Listening to the UPS guy

After dinner last night I heard a familiar sound — the growl of the UPS box truck driving up our 600′ rural driveway. I knew it was our regular driver, the guy who’s been delivering for years, because if he sees I’m in my home office he’ll stop and do a tight three-point turn outside the entrance, rather than driving past to reverse by the garage.

I heard the van door slide back and went to the door to meet the guy I’ll call Roger. Roger is tall and lanky, has a sweet smile and disposition, and is open to talk if the time is right. Over the years he’s met me hundreds of times in that doorway. Mostly, he smiles and hand over the delivery, I thank him and wish him a good night, and he jumps into his truck, finishes reversing and drives away. Once in a while, when the roads are bad, we talk about his day: how he’s handled the challenges of delivering along my rural town’s sixty miles of dirt roads plus the surrounding area.

For some reason I hadn’t seen Roger for a few weeks; the other drivers had been making deliveries. So I said, “Hey, you’re back!” as he strolled towards me, package in hand.

“Well, I’ve been off a lot; my mother just passed away,” he replied.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said. I stood and looked at him.

“Well” he said…

…and he started to tell his story.

Roger talked about his mom. He stood facing sideways from me, with an occasional glance in my direction prompted by my occasional responses to what he was saying. Once in a while he’d swivel to face me, sharing something that was especially important, and then he was back to telling me of his frequent journeys down south to see her since she’d fallen and broke multiple bones in June, how his family had done their best to cope, and her eventual decline and death.

He told me about dealing with “picking up the pieces” now she was gone. He told me about the last time he saw her in the hospital, when she was “all scrunched up” and seemed out of it, until he bent down and hugged her and told her “I love you mom” and she opened one eye and said “I love you too” “as clear as anything” and then closed her eye and “was out of it again”. He told me much more than I’ll share here.

Roger talked for over ten minutes, by far the longest conversation we’ve ever had. Now and again he edged away during our time together, but he couldn’t quite get himself to stop what he wanted or needed to say.

And that was fine with me. I was in no hurry, and he wanted to talk.

At the end I wished him well and he turned, got into his van, and motored off down my driveway.

It felt good to listen.

Nobody is born ahead of their time

After watching Hannah Gadsby‘s stunning show Nanette — which I highly recommend — here’s a small piece worth sharing.

Gadsby starts with Vincent Van Gogh, looking at how we’ve come to lionize the idea of misunderstood genius. “Born ahead of his time,” she says. “What a load of shit. Nobody is born ahead of their time—it’s impossible.”
Annaliese Griffin, Hannah Gadsby rewrites the way we tell jokes in “Nanette”

Do you ever feel that the world isn’t ready for what you have to say?

I do sometimes.

And when I feel this, it’s easy to wonder: perhaps I was born “ahead of my time?”

No more.

From now on I’ll remember what Hannah said:

“Nobody is born ahead of their time—it’s impossible.”
Hannah Gadsby, Nanette

It helps.

Lessons from Anguilla — Resilience in the Face of Disaster

On September 6, 2017, Hurricane Irma tore across the tiny island nation of Anguilla. Every power pole was destroyed. Roofs were torn off schools, government buildings, and the hospital. The Category 5 hurricane’s 185 mph winds and driving rain caused severe interior damage and destruction to most buildings on the island. After the storm, every road on the island was blocked with fallen polls, trees, and debris, and there was no power for weeks. Amazingly, only two people died.

Six months later, we are visiting; amazed at the recovery that has taken place in such a short time. While most Caribbean islands, such as neighboring St Maarten, remain heavily damaged, Anguilla’s 13,000 inhabitants have worked their hearts and bodies out to bring life here back to something approaching normal. Power has been restored all over the island, internet and phone is largely back, and the majority of the colorful beach restaurants and shops serving Anguilla’s crucial tourist industry have been completely rebuilt.

Read the rest of this entry »

How the Apple Watch Series 3 improves my life

While exploring the New York City High Line for the first time in November 2017, I High Linestopped for lunch in the Chelsea Market, passed the Apple West 14th Street Store and on impulse went in to take a look at the Apple Watch Series 3 which had just been released. Though impressed while watching the original Apple Watch launch two years earlier, I was still wearing an inexpensive watch I’d purchased years ago in Zurich. This time I liked what I saw, and within 30 minutes I was the owner of a space gray 42mm aluminum Series 3 with space black Milanese Loop (no cellular option).

As I write this, two months later, my Apple Watch has hardly left my wrist (you’ll see why later) and frankly I’m surprised at the positive impact it’s had on my life. Let’s list the ways…

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I know the world is crazy right now — and here’s what you can do about it

“I know the world is crazy right now. I know it’s hard to find the good in the news but you won’t find it there because the news asks you to be only a passive consumer of the world’s pain and joy. What we need to do is rise from our seats and participate in the world as fully as possible.”
Chris Corrigan, Pick up the unclaimed portion of joy

Illustration from The Never-Ending Play Of Life, in which Bernie De Koven is quoted by Chris.

How to live your life

Two important truths from Stephen Jenkinson:

“…it’s the awareness of death — and not happiness or positivity or stoicism — that allows us to live fully in the time that we have.”
—Stephen Jenkinson in the 2008 documentary Griefwalker

and

“…live your life as someone who has an enduring obligation to that which has kept you alive.”
—Stephen Jenkinson, in an interview in The Sun, August 2015

Photo attribution: Flickr user x1klima

Shut up and listen

Shut up and listenOne of the hardest things for me to do is to shut up and listen.

“If I could give just one piece of advice to all medical students, I would say, ‘Show up completely, and then shut up for at least two minutes while the miracle in front of you tells you who they are and how you can help them.’ If every doctor did just that one thing, it would change medicine.”
Raymond Barfield, Professor of Medicine and Divinity, Duke University, from “The Miracle in Front of You”, January 2016 interview in The Sun

It’s hard for me to shut up and listen because I get sparked by what people say and I want to respond.

It’s hard for me to shut up and listen because people often talk about their problems, and I love solving problems—even when I haven’t been asked to solve them.

It’s hard for me to shut up and listen because I have a need for connection with others and want to share who I am, sometimes more than is best for our relationship.

Yet, when I am able to shut up and give the gift of listening, the odds that the person speaking feels heard increases.

And, when I am able to shut up and give someone sharing a problem the space to say fully what’s on her mind, it’s more likely she’ll ask me what I think, and then, perhaps, I can help her.

And, when I am able to shut up and connect with someone through listening well, I’ll usually end up connecting with him more deeply.

Finally, of course, when I shut up and listen well, I’m less likely to miss important information that I need or want to hear.

We can all—especially me—benefit from shutting up and listening.

I’m working on it.

Playing with myself

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“Yesterday I took the Trailways bus home from New York City. My seat had a small video screen above it. (The screen was blank.) We had a stop at Kingston, and as I stood up, I hit my head on the screen — then laughed at my blunder. My life is a slapstick comedy for an audience of one.”
—Sparrow, The Sun, July 2015

My life is a slapstick comedy for an audience of one.

At moments like these, my life feels perfect.

Photo attribution: Flickr user jliba

My father’s death—should we force the terminally ill to accept sustenance?

In 2007 my father was slowly and painfully dying from side-effects of Parkinson’s disease. I am sharing here an astonishing newspaper article—written by columnist and registered nurse Richard Davis—on my dad’s and family’s experience. The article was widely distributed around the world and I still occasionally receive requests for a copy, so I am reposting it here.

April 27, 2008

THE DEATH OF JOSHUA SEGAR

By
Richard Davis, © 2008
Brattleboro Reformer: May 23

BRATTLEBORO- Newspaper obituaries provide a few glimpses into the lives of people. They serve to provide friends and relatives with news of a death and the details of plans for funerals and memorial services. Rarely, if ever, do obituaries describe the way a person died. Perhaps it is too morbid for most people to contemplate, but how we die is just as important as how we live.

“Joshua Mark Segar, 84, died peacefully at his home on Tuesday, December 11, 2007. Mr. Segar (a.k.a. Josh, Joshie, Jeff, Joe or Mark) was born in London, England on Dec. 21, 1922. At the age of 13, in order to help support his family, he was forced to leave school and was apprenticed as a barber.

During World War II he served in the Rifle Brigade for five years without a break, fighting in North Africa, Italy and Germany. On his return to London, he was able to open his first barber shop. On weekends he played drums in a dance band and as a session musician for Stephane Grappelli, among others.

In 1948 he married Lilly Solley, the love of his life. Segar became a successful small business man, eventually owning a chain of hairdressing salons and a flourishing electric shaver supply and repair business.

He was the president of the British National Hairdressing Federation and the Hairdressing Council for many years. He loved opera, traveled extensively and was a lifelong learner of art and art history. He was kind, thoughtful, humorous, hard working, loving and generous, a devoted husband and loving father, grandfather and great-grandfather.

In 2004 he moved from England to Brattleboro in order to be closer to his children. During three years of declining health, he showed great fortitude along with his ever-present wit.”

Reading Segar’s obituary, we can get a sense of what kind of life he led. But in order to understand this complex man it is just as important to understand how he died. That part of his life began with the onset of symptoms of Parkinson’s Disease.

Parkinson’s Disease is a progressive degenerative neurological condition that results in a wide variety of symptoms which can vary in severity among individuals. It is not considered a life-threatening disease in the strictest sense. Segar coped with the disease for a few years, but in 2007 the symptoms became severe and the quality of his life was deteriorating.

His wife of 55 years had been dead for two years and he told his family that he always thought he would die before his wife. Segar enjoyed a loving relationship with his family in the U.S. His 56 year old son Adrian and his family in the Brattleboro area and his 47 year old daughter Alison and her family in Burlington stayed close to their father.

His greatest pleasure came from his family and perhaps that is why Thanksgiving marked a turning point for him. According to Adrian, “We spent this Thanksgiving at our home—my wife, my dad, my older daughter and her family. Thanksgiving is our favorite family holiday, but this Thanksgiving was different. Now dad could barely swallow, he was in serious pain much of the time, and was worried about his incontinence. His fear of choking was too much for him to enjoy eating his food, cut up as it was into tiny, almost indistinguishable bits, and his other Parkinson’s symptoms overwhelmed his ability to delight in his two adorable great-granddaughters. After five hours, miserable, he asked me to drive him back to his apartment.”

“The next morning he called me. In a trembling voice, he told me that ‘he didn’t want to continue like this’, and that he wanted to stop eating and drinking.”

This was not a quick decision on the part of Joshua Segar. He was losing the pleasure of being alive and he wanted to be able to have control over the manner and time of his death. He did some research and found a method to end his suffering that he believed would cause the least amount of pain for his family while allowing him to end his suffering in a perfectly legal way.

It’s called terminal dehydration or “patient refusal of nutrition and hydration” (PRNH) and is believed to be a commonly used method for a person to end their life. Statistics are nearly impossible to find, but there is a great deal of anecdotal evidence from health care professionals that terminal dehydration is relatively common.

This writer, a registered nurse, has cared for a number of people over the past 30 years who have chosen this way to end their lives. The public perception of withdrawing food and water is one of great suffering. The reality is quite different. Most people who stop eating and drinking in an effort to end their lives die peacefully and are given the time to say goodbye to friends and family.

According to Ira Byock, M.D., one of the most respected experts in hospice and palliative care, writing in a 1995 article in the “American Journal of Hospice and Palliative Care”, “The general impression among hospice clinicians that starvation and dehydration do not contribute to suffering among the dying and might actually contribute to a comfortable passage from life. In contrast the general impression among the public and non-hospice medical professionals is that starvation and dehydration are terrible ways to die.”

Byock goes on to explain, “A more extensive review of the scientific literature relevant to starvation and dehydration appears in an article by Sullivan entitled, ‘Accepting Death without Artificial Nutrition or Hydration’. Published studies of healthy volunteers report that total fasting causes hunger for less than 24 hours. Ketonemia (the burning of the body’s fat stores) occurs and is associated with relief of hunger and an accompanying mild euphoria. When ketonemia is prevented by small feedings hunger persists, explaining the obsession with food commonly observed during semi-starvation occurring in times of famine or war. Animal studies also suggest that ketonemia may have a mild systemic analgesic effect. Experimentally induced dehydration in normal volunteers may report thirst, yet this sensation is consistently relieved by ad lib sips of fluid in cumulative volumes insufficient to restore physiologic fluid balance. One study of healthy subjects suggests there is a decrease in the severity of experienced thirst associated with older age.”

Another critically important aspect of terminal dehydration is that it does not require professional help and it does not trigger any legal issues. As Byock explains, “Unlike physician-assisted suicide, refusing to eat or drink is a purely personal act. While it may require information, the decision obviates the need for physicians, nurses or other agents of society to participate. After adequate discussion, and in the context of continued caring, at some point the patient’s choice becomes ‘none of our business’.”

Adrian collected his thoughts after hearing his father’s desire to end his life and wrote, “When dad told me of his desire to die by stopping eating and drinking I was shocked, but I knew I had to take him seriously and I knew right away that he must have been thinking about this for a long time. Although his Parkinson’s had caused several short-term memory issues, his ‘big picture’ thinking had always been and was still in superb shape. I told him that I took his desire very seriously, but we needed time to understand the implications, and we wanted to support him to the best of our ability, and we needed to learn what that support might entail. I asked him to wait while we did this research, and he agreed. He asked me to work as quickly as possible.”

“For the next two weeks my wife and I worked hard. We discovered that dad’s desire is called Voluntary Terminal Dehydration (VTD), that it is legal throughout the U.S., and, provided that the requestor is competent to freely make the decision and is not clinically depressed, VTD is medically ethical and should be supported with appropriate palliative care. We also learned that VTD, when supported with palliative care, seems to involve minimal discomfort.”

“After discussion, including a session with dad alone, Dad’s GP, neurologist, and cardiologist all supported his decision, and his GP authorized hospice care through the Visiting Nurse Association and Hospice of Vermont and New Hampshire.”

Adrian’s sister Alison reacted differently to her father’s decision. She is a social worker and said that her father’s decision was ethically problematic for her as a daughter and a social worker.

Alison also believed that there was a high probability that her father may have been depressed and she felt he should have been treated for depression before carrying out his plan. She wrote a letter to her father asking him to try anti-depressants and to see Parkinson Disease experts before going through with his plans for death.

She may have never fully come to terms with the plan for terminal dehydration but she respected her father’s courage saying, “I think my dad was incredibly brave to do what he did, whether he was depressed or not.”

In response to her letter to her father he wrote back,

“Dear Alison,
   Thank you for your nice letter.
   I do not want to take anti depressants.
   I want to carry on with my plan to end my life soon.
   I love you deeply with all my heart.
Love, Dad”

Joshua Segar’s last meal was his favorite, calves liver. His own personal last supper was the last time he ate or drank and he died one week later. His family was comforted by the care they all received from the local hospice, visiting nurses and private caregivers.

Alison noted that when her father made his final decision, “… he became animated, as if he was going on a trip. He called friends and relatives of his decision.” Joshua received necessary comfort care with low doses of morphine and ice chips to soothe his dry lips and mouth.

Byock has had many years of experience with death and dying and his perspective is particularly relevant in the Segar family’s situation. “Clinically, for a number of people at the very end of life, the decision to refuse food and fluid may not arise from depression or emotional denial as much as from a felt sense of ‘being done’. Most such persons I have encountered one way or another expressed a sense that eating or drinking were no longer relevant to their situation. They were far along in a process of withdrawal, having turned their attention inward or ‘beyond’. Even here the option of PRNH has important advantages over complying with a patient’s request to be killed, for it allows the clinician’s attention to remain focused on relief of suffering — physical, psychosocial and spiritual. It requires — or frees — the clinician to remain vigilant for treatable depression and to remain, in humility, open to the possibility of unexpected opportunities for the person to again discover value in the life that is waning.”

The Segar family said they never noticed that their father experienced discomfort as he died. He became weaker and after three days he drifted into his final sleep. Alison was with him when he died and she said, “It was peaceful and it was beautiful.”

Look back to look forward

Janus-VaticanFrom September 2002 through November 2009 I kept a journal, writing each day before going to bed. Every once in a while I’ll pick one of the five thick notebooks I filled during those seven years and read some entries at random.

Why do I do this?

I don’t revisit my journals to immerse myself in my past. Back then, I wrote to capture and reflect on my experience while it was still fresh, to explore how I responded to and felt about the day’s events. I didn’t write for posterity, and there are many raw experiences in these pages that are painful to recall.

Instead, I dip into what I wrote to compare where I was then with where I am now.

Sometimes I discover that life circumstances have changed. Perhaps I’m no longer impacted by certain issues that once preoccupied me (e.g., my financial situation has changed for the better.) Perhaps some issues are still part of my life, but my response to them is different (e.g., speaking in public no longer scares me as much as it once did.) And perhaps I’m aware now of issues that were absent from my journals (e.g., the implications of growing older.)

Whatever I discover, when I look back at what I used to think and do I receive important information.

Often I discover that I am continuing to change and grow in specific ways. As someone who wants to be a life-long learner, someone who doesn’t want to be “stuck”, that is good and encouraging information to have.

I also notice that certain aspects of my life haven’t changed significantly. Frequently, that’s because they are core aspects of who I am and the world I inhabit.

And sometimes, I become aware that I’m stuck in some pattern of behavior or response that I’d like to change. That’s good information too.

Look back to look forward. At the end of a peer conference, a personal introspective allows participants to explore new directions as a result of experiences during the event. On a longer timescale, old personal journals (or any records of past personal introspection) can be a great tool for learning about ourselves and mapping our future path on life’s journey.

Creative Commons image of Janus courtesy of Wikipedia