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The Way We Die Now

This article by Timothy Egan is a real gem. He gets past the “death panel” and “they’re gonna take your Medicaid!” rhetoric and discusses how end-of-life care should really look. And he emphasizes that while many (or even most) people wish to die at home with their pain managed, the current U.S. health care establishment pushes hospitalization and costly life-preserving treatments.

With his mother’s death in 2005, Kitzhaber lived the absurdities of the present system. Medicare would pay hundreds of thousands of dollars for endless hospital procedures and tests but would not pay $18 an hour for a non-hospice care giver to come into Annabel’s home and help her through her final days.

“The fundamental problem is that one percent of the population accounts for 35 percent of health care spending,” he said. “So the big question is not how we pay for health care, but what are we buying.”

While conservatives love to use the rhetoric of “life” to promote their social policies, there isn’t much discussion in the United States about what we do when life is coming to an end. Many of us care for our aging parents and grandparents quietly; we worry about what will happen when we have to make tough decisions for them. When my grandmother was dying, I had long conversations with my mother about what she wants when she gets older; it was painful, but necessary. What was striking about those conversations was her insistence that she didn’t want to be a burden on my sister or I; she also didn’t want to spend the end of her life hooked up to machines or only partially conscious. I told her a hundred times that she would never be a burden, but she knew differently — she had just spent years trying to balance a full-time job with caring for her own elderly mother. Her two sisters also helped out, with one flying up from California regularly; her brother offered money, but not time. My other aging grandparent — my dad’s mom — is in relatively good health but recently had to move in with her daughter, after years of living alone.

That, to me, tells a story which is borne out by statistics: Care work for the elderly is done primarily by women, and health care is a women’s issue.

Female family members often take on a disproportionate amount of the care work for aging relatives. Nursing home employees and hospice workers are disproportionately female. Now that more women are working, middle and upper-class women often have less time to care for elderly relatives than they might have a generation ago; instead of sharing that work with male partners, it gets put on lower-income women who do care work professionally. At the same time, the medical and insurance industries push a version of “care” that emphasizes treatment instead of management, length of life over quality of life, and the political morality of the day over individual patient wishes.

So patients have fewer choices. Hospice and care workers are relegated to the lowest rung of the medical totem pole — underpaid, overworked and undervalued. And taxpayers and families spend exhorbitant sums on medical treatments they may not want, simply for lack of other options.

I also can’t help but see the parallels to childbirth and women’s health care — the medicalization of the birthing and dying processes, the pushing out and under-valuing of in-home (largely female) care-givers, the shrill black-and-white morality of those who wield terms like “life” and “death” as rhetorical swords instead of addressing life, death and the in-between with the respect, nuance and complexity they demand.

How we’re born and how we birth are obvious feminist issues. But it’s time we expand that list to include how we pass on, and how we treat the aging and dying among us.


10 thoughts on The Way We Die Now

  1. “I also can’t help but see the parallels to childbirth and women’s health care — the medicalization of the birthing and dying processes, the pushing out and under-valuing of in-home (largely female) care-givers, the shrill black-and-white morality of those who wield terms like “life” and “death” as rhetorical swords instead of addressing life, death and the in-between with the respect, nuance and complexity they demand.”

    I was thinking just this as I was reading the first few paragraphs of your post, then nodding vehemently when I read this paragraph.

    And I can’t help but think that part of the root problem with both – with medicalization of birthing and dying – is that medical care has come to be regulated by actuaries and lawyers, not by medical evidence. This combined with a cold lack of concern by the public and the medical establishment about women’s bodies produces an intolerable situation for women and a financial burden for the entire country.

    I would really like to see the healthcare reform debate address the way we treat childbirth in this country. So far, I have heard nothing about this as it relates to insurance, healthcare costs, and the recession. The closest I’ve seen are articles about how women are putting off conception due to the economy.

  2. This is fascinating, and it leaves me wodnering about how different people define their quality of life. I’m left thinking about my grandmother, who had three sons and no daughters, and who also had a distinctly hard-nosed look at what’s important in life… chiefly, work and economic success. She had the means, thanks to her three professional sons and her decades of working, to stay on every kind of life support possible until the end, and never asked for anyone to care for her directly. But her quality of life issues raise compelling questions about how we make these decisions. For nearly a decade, she could barely leave her apartment and required oxygen, and she spent her last year bedridden. She was mentally acute, but one could say that her quality of life plummeted dramatically. On the other hand, she had a constant stream of grandchildren coming through to keep her engaged in the world.

    But here’s the thing: my grandmother only bothered fighting through all her illnesses because she had a distinct tenacity for life, and her survival instinct trumped all else. When we talk about people who have titanic medical bills in the last years of their lives, we’re frequently talking about people like my grandmother, who only live to be that old because they don’t accept death at any cost. My grandmother was expensive because she was a Holocaust survivor and hated the idea of dying. Not everyone feels that way.

    But people who hate the idea of dying are worth hanging on to and supporting, and it’s hard not to craft value judgments on these issues– which is better? How much does mental acuity, versus physical ability, play into how we define quality of life? How would my grandmother have felt if she’d had a daughter who felt obligated to bear the physical burden of care, instead of sons who donated money and visited but also worked full schedules and hired nurses to do the manual acts of end-of-life care. One of the things jerkface Tucker Carlson shopped around when he was doing his talking-head schtick about opposing assisted suicide was that in places where it’s legal, the elderly feel some pressure and obligation to not incur those end-of-life expenses and to go peacefully instead of having operation after operation and needing a family member’s care.

    One of the things we seek to avoid is giving people the impression that we want them dead. The woman in the story made a brave choice, but it’s only clearly a brave choice because the system is set up to prolong life– if she’d had the two paths in front of her with equal social support for either decision, her choice might easily have been based on preferring the route of sooner death based on economic and time pressures on her family, instead of her own desire for dignity.

    Is there a way to make these things cost the same? Can we align the incentives of a healthcare system to treat hospice care and refusal of life-extending care the same way that they treat life-saving procedures? Medicare/public funding actually makes this both easier and harder. Easier because there’s no profit-driven insurance company trying to kill you off so you don’t drain funds for procedures, and harder because there’s no counterweight to the pressure from pharmaceutical and medical device companies to keep you buying their products for longer.

    And then once we’ve taken the economic forces out of it, is there a way to be clear about when to respect these decisions, and when to wonder if someone hasn’t made an unfortunate mistake for the wrong reasons?

  3. Agreed, Flash. There are also all kinds of disability-rights issues tied into ideas like “quality of life” (to the point where I was hesitant to use that term, but hopefully the post was clear what I was talking about). I don’t mean to suggest that there should be a unified Quality of Life measure, and that everyone should have to follow it. For women like your grandmother, who want to be kept alive at almost all costs, there should also be choice — she should absolutely have had access to the life-prolonging care she wanted. My emphasis on the cost aspect wasn’t to say, “Way X is cheaper, so let’s do it.” My point was only that, as it stands, options are narrow and pricey, and the end-of-life options that many patients are offered are more expensive and resource-consuming than the option they may actually prefer.

    There are all kinds of difficulties with implementing these changes. As you say, people may change their minds — so conversations about end-of-life care need to be ongoing, and need to address changing circumstances. For example, plenty of people out there say they would never want to live if they had to be on a respirator or in a wheelchair — but when that actually happens, their minds change and they realize that being disabled isn’t the end of the world. We certainly need to be careful with that. And I personally err on the side of keeping people alive when their wishes are unclear; obviously there are limits (like the notorious Terri Schiavo case), but as a general rule, if things are unclear then I think doctors do have an obligation to sustain life, but to balance that with mitigating pain and suffering when there is no hope for survival.

    At the end of the day, life is messy. Death is messy. Humans are messy, complex beings, and there are no easy answers to these questions. I think the best we can do is give the widest array of choices possible, and do the best we can with them.

  4. “When we talk about people who have titanic medical bills in the last years of their lives, we’re frequently talking about people like my grandmother, who only live to be that old because they don’t accept death at any cost.”

    No disrespect to your grandmother, Flash, but that smacks a bit of magical thinking.

    Plenty of people with terminal illnesses are sharp and tenacious and never accept death. The vast majority of them die anyway.

    I get what you were trying to say, and I think most of your comment was a great response to a brilliant post, but every time I see somebody credit Moxie as the new wonderdrug, I am offended. People who succumb to incurable diseases sooner than others are not inherently weaker than your grandmother.

    Dying is not a character flaw.

  5. I’ve had this conversation, with my mother, with my father and with my late grandfather. Mom is a nursing home nurse. She has made her wishes very clear to me and my sister. When my grandfather suffered a stroke, he was kept on machines for a day, only until it was ascertained his organs were unusable (malaria) and he flatlined. He had made it clear he didn’t want machinary and Mom approached it with clear-eyed calm.

    The idea of “quality of life” came home very starkly when watching my mother’s last husband die of cancer. He had turned down another round of chemo because it was too brutal. He died at home, his daughters there, just as he had wanted to. This was only possible because Mom is a nurse and because she’s a bulldog about What Is Right (whether our educations or his death or her own life).

    We have this weird social meme that no one should ever HAVE to die. That it’s unnatural and wrong and can be avoided with diet, exercise and enough medical treatment. This will have to change before the discussions can be held.

    I’m lucky. My family and my husband’s are highly medicalized, nurses and EMTs on every side, so we talk about these things. My mother has seen many passings in her line of work. My brother-in-law performed the last resucitations on his stepdaughter. My mother-in-law is nurse and minister both and has dealt with death in both capacities. They can talk about it.

    On the other hand, my businessman father looked distinctly uncomfortable and changed the subject when my sister and I talked to him about it. (He got with the program after a bout of septic arthritis this year)

    So if anyone reading this has no end of life plans, at any age, make them and talk to your family about them!

  6. Akeeyu, I don’t take your comment personally, but it’s totally off-base, because cancer isn’t the only thing that kills people… and when it does, it’s frequently because they couldn’t endure any more treatment and decided it wasn’t worth it. We’ve all got our thresholds, and being willing to push those thresholds… for how much nausea is worth enduring to get an extra six months, for how much pain you can endure before you need to be put on so much morphine you can’t close your mouth, for whether life is worth living when you’re on a feeding tube… those define how long we live in old age. Knowing exactly what kind of help you need and when to swallow your pride and when to be stubborn are the things that define your ability to live in the infirmity of advanced years… whether to get the knee/hip replacement and deal with rehab, whether to push yourself to go through the rehab. The woman in the NYT story linked above decided that dying in a very particular way was her preference, rather than fighting to live on, whatever the conditions.

    Not to mention the literal my-grandmother-was-in-a-Nazi-work-camp-and-lived kind of moxie, when so many people with her genes and of her age died right then and there out of desperation (i.e. giving up on working, not trying to survive in the camps) instead of living to be in their eighties.

    And look, willpower wasn’t enough past a certain point, but it absolutely had a huge role in getting my grandmother through the decade she spent battling a lung cancer which had nothing to do with smoking and everything to do with having been forced to work with chromium without any protections when she was a teenager. People who are really sick don’t stay sick, they die… unless they have the willpower, or desire to live, to put up with what it is to live as a genuinely sick person.

  7. … Also, at the risk of committing the sin, yet again, of doing the rapid-fire posting thing because I didn’t make sure I was all out of ideas before I hit ‘post’, there… I’m not saying that people who don’t go through all the extra procedures aren’t strong. They’re making different choices about what life’s worth. But that doesn’t mean that strength doesn’t play into some peoples’ longevity, and it also directly means that people who are strong and who place a higher value on continuing to live, whatever the conditions, are the people who incur higher medical costs, because they have the extra surgery, and the extra round of chemo, and the drug that makes them sick but keeps them going. I’m not talking about mystical psychosomatic effects, but conscious decisions.

  8. Flash, did your grandmother die in an ICU? If not, then she’s not the right example. Staying at home with oxygen and home care and medical equipment is not that expensive. Spending one’s last weeks in the ICU with minimal hope of recovery is a much bigger problem, on every level, not just economic.

    No one has the right to define an acceptable quality of life for another person. What I see is that very few clinicians have the skills to assess what their patients consider an acceptable quality of life. Add that to the medicalization you talk about, Jill, and the inability of our culture to discuss death in any meaningful way, along with a system that has huge financial incentives for highly interventional care, and it’s a toxic mix that’s put us where we are now.

    And yes, this is a feminist issue. And a humanist issue.

  9. My maternal grandmother had not much will to live the last years of her life: she had been a widow for over a decade, her friends had died, and though her children came regularly, she just didn’t really feel like it anymore. She lived another five years, and eventually died in her own home. I still miss her every now and again. She was a great person.

    Will to live has relatively little to do with it, I’m afraid. But this is why the notion always kind of rubs me the wrong way.

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