John Kilner is one of my heroes—brilliant, erudite, engaging, willing to take on today’s ethical challenges. He also was my mentor while doing graduate study. I owe him. So, when he asked if I would consider working on a CBHD ethics blog, I didn’t hesitate—very long anyway—to agree.
I am a neurologist, active in a busy clinical practice. Additionally, I chair a hospital ethics program. My third job is as a group practice medical director supervising approximately 70 doctors in their work. My parents were missionaries. I am happily married and we have three of the world’s most beautiful, intelligent, grown children. I hope to reflect on life from these perspectives.
Carolyn was a dynamic, energetic, intelligent woman who ran libraries, administered programs, taught college students, and in a good way was always a force with which to be reckoned. She retired in her late sixties, still near the top of her game.
These days, at age 84, she lives in a nursing home, is doubly incontinent, wheelchair bound and often confused. She misses social nuances, and usually does not know the correct day. She doesn’t ask for assistance, she barks out orders. She is nearly deaf, and says embarrassing things to her family members during quiet moments at social functions. Her goal each morning is to make sure that someone lays out her clothes for the day. Not knowing what she will wear on wakening weighs heavily on her, but this burden is relieved by seeing the pants, T-shirt, (she no longer wears a bra), shirt and sweater (she’s always cold), on her closet door.
She has a Kleenex and Vaseline lip balm obsession, and can’t be without either of these. She cannot carry on a conversation.
What a tragedy, some would say. She will die without dignity, having lost her intellectual faculties, control of her bodily functions, her sense of humor, and her social skills. Isn’t her continued existence a waste? We could use Carolyn as a poster child for why we should allow mercy killing, some might say. She is using up financial resources and her loved ones’ limited time and energy. She is directly helping no one, and each of her days is just like the last.
Her son notes that as deaf as she is, she never wants to miss church. She has lost her singing voice, but she hums or softly mouths lyrics to the hymns. She grouses and commands, but she often eventually says thank you. She doesn’t read scripture anymore, but she completes verses aloud that others start. Whenever she sees him, the first question she asks is about his wife and her health.
He relates that his daily visits with his mother remind him that it’s not about him and that God uses hard times to grow our patience and character. He remembers the untold hours of teaching, care and prayer she poured into his life, and realizes that he could never repay this debt. He has come to realize that God wants his children to grow more and more into God’s likeness, not have easy, fun lives. He reflects that his mother may be helping him grow closer to God now than she ever did when he was a child, a young adult, or even a middle-aged man. The son is in no hurry to see Mom go home to be with Christ. He has come to see that God’s timing is best, and that God doesn’t abuse his children. More than ever, he is learning that God is all-wise, all-powerful, and all-loving.
I am Carolyn’s son.