Is Death the Ultimate
Freedom?
Lapius dropped the
magazine section of the Sunday Times to the floor, leaned back, made a small
chapel of his fingers in front of his mouth, and sighed through the digital
arch.
“Triage,” he muttered,
“I thought I had heard that term for the last time after the war was over.”
“Well, there’s always a
war going on,” I said helpfully. “Where does the term crop up this
time? Viet Nam?”
“No, in hospital
practice. The term, French in origin, of course, originated during World
War I when wounded were brought to the aid station. They were divided
into three groups; the first, those who would recover with no assistance, the
second, those who would probably recover with assistance, and third, those who
were destined to die no matter what. Now the term is being applied to
hospitals which are chronically short of emergency space and personnel.
So the beds in intensive or coronary care units must be preserved on a sensible
basis for those whom the units would help the most.”
“It’s always been like
that, Simon. Why lament about it now?” I asked.
“Because heretofore it
has never been given a name.”
“Well, a rose by any
other….”
He cut me off abruptly.
“This isn’t a rose,
Harry, nor is a hospital a rose garden. It is the place where Americans
expect they will be placed by their physician who will do everything humanly
possible to assure their proper care. Once the matter of the life or
death of a patient is ‘institutionalized’ by giving it a name, then the
doctor-patient relationship broadens to incorporate community concerns.
In other words, by Triage, we can make do with the facilities we have, instead
of building more facilities.”
“Well, there are people
who say that would be wasteful,” I said.
“Of course it would be
wasteful. It would waste hospital space and beds; in the meantime it
might save lives,” Lapius said.
“You confuse me,
Simon. One day you are complaining that they called a “doctor heart” and
brought one of your patients back to life and the next, you are complaining
because they want to make choices between those with the best chance of
survival compared to those with the worst chance.”
“Aha, precisely.
It is the word ‘they’ that I object to. Who are ‘they’? The
administration? The nurses? Are the decisions to be spur of the
moment as the catastrophe develops?”
“Can you think of any
alternatives?” I asked.
“Not good ones.
But perhaps, in certain cases, say an 80 year-old patient who at best can only
sit in a chair and gasp for breath – perhaps we should bring the question of
heroic measures up, to be discussed between doctor, patient and family.
Frankly, Harry, if I were to drop dead this minute were I able to get out of
life so easily and painlessly, I’m not sure that I would want to be brought
back - . And I’m fairly healthy. Certainly if my health had failed
in general and suddenly I “died”, I would not want to be resuscitated – with
the risk of possible brain damage at worst, or at best, to return to the life
of an invalid.” Lapius said.
“Well, I guess I’ll put
you in the third group in the Triage
system.”
“Nothing doing. I
don’t want to be triaged. I don’t want an official irrevocable decision
made about my life. I want the process to be reasoned, and reversible if
events so dictate. And if I am awake, I would like to have a voice in the
final decision,” he said.
“Wow. Now I am
really confused. You don’t want to be resuscitated if you drop dead; you
want a voice in the final decision about whether you live or die. What is
it you really want?” I asked.
“I want my death to be a
circumstance of medicine, not an administrative edict. I do not want
crash carts galloping like fire-horses to answer the emergency bell if my heart
suddenly stops.” Then he paused, “Unless of course, I happened to be in
the throes of the first moments of a myocardial infarction.”
“There you go again,
Simon. You keep qualifying the manner in which you will die. You
are inconsistent.”
“I would prefer to leave
the matter up to my doctor.”
“But your doctor isn’t
always around, Simon. Actually you will have to leave it up to the system
in which doctor’s practice.”
“I guess you are right,
Harry, but it is an awful thing to contemplate. Maybe Delbruck was
right.”
“What did he say?” I
asked.
“He said that we must
start to think in terms of educating people to the fine art of suicide, so that
they can manage their own destinies before that freedom is denied them by
disease.” He leaned down and picked up the magazine.
“You know, Simon, I have
long felt that the Times should drop the magazine in favor of a comic section.”