When my father died last year of cancer it took me some time to fully grasp the manner of his passing and to realise my own culpability in allowing the doctors to destroy whatever dignity death might have allowed him if I had had the courage and the knowledge to stop the torture.
I allowed the doctors to conduct nuclear war on a (clearly) dying 83-year-old man — what they described as “palliative” radiation. In my father’s case, and I believe in the case of many thousands more, such interventions can be a shocking, perverse form of professional “kindness” that is built into the orthodox medical machine that just does not (want to) know when to stop.
The result of their efforts was a death without honour for a man subjected to totally unnecessary radiation that almost immediately sapped the life-spirit from his body and soul, left him broken, unable to consciously bring closure to his life. I estimate the professionals pocketed about R80 000 for their handiwork in those last few weeks. In hindsight, I should have paid them triple just to let my dad die with some dignity.
The reality of all this came into sharp focus this week when I came upon a remarkable piece in the latest New Yorker magazine written by Atal Gwande, a surgeon/journalist (yes, there is such a species) with (literally) inside knowledge and acute insight into the treatment and care of terminal patients.
Kind Regards, Samantha
Please email us for more info on purchasing Advertising Banners, or for Diarising your events on our Website.
www.liferetreat.co.za info@liferetreat.co.za
(087) 1950 629
No comments:
Post a Comment