In another thread, RfM poster "ConcernedCitizen" asks:

"Is there something odd about the role of LDS Hospital (now Intermountain Healthcare) in all of these 'end of life scenarios?' It was weird enough when Harold B. Lee took the gas pipe over there--or is still a 'respected medical institution?'"

("Re: The fedora was positioned in such a way as to hide," by "ConcernedCitzen," on "Recovery from Mormonism" discussion board, 12 January 2015, at: http://exmormon.org/phorum/read.php?2,1483079,1483248#msg-1483248)


I can tell you how my paternal grandmother died in-hospital. To to her doctor's credit, he gently tried (but failed) to persuade the Benson family to let her go as Nature intended.
_____


--"Sister Benson is Trying to Die:" Decisions and Denial--The Passing of My Grandmother, Flora Smith Amussen Benson--

Sometimes I wonder why we inadvertantly cause so much needless pain and suffering to the ones we love when their physical bodies are crying out to die.

Of course, it is understandable that we often desperately, and devotedly, intervene in an effort to delay the march of death for those whom we dearly love. We are, to be sure, distraught when thinking of our own lives robbed of the companionship and presence of a beloved family member whose departure we cannot even begin to imagine. Understandably, we may believe that these special people in our lives themselves wish to remain with us as long as they possibly can and do not wish to die. We may believe that they would want to receive whatever extraordinary medical treatment necessary to keep their failing bodies alive for as long as humanly possible. We may believe that we owe them nothing less. But, ultimately, why may we believe this? Is it because losing our loved ones makes us terribly, personally sad and we may have convinced ourselves that this is what they want for themselves?

These were some of the questions confronting me during the last days of the life of my grandmother--Flora Smith Amussen Benson, wife of Ezra Taft Benson.

Before she died in 1992, she had been in declining health for some time. Crippled by cataracts, her body shrunken into a fetal position, my grandmother could barely move or communicate. Fortunately, through it all, she was cared for round-the-clock by a devoted medical staff and attended to by a loving family. But she was in great pain.

As a family, we would regularly visit her in her Church-owned apartment, where she was permanently confined to a hospital-style bed. I remember standing, with others, by her bedside, stroking her hair, caressing her hand and speaking softly to her. More often than not, she did not, and could not, respond. At times she would attempt to turn her neck, looking up from her pillow in our direction through permanently fogged eyes. As her children and grandchildren, we would attempt to keep the atmosphere pleasant (at least for us), including having our pictures taken with her. We would stand next to her, smiling and talking, while she laid there, silent and unmoving.

Over time, however, I became increasingly uneasy, feeling out of place even, in such a surreal setting. My grandmother was dying and I sensed that such activity—however well-intentioned—lacked the necessary reality, and dignity, given my grandmother's declining condition.

My grandmother died on August 14, 1992, at the age of 91, in her Salt Lake City apartment, of what was reported in the press as “natural causes.”

A few weeks after her death, on September 6th, I had a phone conversation with my parents about the circumstances surrounding her passing.

I was personally troubled by how my grandmother had died, believing that her pain and her death had been unnecessarily prolonged. I had seen her suffering during home care and in the hospital. I had heard her moan in pain. I knew that members of my family sincerely believed they were doing what was best for her but I could not shake the uncomfortable feeling that her life had been inappropriately and artificially extended, in a futile fight against the steadily-slowing tick of the natural clock within.

So strongly did I feel about this that during the phone conversation with my parents, I took detailed notes. I was trying to understand what had taken place leading up to my grandmother's passing and how it had happened. I wanted to hear about it from those in my family who had intimately cared for and loved her. (My father, Mark Amussen Benson, was her second child). I also wanted to know how my grandfather was faring through it all.

My parents informed me that, in the wake of her death, he had become “physically a little weaker.” They told me that “Grandma’s health was a worry to him” but, with her passing, he had “reassurance that she’s doing well” on the other side. In fact, “her death,” my parents said, “was some relief” to him.
“She wasn’t doing well the last year,” they acknowledged, and that fact was of “some worry to Grandpa.” Now, my parents told me, “Heavenly Father has taken her home.” With the passing of his companion, they said “comfort“ for my grandfather “comes from the Lord and the Holy Ghost.” They told me that since her passing, my grandfather “sees some things we don’t see.” They said that he “looks at the ceiling” and “maybe has had a vision of Flora.”

They further informed me that, by now, my grandfather was “moving on,” that it was “not good to dwell on it” (meaning her death). They said that thinking about her passing was “too much” for him, even though there would be “more photographs [of her] in the Deseret News.” In order to get his mind off of it, my mother said that they planned to “take him tomorrow to see the [autumn] leaves.”

As I read over my notes, I remembered back to the night, just a few months before my grandmother passed away, when our family received urgent word that she might be dying and that we were all to gather as quickly as possible at the hospital in Salt Lake City for what could be her final hours. We all rushed to the emergency room.

My grandmother was brought into the hospital and placed on a gurney. I, along with my father, was at her side as she was quickly moved down the hallway. My father looked down at his mother and said, “I'm here, Mom. We love you.” She looked up through clouded, darkened eyes and said feebly, “Mark, it hurts.”

Our family was ushered into a crowded waiting room off the main emergency area. Present were several of my grandmother’s children and grandchildren, as well as a few hospital personnel. Her attending physician entered the room to inform us of my grandmother’s situation. His demeanor was calm, but serious. His message, at least to me, was crystal clear.

I remember his exact words as he spoke to anxious, emotional family members gathered in the small, crowded room that night. They were gentle words, but firm:

“Sister Benson,” he said quietly as he looked steadily around the room, “is trying to die.”

I listened carefully to his assessment, while at the same time glancing at the faces of my family, trying to judge their reaction. What the doctor was telling them didn’t appear to be sinking in.

He continued, patiently and deliberately:

“If she was my mother, I would let her go. We can give her antibiotics. That will bring her back somewhat, but she will never be the same as she was before. She will continue to decline. We can keep her comfortable with pain-killers.”

My father, expressing a common sentiment felt in the room, said that “she knows we’re here and that gives her comfort.”

I understood their pain. I was feeling it, too. But that did not erase reality. I tried in my own outnumbered way to help the doctor get his point across to the members of my family. When he would make a statement about my grandmother’s condition, I would repeat what he said back to him, loud enough for everyone else to hear, then would ask questions of him:

“So, you’re saying, doctor, that she won’t get better? You’re telling us that she is dying?”

But it was useless.

I could tell from the physician’s expression that he knew his efforts to help our family comprehend the inevitable had been futile. He would do as my family wished and administer the drugs. With that, he politely excused himself from the room.

“Sister Benson is trying to die.”

I have in front of me a photocopy of my grandmother’s “Certificate of Death,” issued by the “State of Utah, Department of Health.” It reads, in part, as follows (all items noted below are matters of public record):

"NAME OF DECEDENT: Flora Smith Amussen BENSON

"SEX: Female

"DATE OF DEATH: AUG. 14, 1992

"TIME OF DEATH: 2330

DATE OF BIRTH: JULY 1, 1901

"AGE (last birthday): 91

"BIRTHPLACE: Logan, Utah

"CITY, TOWN OR LOCATION OF DEATH: Salt Lake City, Utah

"SURVIVING SPOUSE: Ezra Taft Benson

"MARITAL STATUS: Married

"DECEDENT’S USUAL OCCUPATION: (Homemaker)

"KIND OF BUSINESS OR INDUSTRY: - - -

"RACE: White

"EDUCATION (Specify only highest grade completed) Elementary or Secondary (0-12) College (13-16 or 17+): 15

"PART 1. IMMEDIATE CAUSE OF DEATH:

"Cardiovascular Collapse Approximate Interval Between Onset and Death: 2 days

"Generalized arthrosclerosis with multiple cerebral thrombic Approximate Interval Between Onset and Death: 20 years

"PART 2. Other Significant Conditions contributing to death but not resulting in the underlying cause given in Part 1:

"Hypertensions, Multiple cardiovascular events

"MANNER OF DEATH: Natural"



Edited 2 time(s). Last edit at 01/12/2015 04:37PM by steve benson.

Thanks for sharing that personal anguish, Steve.

I had a similar experience last year, when my grandmother fell and broke her hip badly, just a couple of weeks shy of her 102nd birthday. She was in great pain, surgery was not an option because she was too weak, and she was mostly unconscious. I went to Utah as fast as I could to say goodbye, but she had already passed into nearly total unconsciousness before I arrived, and I'm not sure she knew I was there.

The TBM family members were constantly urging doctors to take any and all extreme life-saving measures necessary. I was nearly the only one advocating letting her go, just mitigating her pain as much as possible. Doctors said that without life-support assistance, she would die within a day -- but TBM family members refused to "un-hook" her. When we all should have been celebrating the life she had led, we wound up arguing about trying to force her to live for a few more weeks. It was awful.

I wonder if such acts are an expression of their actual doubt -- that they don't really believe all the afterlife stuff, they are scared none of it's real, and the "comfort" their religion is supposed to give them in reality fails miserably?
As the only atheist, it seemed odd to me that I was the only one concerned about her suffering and willing to let go, even with no expectation of any magical afterlife...

Ya think?

Thank you Steve for sharing your compassionate reminisces of a sensitive and tender moment.

I know I'll never forget you and your family's kindness to my sister and me when we lost our 96 year old Mom back in 02.

As a newbie on the board, the condolences from everyone on RfM back then was especially a source of great comfort.

I see this all too often in the job I do, medical transcription. It isn't just Mormons who try to prolong life as long as they can, but it does make me wonder WHY Mormons aren't ready to go.

My parents went quickly and easily compared to many elderly people I see or read about. All my aunts and uncles lingered for FOREVER in nursing homes. My mother and father both went quickly. They were pretty much functional right up to the very end, lucid, etc. Both of them died without a bedside vigil. It was really eye-opening to me that you can actually die the way they did.

I was privileged to be with both my parents when they died. In both cases their doctor a TBM but also a decent kind human being, asked if it was time...and we said yes, and we knew it was and had said our goodbyes and Mom and then Dad passed away...in peace.

Ron Burr

Two close family members are health care professionals in hospitals. I have heard then both say that they have observed that the people that seem to have the hardest time accepting medical advice that a person is in the process of dying and that heroic measures such as cpr will only prolong their suffering are religious people.

It seems ironic that people that actually believe in an afterlife are most afraid of it.

I am a physician and see this often. Faith in God does not seem to have anything to do with it. The people who are most outwardly religious are just as likely as others to ask us to delay as long as possible the patient's return to God. What is most frustrating to me are families who insist that "everything be done" over the phone from 2 states away even though no one has visited at the hospital or the nursing home, and the patient wouldn't know even if they did. In a situation like your grandmothers, with a loving family that is present at the bedside, I can tell you that I would respect whatever is asked for. There really is no right or wrong answer.

. . . I could also tell that he disagreed with it.

If you don't mind, could I ask you how your grandmother was receiving nutrition?
Without food or water people don't usually last too long.

My dad waited until no one was in his room to die. I think he wanted to do it quietly by himself. I can understand that.

I have heard rumors of a special suite of critical care rooms at the old LDS hospital in the avenues just for the general authorities. Supposedly it has a secret access and the general public is not suppose to know about it. Do you know if this is true?

My lifelong best friend - who passed away on January 4th from MS - had told me ages ago that she had "DO NOT RESUSCITATE" all over her medical records. In her final months, she was miserable, in pain, and wanted to die.

A couple of weeks before Christmas, she was at dinner in the assisted living home. She suddenly slumped, unconscious and not breathing. At first, they thought she had chocked and tried the Heimlich maneuver. Didn't work - her airway was clear. So they "ambu-bagged" her and rushed her to Intensive Care, where they intubated her. They found that the problem was a clot or something in one lung. They kept her sedated and intubated for several days, and then gradually weaned her off the intubation.

Her son told me about this, and the way he told it was SO typical of my feisty friend. As she woke up out of the drug-induced coma, and was told what had happened, she responded with "What part of DO NOT RESUSCITATE do you people not understand???" My heart was breaking with impending loss but this made me laugh. She told it like it was! SO very typical.

After that, they let Nature take its course, and she slipped back into a coma and hopefully did not suffer any more.

I miss her every day, but I am so grateful that she is free of that pain-wracked, non-functional body now.

I wonder, cynically, how many thousands of dollars the hospital charged for those last days that she absolutely did not want.

My older daughter, who is a nurse, says that there are all sorts of shades of legality to consider, even if you write "DNR" in huge red letters all over your chart. I can't help but think that the hospitals want to wring every dollar of profit that they can by keeping people alive far longer than the people themselves want. It's sad.

I've considered having DNR tattooed on the left side of my chest. That way, there could be no question.

They would say that anyone who had "DNR" tattooed on their chest was obviously behaving irrationally, and therefore, the instructions could be disregarded.

Mormon rationale has more twists and turns than a Mobius strip. (Sorry, I don't know how to do an umlaut on my computer.)

It's not just Mormons that have a hard time letting someone die, it's also the case in my dad's Catholic family, as my grandpa had to be taken off life support, and they basically made an appointment to do so. In the end, only my mom and one aunt through marriage was in the room when he died. More recently, my grandma lingered for a long time in both home hospice and the hospital where she finally died. I only say finally in that she had been trying to die for a few weeks, so people keeping her alive was only delaying the inevitable. To me, it seems like Mormons and Catholics who claim to believe in an afterlife, are so afraid of letting their loved ones go there.



Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 01/13/2015 02:54PM by adoylelb.

Edited 1 time(s). Last edit at 01/14/2015 04:48PM by steve benson.

I hate this stuff so much.

We went through something similar when my agnostic FIL died a couple of years ago. FIL had been a physician, did not want extraordinary measures taken and at the end was screaming to be allowed to die. My very catholic BIL, also a physician, did everything to go against FIL's wishes, and keep him suffering for as long as possible.

BIL also disregarded FIL's wish for a no frills, quick burial, instead guilting my MIL into a big, religious deal that FIL would have hated.

MIL is now declining, and BIL will pull the same crap.

Thank you for sharing.

My dear husband suffered a massive brain bleed 21 months ago. He survived brain surgery and was growing stronger every day. But, an MRI showed he had 80-90% brain damage in his brain stem. The brain stem controls your primal bodily functions, like breathing. Although his physical body was strong, his brain was gone so I took him off life support. It was the most difficult decision that I ever made. He was young, 57. He has healthy and had worked the day before. I just could not see him living out the rest of his days in a convalescent home just laying there not knowing who or where he was...So I let him go. He did live on, though. He was an organ donor and has helped 89 people to date.

I am well aware that many are not able to do what I did. I do have guilt sometimes when I read about people who defy medical prognosis's. Although, Glenn made it easy for me because we had talked about this and he made his wishes known to me.

In any case, I didn't mean to ramble on. Just wanted you to know I get it!