werner@aecom.UUCP (Craig Werner) (02/06/86)
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When Jennie Took to Bed
A Piece of My Mind
JAMA, Feb. 7, 1986, 255:650
When Jennie "took to bed" years ago, Uncle Bill and Aunt Jennie were
living comfortably in their South Dakota homestead farm home.
Bill and Jennie were brother and sister. Bill was a farmer and
gentleman. Neither were married. Their parents had emigrated from an area
near Prague in eastern Europe to Dakota territory, where, through sheer
will power and common sence, sickness and injuries were accepted and treated
with patience and prayer.
Jennie accepted with no obvious reservations the responsibility of
raising the orphaned children of her sister, who died while being operated
on for what was apparently a ruptured appendix. One of the girls she
raised was my mother.
Jennie was a beautiful woman of quiet dignity. All who knew her
instinctively accepted her as a person of authority. She had the ability to
analyze problems and make correct decisions in a straightforward way. I
suppose she could be referred to as an aristocrat in the best sense of the
word. Her home was remembered as a place where tea was served in porcelain
cups with dainty cookies. It seemed a haven to all who visited.
At the age of 82, a silent carcinoma of the colon gradually took her
strength. Jennie needed more and more help. One day Uncle Bill came to
talk with my mother. Bill's comment was, "Jennie took to bed."
The family doctor advised Jennie to go to the Mayo clinic but she
said, "No, my family will look after me," and they did. Neighbors and
loved ones came to visit. They brought food and words of comfort.
The doctor left medications for rest and pain.
When it became obvious that the end was near, Jennie consented to
become a patient in our small country hospital. A few weeks later, she
died peacefully in her sleep.
The total cost of her terminal care was a few hundred dollars.
Recently we treated a 72-year-old lady of like temperment with a
similar problem. She was bedridden with multiple tubes and surgical scars.
Chemotherapy had taken her hair and even the slightest movement caused her
to cringe and often scream with pain. Her total medical bills were about
$50,000, and she had nothing to look forward to other than pain and
institutional care. The lady was a person of dignity whom I had known and
admired for many years.
I had arranged for consultation with and transfer to the care of
specialists whom I respect. I did not see her again until she came to our
hospital for continued chemotherapy and tube feeding. Because fo the
mutual respect and friendship that I knew existed between us, I very, very
carefully asked her why she had consented to the continued, obviously
losing battle. She answered, "The doctors at the university said there was
a chance."
She died a few weeks later.
Roscoe E. Dean, MD
Washington Springs, SD
--
Craig Werner
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"Everythings different. Nothings changed. Well, only maybe slightly rearranged."