Tuesday, February 07, 2012
  Search

Follow us on ...
Sonya N. Hebert, The Dallas Morning News

At the Edge of Life: Death is a mystery as profound and sacred as birth. Yet, we hide from it in fear. Advances in medical technology have led most people to deny that their and their loved ones' deaths will ever come. There must be some pill, some therapy, to try to delay the inevitable. And so, dying in America has been removed from the realm of the sacred and placed in the antiseptic medical arena.

Dying patients can be kept alive for months, even years, but never cured. Does endlessly battling death begin to diminish life? Is death always the enemy? As journalists, we chose to take an intimate look into the dying experience with the intention of beginning a conversation about death, but more importantly, engaging in a deep reflection on life. How do we die? How do we want to die?

Doctors and nurses in the palliative care movement are pushing for a better way to help people at the edge of life. In this body of work, dying patients at Baylor University Medical Center at Dallas reveal their experiences at the end, giving us a glimpse into this sacred time of life.
Surrounded by family members, Charlie Ribron, 76, takes his last breaths after the ventilator is withdrawn at Baylor University Medical Center at Dallas. Charlie was resuscitated by paramedics and taken to Baylor after he stopped breathing at home. The paramedics didn't know Charlie had gotten a do-not-resuscitate order from his doctors at his last hospital stay just two days earlier at the Dallas VA.
Surrounded by family members, Charlie Ribron, 76, takes his last breaths after the ventilator is withdrawn at Baylor University Medical Center at Dallas. Charlie was resuscitated by paramedics and taken to Baylor after he stopped breathing at home. The paramedics didn't know Charlie had gotten a do-not-resuscitate order from his doctors at his last hospital stay just two days earlier at the Dallas VA.
 Michelle Soto, 44, says she is at peace and is prepared to meet the end of her battle with endometrial cancer. Not very many people get to wrap their life up in a perfect bow. … I don't have time to be very emotional, Michelle said. With the help of family members and the Baylor palliative care team, Michelle gathered strength and focus to deal with her final list of things to do before dying, including reconciling with her daughter, Alexandra.
Michelle Soto, 44, says she is at peace and is prepared to meet the end of her battle with endometrial cancer. "Not very many people get to wrap their life up in a perfect bow. … I don't have time to be very emotional," Michelle said. With the help of family members and the Baylor palliative care team, Michelle gathered strength and focus to deal with her final list of things to do before dying, including reconciling with her daughter, Alexandra.
 Allow your Holy Spirit to come down. … Brush this woman with the wings of angels, Baylor chaplain Marci Pounders (center) says while praying over Michelle, who decided to go home on hospice after a five-year battle with cancer. I don't know how much longer I have to live, Michelle said. I will wake up for the next four or five days and know exactly what I'm doing. And after that, I'm going to decide to do whatever wonderful thing there is to do that day.
"Allow your Holy Spirit to come down. … Brush this woman with the wings of angels," Baylor chaplain Marci Pounders (center) says while praying over Michelle, who decided to go home on hospice after a five-year battle with cancer. "I don't know how much longer I have to live," Michelle said. "I will wake up for the next four or five days and know exactly what I'm doing. And after that, I'm going to decide to do whatever wonderful thing there is to do that day."
I'm dying. I do not feel sorry for myself. It's almost a relief to know where I stand, says Steve Storie, 58, a former Dallas police officer and NCAA football referee. After running out of options for his thyroid cancer, Steve decided to go on hospice and live out his remaining days at his home in Wylie, Texas. While on hospice, Steve experienced a transformation from hope for recovery to peace and acceptance.
"I'm dying. I do not feel sorry for myself. It's almost a relief to know where I stand," says Steve Storie, 58, a former Dallas police officer and NCAA football referee. After running out of options for his thyroid cancer, Steve decided to go on hospice and live out his remaining days at his home in Wylie, Texas. While on hospice, Steve experienced a transformation from hope for recovery to peace and acceptance.
 Miles Hoffman kisses his wife, Christina Hoffman, goodbye through the safety net on her hospital bed during a weekend visit to Baylor. Miles, a mechanic, wasn't able to afford a private nursing home or personal care for Christina, who suffered from Huntington's disease. The nursing homes Christina was eligible for didn't provide a safety net and required her to stay in a bed at floor level. Miles worried that wasn't adequate care for his dying wife.
Miles Hoffman kisses his wife, Christina Hoffman, goodbye through the safety net on her hospital bed during a weekend visit to Baylor. Miles, a mechanic, wasn't able to afford a private nursing home or personal care for Christina, who suffered from Huntington's disease. The nursing homes Christina was eligible for didn't provide a safety net and required her to stay in a bed at floor level. Miles worried that wasn't adequate care for his dying wife.
 Please don't go. Please, baby. I need you, sobs Judy Jackson, pleading with her husband, Bobby, as he struggles to breathe. After weeks of life support, Bobby's doctors decided to wean him off the machines hoping he would begin breathing on his own. Despite doctors' low expectations for his survival, Judy continued her vigil, praying for a miracle. I know he didn't like that tube, she said of the ventilator she authorized weeks before against his wishes.
"Please don't go. Please, baby. I need you," sobs Judy Jackson, pleading with her husband, Bobby, as he struggles to breathe. After weeks of life support, Bobby's doctors decided to wean him off the machines hoping he would begin breathing on his own. Despite doctors' low expectations for his survival, Judy continued her vigil, praying for a miracle. "I know he didn't like that tube," she said of the ventilator she authorized weeks before against his wishes.
Days after Bobby died at Baylor, Judy stands alone in their bedroom holding his pillow tightly, recalling his memory. No more tubes or machines to try to keep him alive, Judy said. I know I didn't want to give up at the hospital. I had to work through it to be able to accept it. I'll see him again one day. And I will survive.
Days after Bobby died at Baylor, Judy stands alone in their bedroom holding his pillow tightly, recalling his memory. "No more tubes or machines to try to keep him alive," Judy said. "I know I didn't want to give up at the hospital. I had to work through it to be able to accept it. I'll see him again one day. And I will survive."
 Hours before death, Doretta Lawrence, 86, is comforted by her daughter, Sherian Smith, who adjusts her oxygen tube. With guidance from doctors, Doretta chose to die at home surrounded by family members. We prepare for college. We prepare for marriage. ... So why can't hospice prepare us for [death]? We should all try to understand how death is really part of life, said Sherian, who slept on the floor by her mother's side.side.
Hours before death, Doretta Lawrence, 86, is comforted by her daughter, Sherian Smith, who adjusts her oxygen tube. With guidance from doctors, Doretta chose to die at home surrounded by family members. "We prepare for college. We prepare for marriage. ... So why can't hospice prepare us for [death]? We should all try to understand how death is really part of life," said Sherian, who slept on the floor by her mother's side.side.
 Dr. Roberto Delacruz consoles Min Patel after the palliative care nurse had to tell two children that their mother was going to die. When you go from one grieving family to another, it's emotionally very challenging, Min said. The Baylor team was driven to challenge what they termed the medical-industrial complex, an intervention-driven system whose default responses could prolong suffering and dying.
Dr. Roberto Delacruz consoles Min Patel after the palliative care nurse had to tell two children that their mother was going to die. "When you go from one grieving family to another, it's emotionally very challenging," Min said. The Baylor team was driven to challenge what they termed "the medical-industrial complex," an intervention-driven system whose default responses could prolong suffering and dying.
Min Patel (center) comforts Suporia Givens, who just learned that her 92-year-old grandmother, Lucinda Flemings, is dying. Min spends much of her time comforting patients and families coming to terms with the realization that the end of life is near. It's a shoulder to cry on. It's a hug. It's a smile. It's sometimes no words at all, said Min, who lost her brother nine years ago. Min said she approaches every Baylor room as if her brother were in the bed.
Min Patel (center) comforts Suporia Givens, who just learned that her 92-year-old grandmother, Lucinda Flemings, is dying. Min spends much of her time comforting patients and families coming to terms with the realization that the end of life is near. "It's a shoulder to cry on. It's a hug. It's a smile. It's sometimes no words at all," said Min, who lost her brother nine years ago. Min said she approaches every Baylor room as if her brother were in the bed.
 Miles Hoffman tenderly embraces his wife, Christina Hoffman, a Baylor patient suffering from Huntington's disease. The palliative care team helped Miles find solutions to meeting Christina's needs as the end of her life drew near. Yet Miles continued to struggle with the knowledge that he was no longer able to take care of her and worried that nursing home care would be inadequate.
Miles Hoffman tenderly embraces his wife, Christina Hoffman, a Baylor patient suffering from Huntington's disease. The palliative care team helped Miles find solutions to meeting Christina's needs as the end of her life drew near. Yet Miles continued to struggle with the knowledge that he was no longer able to take care of her and worried that nursing home care would be inadequate.
 Penni Bourque tells her daughter, Michelle Bourque, that she's too tired to play. Making memories and spending time with her daughter were big priorities for Penni, but her illness sometimes got in the way. There are days I don't want to get out of bed. But I get out of bed because I have an 8-year-old daughter. She needs me, and I need her, said Penni, who had ovarian cancer for more than four years and chose to end treatment and live her final days to the fullest.
Penni Bourque tells her daughter, Michelle Bourque, that she's too tired to play. Making memories and spending time with her daughter were big priorities for Penni, but her illness sometimes got in the way. "There are days I don't want to get out of bed. But I get out of bed because I have an 8-year-old daughter. She needs me, and I need her," said Penni, who had ovarian cancer for more than four years and chose to end treatment and live her final days to the fullest.
David Bourque stands at the ready next to his wife, Penni, to make sure she is comfortable as she nears the end of life. Her journey's almost over now. I don't know when; I just know it is. I'll do the night watch and keep her going as long as I can. At some point, though, she's going to want to let go. And that's all right, David said. I don't think Penni knew that she'd be capable of dealing with this for so long. People are stronger than they think.
David Bourque stands at the ready next to his wife, Penni, to make sure she is comfortable as she nears the end of life. "Her journey's almost over now. I don't know when; I just know it is. I'll do the night watch and keep her going as long as I can. At some point, though, she's going to want to let go. And that's all right," David said. "I don't think Penni knew that she'd be capable of dealing with this for so long. People are stronger than they think."
 Betena Prescott cries with Penni, her daughter, as they share a moment together knowing that the end is close. Although Betena knew for several months that Penni was near death, nothing could prepare her to say goodbye to her only daughter. Maybe it's selfish of me, but I don't want to be sick the whole time, Penni said. I think sometimes it'd just be easier on everybody if I was on my way to heaven.
Betena Prescott cries with Penni, her daughter, as they share a moment together knowing that the end is close. Although Betena knew for several months that Penni was near death, nothing could prepare her to say goodbye to her only daughter. "Maybe it's selfish of me, but I don't want to be sick the whole time," Penni said. "I think sometimes it'd just be easier on everybody if I was on my way to heaven."
 Believing the end is near, Penni Bourque, 44, spends precious moments with her daughter, Michelle, 8. When I die I will always remember to love you, Penni said to Michelle. Despite her worsening condition, Penni found great peace. On the other hand, Michelle had a hard time understanding. I keep on telling her, 'You're not [going to die] unless God's going to tell you that you have to,' Michelle said. I might be angry at him. Because mom wants to see me grow up and have babies.
Believing the end is near, Penni Bourque, 44, spends precious moments with her daughter, Michelle, 8. "When I die I will always remember to love you," Penni said to Michelle. Despite her worsening condition, Penni found great peace. On the other hand, Michelle had a hard time understanding. "I keep on telling her, 'You're not [going to die] unless God's going to tell you that you have to,'" Michelle said. "I might be angry at him. Because mom wants to see me grow up and have babies."
Click on the image to view.
Copyright 2010 by ASNE.org