from the trees. I learned to climb trees and draw water from wells through him. I threw my tantrums with him. My marriage brought a healthy distance but this sudden turn of Fate brought the family under one roof.
He was progressively declining. He had already spent more than a fortnight in the hospital.
The verdict was grim. The questions unspoken...
“Who would take care of him in this vegetative state?”
“Who would fund his medicines and for how long?”
He had no wife or children! Parents being old and financially dependent, what can be done to keep him?”
True, he had a father, mother, two brothers, their wives and children. Each a unit, each striving their own struggling existence. In that case, it befell on his Dad to take the right 'Decision'!
It is a the worst responsibility a father can shoulder.
To decide, to let a Son Go!
A son you raised for hopes of him holding you in your Old age. A son you raised with your heart.
To face the cruel fact, that he is no more than 'a burden', suddenly. To him, to doctors, to family members. A person unable to speak, unable to move, unable to even say “Let me Go!”
I pictured my Taoji standing in front of the bed, watching his third son, degenerating every minute. Expenses mounting, expectations dismounting!
How long could one hold on? How long should one hold on?
What should one hold onto?
A life, that would never be the same again.
To a father of meager means, who struggled to make ends meet for all his 70 years. His life would be heavier with every breath he would take now.
He decided, finally, to let him go.
The Doctors went in; came out a while later, pronounced him DEAD!
All over, was it really?
The Rituals done, life resumed but it weighs heavy in our hearts. In every living family member he left behind. No one spoke much about him. All were back into their lives.
His pleading eyes haunt me with the question “Was there nothing we could do? Could we have done anything else?”
We ask for forgiveness and more.
Relatives assure “We freed him from suffering...”
I think, we only freed ourselves from suffering.
Time and again, I wonder if my Taoji ever recovered from the weight of the decision. Each moment he waited outside the hospital room where the ventilator was gently removed, must have carried in him numb pangs of self-loathing, hurt, betrayal and guilt. He was letting a part of him Go.
It is the deepest moment of letting Go!
A moment never should be revisited!
Yet, life is cruel. It reduces human existence to mere remarks of “the only thing to do”, “free them from suffering”, “God’s will!”.
Passive Euthanasia they say is approved now by the Law of our Land but does it absolve us of this human travesty of deep shame, loathing and Guilt?
It hangs more on them as a forever twang of the sharpest variety on the survivors and the decision-makers.
The Law of the Land absolves but the repercussions stay on, causing deep turmoil during and after the decision is made and executed.
I once again had to look deeply into my husband’s eyes to make another tough yet necessary decision. A decision that would be abiding and questioned too.
My mom had a relapse of Non Hodgkins Lymphoma. This time it was fatal. Chemotherapy at best would prolong her longevity to a few months but bring with it hordes of life hurting miseries to the body.
She blissfully lived in denial that it was “The Disease!” and her days were limited.
She lived in hope of cure. She hung on to her deteriorating body. Desperate to Stay on. Afraid to Let Go.
Someone had to take decisions.
Quality of Life Vs A Little Longer Life.
A mobile and intact body (weak, yes) v/s a bedridden, sore, helpless existence.
To tell her the truth and assist her withdrawal or let her blissfully hope a cure is around the corner.
Her body must have told her but she lived in Denial...
To face your death must not be easy!
To Face your Mother’s death is equally uneasy!
I felt, what my Taoji must have felt years ago.
To sit by the bed of your ailing one. To see someone you saw strong, vibrant and lively, lie like that- helpless and vulnerable, looking for miracles from you. Expecting you to come through and change everything to Normal.
The moment dawns to tell you, no miracle is happening.
Death is slithering towards and you cannot hide your loved one anywhere. You must choose death for them who look to you for life.
A decision of no chemotherapy was arrived at.
I wanted my mother to be in command and control of her bodily functions till she could.
She was till she breathed her last.
I wanted my mother to be in her senses and know who we are and not slip into oblivion.
We lost connect only on her last day.
She was mobile throughout. Met all her relatives, went to all her favourite places, ate her ice creams and drank her juices.
Yet, as a daughter, a decision hung on my head.
To treat her in the hospital or let her go, at home, surrounded by her people.
Doctor left the choice in my hands.
Passive Euthanasia, a deliberate decision to not use life-prolonging medical procedures!
We took it.
Another challenge awaited still on my already weakening will. My mother’s denial, and the clinging to life tendency, although her intake of food was reducing.
I had to suck my breath in and give her the most chilling of verdicts.
“Your illness is progressing mom, there is no more cure, no religion, no medicine, nothing!”
Once when she pleaded “I am unable to take it further, can’t swallow, can’t sleep well!”
I numbed all that I had, to tell her courageously,“Mom, if you cannot, do not. Please let go. Your stay on this Earth is done. Go Mom. Don’t suffer more now!”
In a week’s time after that, she passed away.
Now I live with the unassailable sharp twang of having speeded up her departure.
Did I participate in Active Euthanasia? Should I have let her live with her hope, a few days more?
Should I have chosen chemotherapy and let myself believe, we did everything we could for her?
Did I do the right thing by asking her to detach?
Did I prolong my misery or hers?
Would she in her death have cursed me for being a selfish daughter who did not want her to stay on?
What does a Good Daughter do here?
The Relatives once again say, "SHE IS FREE OF SUFFERING!"
But those who live?
Are they free of suffering?
Passive or Active Euthanasia looks at Right to Die with Dignity!
Rightly so!
No one wishes a loved one's
existence to shrivel to nothingness but in ensuring dignity to them, they earn their own wrath.
They live with a load as huge as tons of weight on their heart.
It is in the centre. An unheard cry that cannot escape, that cannot explain the courage that was so expensive.
Debate of use and misuse of Euthanasia may go on, but when a person inches towards death, he or she does not do it alone.
Someone else too joins the Dignity brigade and dies a hundred deaths- first, contemplating the decision; second, while executing the decision, and years and years later, that Decision
leaves an unhealed vacuum, never to be filled, never to be tilled, never to be killed.
It leaves a question,“Was there something else that I could have done?”
The answer never echoes back...
-By Sonnal Pardiwala
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