Palace of Care – Special Request

Photo by Efe Kurnaz on Unsplash

Things keep on changing every day.

Nod.

Do you know what is going on?

Yes, she is getting worse.

Yes, the cancer is getting to be too much for her. It’s made her fall asleep.

Yes, the other doctor told us yesterday.

Do you guys usually go to church?

Yes doctor, but she hasn’t been for a long time because she’s been so sick.

Would you like a priest to come over.?

Yes, doctor, we have arranged for our pastor to come over.

Will he come with church members?

Yes. Doctor, can we please have a bigger room?

I’ll see what we can do. I’ll have to talk to some of my colleagues. I’ll do what I can.

Okay.

The things that have been making her uncomfortable are going to get worse. Her breathing is going to change. She’s going to get more sleepy. She doesn’t have much time left, she is dying.

Yes, Doctor, can we please have a bigger room? We are a big family and there are a lot of us who want to come in. Do you think you can help us doctor, please.

I will get onto it right away. In the meantime I’m going to review all of her medications. We want her as comfortable as possible. She’s had too much pain causing suffering.

Thank you Doctor.

You all take care.

It took a bit of negotiation and flexibility but the patient and family were moved into one of our bigger rooms. This allowed three generations of the family to spend the afternoon together with our patient. She died short hours later in the presence of her family.

Palace of Care – Family Vigil

Photo by Cristofer Maximilian on Unsplash

I know you want to try to be with him the whole time but it is taking its toll on you.

Yes, my sons are worried about me, they don’t want me getting unwell too.

Yes, your husband would be worried about you too. He knows you have been here with him throughout this whole time. He might not be able to respond to you, but he knows you have been looking after him.

That’s what my sons and friends keep telling me too. I just want to be with him as much as possible, I think I can hold on a little longer. I didn’t get much sleep last night. I’m a light sleeper. Every time he made any sound I woke up.

Yes, you’ve been looking after him well but you look exhausted.

When his breathing changed last night I really thought he was about to die. I called my son in and he stayed with us. Then the breathing settled down and I told our son to go home and sleep as he had to work the next day. He went home at 2am. My other son is going to come back tonight.

That’s a good idea, to take it in turns. Your sons are looking after both of their parents. They can spend some time with their Dad too. If we see any signs that he is about to die we’ll call you back in, we always try our best to do so. Sometimes we don’t get any warning, but we’ll keep looking for signs.

Okay, it’s good that you will call.

Some people do wait until there is no-one left in the room before they go. That’s what happened with my Aunty. Our whole family made sure that she was never alone in the last two days of her life. She was only alone for five minutes when my other Aunty went to the toilet and that’s when she died. She was still trying to look after us all. I’ve seen it happen with so many families over the years. He knows that you’ve been with him all this time, deep in his heart he knows you’ve looked after him well. If you don’t enough rest he’ll be worried.

I’ll talk about it with my older son when he comes in later. He said he would stay tonight.

Okay, you try and get some rest.

In the early hours of the next morning our patient’s sons called the nurses in when they couldn’t hear their father’s breathing. The nurse confirmed that our patient had died. His wife wasn’t able to be with him at the time of death but she was picked up by her son and came in to help change him into his selected clothes.

Palace of Care – It’s Not Fair

Photo by Nuno Alberto on Unsplash

Awww Dad it’s not fair.

What son?

Nanny.

That Nanny died?

No.

What’s not fair?

The doctors.

The doctors?

The doctors. They spended more time with Nanny than I did.

Spent more time.

She stayed with them for ages at that hospice place. We had to go home every night.

You liked it there, your cousins were there too.

Yeah but they made Nanny tired, she kept on sleeping. She didn’t play with us like she used to.

You guys always had a good time with Nanny, eh?

Yeah, I miss playing with Nanny. Can she come home with us?

Yeah buddy, for a couple of days, so we can say goodbye properly.

Yay, Nanny’s coming to stay.

Palace of Care – Out of Character

Photo by Kelly Sikkema on Unsplash

He’s been telling me off, he’s never done that to me before in all of our time together. He was grumpy and demanding. He wanted to get up and wanted me to lift him up. I can’t do that I’d hurt my back, he’s too heavy. I’m worried he’s going to fall over. He just won’t listen to reason.

Yes, I’ve noticed a big change. He was joking with us just the other day, now I can’t connect with him at all. I want you to know that he is talking strangely and it is out of his control. I don’t want you to take what he says to heart. It’s the illness talking not him.

Is it the medication change from yesterday?

I don’t think so. I think it probably is his cancer getting worse and making his liver fail. We’ll change his medication to see if it will make a difference, but it might not improve his condition.

A doctor friend told us that when people get closer to dying they become confused. Is that what is happening?

Yes, your friend is correct, that is something we see in our patients as they get closer to dying.

How long do you think he has left? Weeks?

I think he might at most have weeks. With the changes we’ve seen so far I would guess he only had days to weeks left to live. Things can change much faster as we approach the finishing line. He might have much less time than weeks left.

Our older son is taking me to the funeral director to make arrangements. My younger son is coming over but I’m not sure if he can handle looking after Dad. I’ve asked a nurse friend to come over to support my son.

That’s a good idea. I’m going to change your husband’s medications now, to see if we can get him thinking more clearly. His thinking may or may not clear up, no matter what happens.

Palace of Care – Mystery to Solve

Photo by Hansjörg Keller on Unsplash

I was in my office and I heard the sound of people crying including children. I wasn’t sure which direction it came from, was it in front of me or behind me? The young mother or the older mother? Or was it the grandmother? Three ladies who were all dying in our hospice, had all outlived their prognoses. Prognostication is our best attempt at an educated guess, we are often wrong. That was the case with our three ladies, they were holding on, doing things in their own time. Who had just died?

Listening more closely, there seemed to be many different cries. This ruled out the grandmother who did not have a large family. The other two families were larger. Was it the mother of two or the mother of five? Both patients and their families had spent the last months in and out of our hospice inpatient unit. Both families had initially resisted coming into hospice due to fear of the unknown. After spending weeks with us both families had also been nervous and reluctant about taking their loved one home. They had become scared of leaving a place where they felt safe. Both ladies had successfully made it back home and had spent long periods at home.

When each lady returned it had been in similar circumstances, a deterioration in overall condition, with confusion and agitation prominent. Husbands were stressed out, as they had to take over the running of their homes. Their wives had previously run their households, now the husbands had to take over and they found the job to be harder than going to work. So much to do in so little time, dropping off the kids at their schools and picking them up afterwards. Household chores wouldn’t take care of themselves. They wanted to give it a go before evaluating the need for home support.

I was still unsure, I would have to venture out of my office to get more information.

Palace of Care – Guidance

Photo by Thijs Schouten on Unsplash

“This will be a challenge,” was my first impression when I first met the son. His eyes were on the brim of tears, his gritted teeth, I could see he was having a hard time. Our staff had told me that our patient, the mother, had deteriorated steadily during her short admission. Ongoing changes over days meant at the most only days left to live. The staff had also told me that the family were keen on our patient having further treatment for her cancer. They had been trying to feed her more as they believed that if she ate more she would be able to fight her cancer more. She had come in because of worsening nausea and appetite. They were so intent on her getting treatment, that there was a huge mismatch between their goals and our patient’s reality.

As I walked into the room and saw our patient for the first time I thought she looked terrible. Like she she could die at any time. There was a lot of distress in the room. The husband was crying disconsolately while holding her hands. The children and their spouses witnessed this in distress. The gathered grandchildren amplified the distress of the two elder generations. The room went quiet as I examined our patient. Weak thready pulse, hands and feet becoming cooler to touch. She didn’t respond to my voice or when I examined her. Her ragged, wet-sounding breaths were made louder by the intense silence of the room. It was as if everyone was holding their breath, myself included. I finished my examination and took my time coming to a diagnosis. I asked if I could sit down on the spare bed before I addressed the whole family.

“I’m worried about your mother. I think she is getting worse. I think her time is getting shorter, and she doesn’t have long to live.” Tears and sobbing around the room. Nodding indicated surprisingly dawning acceptance. “I know that you wanted your mother to have more treatments. I think if she had chemotherapy it would not make things better, but would make her feel worse, and might shorten her time even more.” “I’m sorry, I wish we could do more for her. The best we can do is to keep her comfortable, to calm down her distress.

They handled the bad news well, “please keep her comfortable.”

I was asked by a colleague why the family couldn’t let her go and wanted her to keep on going with treatments. I replied, “It’s because they love her so much. They just don’t want to lose her. Up until two months ago, she had been well, and then she wasn’t. Now she’s dying.”

The counsellor stayed behind to support the family. She arranged for the husband to have some private time with his wife. He said to her, “I’m going to be okay, I will be looked after by our children and grandchildren. I love you. Do what you need to my dear.”

She died 60 minutes later.

Palace of Care – Noisy Neighbour

Photo by Ben White on Unsplash

Her room is across the corridor from my office, the big family room in our inpatient unit. I keep my door open to allow the air conditioning in on hot summer days like today. The temperature is not high compared to a lot of areas but the humidity level makes everything feel much hotter. I am sensitive to sound and noise which is why I usually keep my door closed as I become easily distracted. From the room opposite to mine many waves have vibrated through the airspace between us leading to electrical stimulation of some of my nerves and registering as different activities.

I have heard laughter at least 20 times. There has been a constant hubbub of active conversation in the background, I cannot discern what words or even what language is being used but I can tell from the tone how connected the people in the room are. I have heard the cries of a little baby. There are toddlers talking to their uncles, aunties and grandparents. Older cousins are hanging out with each other during an unexpected day away from school. Was that  guitar I heard just before? I haven’t heard them sing yet, but I am sure they will at some stage. I have heard new visitors being greeted enthusiastically, the sound of people hugging with many kisses to cheeks. A lot of people have brought food.

I am the most distracted in the hour before lunchtime. Over the last two years of intermittent fasting, 11 am is one hour before I break my fast. From my neighbour’s room I can hear and sometimes smell  people sharing food with each other. A shared family meal can be a difficult logistical exercise in the adult life of New Zealanders. Where to meet, how to meet, when to meet, what kind of food to bring? All of these questions require answers and solid plans in order to make things happen. From my position it sounds like my neighbours are having a good time. The warmth in the room is not just the ambient temperature but it represents the shared feelings of love. The people have gathered because their loved one has needed them.

My patient is dying  and there is nothing we can do  to stop it. We have tried over the past week. We stopped medications that were no longer helping. We hoped her deterioration was due to medication side effect but it wasn’t. Was it a reactive depression to the bad news she received two weeks ago? We started her on a fast-acting antidepressant  but it made no difference. Last week I said hello but she didn’t answer me.  The dullness in her eyes told me everything . Time would be short. She was not going to make it home ever again, her family would have to bring a bit of home  into her hospice room. I can hear upbeat music being played in the language of her family’s place of origin.  Now it’s Josh Groban’s You Raised Me Up.                                                                                       
“I am strong, when I am on your shoulders…”

Even after working 16 years full-time in palliative care the stark contrast still hits me. My patient is dying in her room but she is surrounded by so much life. Her little baby, who is vocalising a lot, is in there with a lot of the people who will be bringing her up after her mother dies. Another tragic case but life will go on, another case where we have made a difference.

Palace of Care – Operational Success?

Photo by Edu Lauton on Unsplash

Our patient was reviewed by the surgeon in our inpatient unit. It was kind of the doctor to see him at our hospice. Our patient and his wife were able to discuss everything with the surgeon and he left them to think about the proposed operation. They talked about this with a number of our staff and then discussed it with me. We went through all the possible benefits and risks and we decided together that they would like to try the operation.

The operation would involve removing a specific part of the spinal cord in order to disrupt the nerve pain from being transmitted.

The operation went as planned and our patient recovered well from it.

We were expecting him to come back to our inpatient unit for a period of rehabilitation but he was good enough to go directly home.

The operation had successfully controlled his nerve pain, and we could reduce his medications a lot.

He was well enough to go to his holiday home for some weeks in the summer, something he had thought he’d never be able to do again.

Physically his pain was well controlled but the non-physical aspects of his pain remained. The existential and emotional distress were not improved at all, in fact they might have worsened. A common side effect of the pain relief medications he had used was drowsiness. Now that he didn’t need as much physical pain medication he was less sleepy, and had more time to think. More time to think about the grimness of his reality.

Unfortunately our proud patient had refused all input from mental health services or counselling. The idea of talking to people about his feelings was an alien concept for this self-described working class man. He just couldn’t discuss these things with anyone, it was a step that would always be too far for him to ever take.

I was called by the staff of the local hospice which covered the area where his holiday house was. They had been asked to call me for my opinion on what they should do in regards to further treatments of life-threatening infection. Knowing the man as well as I did, I didn’t think further treatments would be helpful. He was miserable and staying alive longer to be more miserable would not help him and would only prolong his suffering.

Psychologically he continued to shut down and withdrew from the world. He died at home after being well looked after by his devoted wife with the assistance of our visiting staff members.

Palace of Care – Desperation

Photo by Julien L on Unsplash


After a week with us things had settled down. Pain was better controlled with more effective medications. His skin was well on its way to healing. Our patient had become bored, and had been watching more online streamed content to pass his days. A joint decision was made between our patient, his wife and our staff. He would be discharged home with extra home supports arranged. His wife was confident that she would be able to handle things at home. Our community hospice nursing team would restart his home visits. Over the next weeks small adjustments were required for his medications otherwise everything else was controlled.

Two months later and the nerve pain which had shot down his legs, intensified. Side effects of his medications became a problem at higher doses. We needed to try something different. He was re-admitted to our inpatient unit for symptom control. We increased his doses with only mild pain reduction but a marked increase in side effects. He lost his lucidity, drifting in and out of sense. This distressed him more than the pain did. For someone who had prided himself on his intellect, losing access to it even briefly was one of the worst of his fears made real. To be unclear in his thinking was torturous, what he was most afraid of. Not being able to understand or communicate he felt trapped in the prison of his body.

We had to come up with something different. We consulted our colleagues across the region including pain specialists and neurosurgeons. An operation was proposed, and preparations were made. No guarantee of success. We felt almost as nervous as he and his wife did but we had to do something.

Palace of Care – Alien State

Photo by ennif pendahl on Unsplash

He had always been active. Busy at work, busy at home. He and his brother had emigrated from Europe over 50 years ago. They came to seek a new life in New Zealand. They both married local women and raised families. Both of them had remained active in their elderly years, especially our patient. He spent a lot of time in his garden when he wasn’t playing soccer with his grandchildren. He did not handle being sick well.

The constant fatigue troubled him the most. Not being able to do what he loved. It was as if the weeds could tell they were safer with him less active. They quickly took over the garden. His lawn had dandelions growing in it for the first time, they usually did not survive long enough to flower. The lawn was where he would play soccer with the grandkids. He wasn’t able to play any more and the ball would’ve been slowed down by the wild chaotic weeds. He could not get used to his new situation – inactivity.

He hated being unable to do what he wanted. Being forced to sit down after the shortest of walks made him feel useless. The indignity of having to be pushed around in a wheelchair was the worst. He thought everyone was staring at the old man in the wheelchair. Old and frail was how he felt, words he thought would never be associated with him. He didn’t want to live if he couldn’t be independent. Back in Europe, he would not have to go through this torment. If he was a citizen there he could request assisted dying, but New Zealand’s law change was still many years away.

The hospice staff had given him more bad news. They thought he was too frail to live at home. It was recommended that he be admitted into residential care. Away from his wife and his house. Living with a whole bunch of elderly strangers to him meant a severe loss of privacy. It would also cost a lot of his hard-earned money. All the sacrifices he had made to save money, buy his house, raise his children, and spoil his grandchildren. Cheese and onion sandwiches for lunch every day at work for forty years. He could not take it any longer. He had always been what he called determined, and what his wife and brother called stubborn. He knew what he had to do before things got even worse. His family would understand. Eventually.