Tag Archives: suffering

Palace of Care – Mixed vs. Clear Messages

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Photo by Darius Bashar on Unsplash

I was worried he would die before the day was over. When I first met him he was hunched over in bed, his jaw clenched tight, his upper teeth were grinding into his lower teeth. His breaths short ragged grasps. In extremis, with tears dripping onto the tousled folds of the bedclothes. His family’s faces replaced by masks of terror. The tension in the room was thick, the silence as we all held our breath as the patient grunted in agony. His wet eyes begged me to help him.

“Your pain relief isn’t strong enough. I’ll make some changes to get you more comfortable. I’m very worried about you. You might get much worse. Let’s work on your pain first.”

I headed off to prescribe the higher doses and to ask the nurses to prepare them for our patient. He was another classic haematology patient. His discharge summary had recounted the breaking of bad news the day before. There were no further treatments available to stop the blood cancer. The team recommended no further transfusions as they would not be helpful. The next morning the standard blood tests had been repeated, and no surprise, all the blood counts were low, including a platelet count below 10. This meant the patient was at risk of spontaneous bleeds. The medical teams reaction, was to prescribe a platelet transfusion. The hospice doctors who read the notes were confused by this action. How did the patient and his family feel? The day before they had been told no further transfusions, and then less than 24 hours later, he was being transfused.

Over the weekend we managed to control his pain and he spent some time with his family. The highlight was a visit from his children before they went away for a long weekend trip. I was surprised that his weekend went well. He spent more time with his parents and siblings and other family. He asked our staff what was going on, as he was unsure what the treatment plan was.

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Palace of Care – Sold

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The patient didn’t want to let go. Their loved ones couldn’t let go either. They all knew what was happening. The patient was dying. The loved ones were crying. The clinicians listened and were guided by what the patient and their family wanted. It was difficult to let them have their way, but it was important for them to exert the only control they had on the situation.

As Palliative Care clinicians we are trained to be compassionate, to want to do something to try to ease another’s suffering. It’s terrible knowing you can make someone more comfortable but you are not allowed to act. It can make you feel powerless and useless. Possibly what the patient and their family have felt throughout their illness experience.

I arrived in the morning and I looked at the little table in our waiting area. I was hoping there would be a candle lit, indicating the death of a patient. There was no candle. The nurses reported that our patient had a rough night. No sleep with lots of distress, the family also distressed and sleepless.

On examination, I saw distress, confusion, discomfort and terror writ large in the patient’s eyes. They seemed to stare through us, into another plane of existence. Concern was etched into the tear-lined faces of the gathered family. They asked to speak to our team in a few minutes time. Their night shift needed to check in with their morning shift.

“I’m sorry but we just wanted to spend as much time as possible with them.”

“There’s no need to apologise, we understand, and you don’t need to explain. You were trying to do your best to hold on to each other. I’m sorry things keep on changing.”

“Please do what you need to. Too much suffering. We can’t bear it.”

“Do you trust us?”

“Yes, please make them comfortable.”

“We’ll start some medications to calm things down, to decrease the distress. We’ll come back in four hours time to check for effect. If it hasn’t worked we will adjust the doses. They’re likely to become sleepy because they are exhausted and haven’t slept for days. They might not be able to wake up again.”

“How much time is left?”

“It might be days at the most, but it is likely much, much shorter. They’re too unwell and could die at anytime. We’re going to get you all through this.”

My team prescribed the medications and I took them for a quick break.

Later in the day, everyone sighed in relief after the last breath was taken.

One of the toughest cases in my fifteen years of full-time Palliative Care.

Palace of Care – You Son of an Itch

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My patient had been itchy for months. This symptom preceded their cancer diagnosis. Widespread cancer to multiple organs and bones. Normal kidney function, slightly deranged liver function tests. Troubled by pain and nausea but these had been brought under control with medications in a syringe driver. It was the itch which caused the most suffering. Constant irritation of the skin, led to multiple skin wounds. The patient’s finger nails had dried up blood accumulated under each nail. Sleep had been broken by itch. Being in bed under sheets and blankets led to heating up and worsened itch.

On examination the patient’s skin was covered in scratch marks with many healing scabs all over the body. No limb was spared, back and front were no different. Nose was scratched, as was forehead, as was chin. Watching the patient scratching made everyone in the room feel itchy as well. What could we do? In hospital they had already tried many treatments with no success. The patient was exhausted but couldn’t relax to sleep because of the itch.

I ended up throwing the medication book at them Moisturising anti-itch creams with added Menthol were ordered in. I wanted to cover any nerve-related component of itch with increased nerve pain relief medication, Pregabalin. They were already on H1-Histamine blockers. Covering the other H2- Histamine receptor might be helpful. The patient and their family were keen to try anything on offer. Mirtazapine was started to help with the itch and hopefully a better nights sleep as a side-effect.

The next morning my patient was reported to have slept well. The itch was much improved for the first time in months. Which medication had helped? I wasn’t sure but I didn’t want to change anything as something had worked.

A small victory in hospice/palliative care? I’ll take whatever I can get.

Palace of Care – I’m good Doc. How are you?

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Photo by Tanya Grypachevskaya on Unsplash

In Palliative Care settings you often see many things much worse than death. Death can be a natural release from suffering. Over many years of working in this specialty, I have witnessed many forms of suffering. Most of these situations involve severe pain. Everyone reacts differently to their symptoms. Some people can handle pain, but can’t handle nausea. Others can’t tolerate any loss of their cognitive abilities. Each individual must have a bespoke management plan designed for them.

I knew my patient could handle pain, he had put up with a lot of it over many months. He didn’t complain, he wasn’t angry at God or Jesus. In fact, his faith was stronger than it had ever been. Maybe it was his religion that allowed him to cope with his many pains. We managed to control his back and leg pains well. He was able to sit in his power wheelchair again. Something he had missed doing over the past month due to severe pain. His power chair meant freedom, he could take himself outside to smoke. He was able to go to the local convenience store to buy some sweets and other supplies.

One weekend I had trouble tracking him down. Every time I went to visit him he was out of his room. I finally caught up with him after his return from our hospice shop down the road. He had purchased a hoodie, a small wall hanging, and a little succulent plant to look after. He’d also bought enough instant noodles for midnight snacking over the weekend. He was doing well, and we managed to discharge him back to his residential care facility after the weekend.

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Palace of Care – Job Trials

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He didn’t hide who he was. He owned the mistakes he had made. He had a rough childhood but didn’t make any excuses. His father had taken him from New Zealand to live in Australia when he was a young child. This took him away from the support of the rest of his family. His father didn’t do a good job of raising him. Violence was part of his young life. Soon he became a ward of his adopted state. A volatile childhood led to an unstable adolescence. Self-medication of his trauma led to involvement in the drug scene.

He met a lady, and they thought it was love. Two babies were born before she left him to look after the children by himself. He didn’t know what to do, with no father figures in his life to base his parenting on. All he knew was he did not want to be like his own father. He tried his best, but raising children is an expensive activity. He needed money but couldn’t work full-time. He turned to dealing drugs to support his children. It worked for a while, he could buy nappies, formula and other stuff his kids needed. Things were going okay until he was caught.

Intergenerational trauma was replayed. His children lost their father to the prison system, and they became wards of the state. The tragic cycle continued again, would there ever be an escape? He was deported back to his childhood home, a place alien to this adult who barely remembered his younger years. Times were hard, he tried to keep in touch with his children but they soon forgot their father.

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Palace of Care – COVID Symptom Trading Cards

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New day, new symptoms. The whole body aches and pains subsided today which was a relief. Just as I was lulled into a sense of lessening unwellness, something else arrived to knock that idea out. A sore throat the likes of which I had not experienced since I had my tonsils taken out as an adult came to say hello. I would describe it as swallowing rusty liquid razor wire. It was such a lovely greeting that with each swallow I was overwhelmed with emotions and tears came to my eyes. I threw all the medications I had at it, and then some, but nothing worked apart from lying down in the foetal position, but that didn’t bring any relief. Or was I lying down in the recovery position? Probably not as I do not feel recovered as of yet.

I was hungry and had to eat through each painful mouthful. The dry crusty parts of the bread were like sandpaper on my disease-ravaged throat. I winced and grimaced through each gulp of food. My appetite had returned but had to contend with the pain barrier. I persisted and after a few minutes, the pain started to abate. If the drugs don’t work make your own. As a response to the pain, my body produced endogenous opioids, bringing relief to my agonised throat. The second half of the meal was swallowed with relative ease.

Both of my Latissimus dorsi, those big wing-like muscles on the sides of our backs, were aching today as if I’d had a huge workout yesterday, which I hadn’t. My pectorals on the opposite side of the lats also felt similar. I had not done any heavy lifting at all but had done some coughing yesterday. Curious symptoms continue to be collected. What will happen tomorrow?

Palace of Care – Omicron BA.5 variant Top 10 lessons

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Photo by Rodrigo Curi on Unsplash
  1. Writing is difficult when you have brain fog.
  2. Pain does override everything else going on.
  3. End-of-dose pain return is a thing.
  4. Oral medications take a while to kick in.
  5. Nerve-related pain sucks.
  6. I am not alone, many others are going through the same symptoms as me.
  7. Friends have been kind and have offered to drop stuff off.
  8. Being sick for even two days feels awful, I can’t imagine what it feels like for my patients.
  9. It is demoralising when you’ve taken all your medications and you are still in bad pain.
  10. Writing is difficult when you have brain fog.

Palace of Care – A Painful Day

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Two stripes on the RAT test confirmed my suspicions, after a night of fevers and body aches. COVID positive. Painful muscles and joints, headache and some hyperalgesia.

I make it a habit to expose myself to some suffering daily with 30 seconds of a cold shower each morning to wake me up. Twice a week I go and train Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. Through this sport, I have learnt to keep calm in uncomfortable situations. Fighting against painful joint locks and against choking attempts has built my resilience.

Today I feel that I have overdosed on pain, which has persisted despite my taking Paracetamol and Ibuprofen. Putting up with pain is exhausting which I had some inkling of from the many patients I have cared for. A doctor needs to have some suffering experience to understand what their patients are going through, but today’s lesson has been a bit too long and unending.

I am hoping for a better tomorrow.

Palace of Care – Palliative Plumbing

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Photo by Paolo Chiabrando on Unsplash

Our patient was dying of end-stage cancer, it had spread throughout his body causing significant pain. He had been having trouble passing urine, over the last two days. This had worsened and our ultrasound bladder scan showed urinary retention with a collection of 1.5L. One of the more painful conditions that people can have. The bladder’s walls are elastic but are not meant to stretch that far. Many nerve endings were firing off pain signals, our patient writhed in his bed. His wife and daughter were distressed seeing their lovely man in such discomfort.

The doctor on call was called in at 1 am after the nurse had tried twice to catheterise our patient without success. The urinary catheter could not pass through a blockage despite the nurse trying all the usual tricks. The doctor attempted catheterisation three times before calling me in. I arrived just after 2 am and decided that I would have to perform a more invasive procedure. The patient was too distressed, he was too unwell to be transferred to the hospital. I would have to drain his bladder using a needle, something I had never done before in my 20 years of medical practice.

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Palace of Care – Prelude to A New Dawn

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The illness had affected her speech making it difficult to understand. With some effort I could tune into what she was saying but there were some things that I could not understand. It was frustrating for her as her mind was sharp but the words would not come out right. The nerves controlling her vocal cords and her breathing muscles were not doing their job any more. She tried to tell us about her suffering but she could only use short sentences. She hadn’t been able to raise her voice for years, and even if she wanted to scream out loud, only a whisper would’ve been heard.

Her pain was not physical, she could handle physical pain and simple pain relief would have helped. The agony she felt she could no longer describe in words. Her sense of wholeness had long been destroyed, her ability to exist as a person had been torn apart. Mere words could not describe the torment she had lived with for six years. I tried to listen to her actively, I tried to read her situation, her illness ravaged poker face only provided scant clues. Intellectually I had an inkling of what she had lost, but I could not feel it during our first meeting. I needed more information before I could understand.

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