You are currently browsing the tag archive for the ‘conscious dying’ tag.

For my patients who have used this law, I was honored that I could be with them every step of the way, ensuring that they were cared for, and that they had control of the final days of their lives. That’s what death with dignity really means. – Nicholas Gideonse, MD 

When I was a child, I grew up on a natural lake. I was probably in the water eight hours a day. My family called me a fish. As I got older I learned to waterski– two skis, then one, or slalomming. I was on the swim team in elementary school, delegated to the 500-yard freestyle, because I was the one with the physical endurance to swim 5 laps, straight. During the summer I rode my horse, daily. In high school, I was in the snow ski club. And, in graduate school in New Orleans, I rode horses and ran road races in the scalding heat of the Louisiana summers. Needless to say, I was always physically active and athletic.

Running was the first ability I lost. I was 47 years old, with two children, a horse farm, and a psychotherapy practice. Within three years, I could no longer ride my horse and I started tripping and dragging my right foot. While carrying my computer, I fell on the wood floor and broke my patella in half, which led me to a walker. Although I dreaded using a walking aid, I was glad for the safety it provided. That was, until I fell on my walker and cracked my sternum.

With a cracked sternum, standing, sitting, any movement was excruciating. I’d bruised ribs in the past, but nothing like a sternum crack which required assistance for any movement. I was losing my autonomy. Around this time, I began having “accidents,” incontinence particularly disturbed my husband. This affected my dignity.

After failing to engage the brakes in my car quickly enough and finally stopping in the middle of a busy street, I realized that I would never drive another car and risk endangering a life. I was losing my independence. I was still able to drive the golf cart on the farm, which gave me  some sense of autonomy, but all of the chores were left to my husband, which was not our agreement when we purchased a labor-intensive horse farm.

My husband was becoming more and more irritable and resentful. Burdening loved ones is another huge fear to an active person becoming disabled. Each of these losses could lead to major depression, but having been a therapist or in therapy much of my life, I have the internal resources to deal with these stressors. Fortunately, I was not financially dependent on my husband or the government. I cannot imagine the level of suffering people encounter, when terminally ill, who are less resourced than I, either internally or externally.

After cracking my sternum, I was almost relieved to sit in a chair where I was safe from excruciating injuries. “You don’t get the small stuff,” exclaimed the doctor who read my patella x-ray. So, sit in the wheelchair, I did.

Probably the two worst symptoms of progressive multiple sclerosis are heat intolerance and intractable fatigue. I used to call it “crying fatigue,” because all I could imagine doing was to lay on the floor and cry. It was not grief or sadness that led to crying, but intense exasperation, with no emotion attached. Only someone with chronic or terminal illness can understand this level of pain and suffering.

After Katrina, when we had no air-conditioning for a month, in the heat of the Louisiana summer. I remember stumbling to my car with my walker, turning the engine on, sitting in the air-conditioning and crying. I knew I could no longer live in this state of Louisiana that I loved, that the heat and the hurricanes were more than I could bear. I no longer had the endurance of the 500-yard freestyler or the independence to care for myself with a partner who was beginning to resent me more each day. We would move to Colorado. I thought that would solve many problems, but little did I know my life was about to, once again, change forever.

On the way to Colorado, a wheelchair accident resulted in my femur being shattered, the largest bone in the body. It was shattered so badly, that the surgeon had to scrape the pieces together, to screw the stainless steel plate to something. This is where my book Meet Me By the River – A Women’s Healing Journey begins and chronicles my life from devastation to deep gratitude and joy. (Shameless plug.) From the hospital, I was discharged to our new home in Colorado. Six months later, my husband/partner of 11 years left and I, reluctantly and not very gracefully, was to learn how to live alone with this degenerative, neurological illness. Fortunately, I had the financial resources to not be a burden on my family for at least a decade.

Many people facing terminal illness embrace a spiritual life for the first time. Even if they were religious, their beliefs take on greater meaning, much like a spiritual initiation.

I began to see these physical limitations as directed by a higher power. I no longer saw them as punishment or some failing on my part; I saw the Universe as loving and I saw how my ability to impact myself and others was much more effective in this condition. The healing in myself and others was profound. I began to love this illness and see it as a course correction that was leading me to my highest purpose in life. The joy I experienced was infectious. The help I could provide to others was more than I’d ever imagined, with an able body.

As the illness progressed, I began to assess the level of suffering I was experiencing. At some point I knew that my suffering would no longer be a positive catalyst; the suffering would be needless. This pivotal point is different for everyone, depending on their capacity to process the pain and suffering, their level of development, and the Mystery beyond our limited knowing.

In November, the Aid-in-Dying law became legal in Colorado. The most common reasons people choose Aid-in-Dying are loss of autonomy, becoming a burden on one’s family, loss of independence, financial concerns, loss of control of bodily function, fear of uncontrollable pain, loss of ability to participate in pleasurable activities, and loss of dignity. (I highlighted some of the issues that cause me the most suffering in red.) This law is well-crafted to protect the vulnerable from abuse: one must be in the process of dying, be of sound mind, be able to self-administer, and no other person can benefit from this choice.

Opponents of this law often use the word suicide to incite people, emotionally, in my opinion. I have assessed suicidality for 30 years as a psychotherapist. When suicidal, a person wants to die. I have talked many a person “off the ledge.” It is an insult and a misnomer to ascribe suicidality to a person in the sacred dying process, who is finally able to surrender and let go. What a harmful imprint this could leave for the family to carry. Words have power.

All of this being said, my first choice would be to die naturally. Unfortunately, people never die from MS, they die from “complications from multiple sclerosis.” The complications can be: sepsis from pressure sores, choking to death which has to involve a beloved caregiver trying so hard to keep me alive, drowning in my own fluids from pneumonia, or some other horror I don’t yet know about. The best option I could hope for would be failing to thrive, or starving to death, slowly. Keep this in mind when considering choice.

Societies that rule with a more parental, autocratic style usurp one’s sovereignty for making choices for themselves and their bodies, which includes how they might want to leave this beautiful world. These regimes characteristically manifest a disregard for women’s rights, or a disrespect of the Feminine. (I use “the Feminine” as a term applicable to either gender: having more of a tendency toward vulnerability, empathy, and sensitivity. These are values that have been punished for nearly 5000 years.) Hopefully, we are integrating more feminine values moving toward a kinder, less violent world.

In the meantime, if I begin to feel complete with this lifetime and ready to let go and serve my loved ones from Spirit, do not conflate this sacred decision with suicide. This is not suicide. I do not want to die. My life has always been about service and learning to connect more deeply in Love, I know myself and I know this intimacy and animation will continue, and, most likely, express itself in a much deeper Way.

Advertisements

“Joy is something deeper than a feeling. Joy is a gift deep within. It cannot be rocked by the sound of an alarm clock or by pain.” –Elise Charbonnet Anglette (Casey’s beloved childhood friend fiercely confronting aggressive breast cancer with her husband and 6 beloved youngens. Google her, she will change your life.)

5 Days in the Life of an Addict:*

Day 1– I walk down the street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I fall in. I feel lost… I feel helpless. It isn’t my fault! I’m not responsible. It takes forever to find a way out.
Day 2– I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I and I don’t see it. I fall in again. I can’t believe I’m back in the same place. But it isn’t my fault. I don’t feel responsible. It takes a long time to get out.
Day 3– I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I see it is there. I still fall in… it’s a habit. But my eyes are open, I know where I am. It is my fault. I am responsible. I get out very quickly.
Day 4– I walk down the same street. There is a deep hole in the sidewalk. I walk around it.

Day 5– I walk down a different street. This parable is profound when we take it in deeply. I will discuss this more later.   ~Author unknown

 *Note: Addict, to me is anyone who is in a human body. My favorite definition of addiction is anything that is between you and God or Source.
by Kathryn Greene Brady

by Kathryn Green Brady

 

In the afterlife and near-death experience communities it is almost cliché to talk about life review, but for the initiated, life review is an essential part of returning to the Spirit world, our true and eternal Home. For those who have had near-death experiences or NDEs life review is a way of integrating the work of the lifetime just completed. It is a time to assess the work done, how it was done, what is still to be learned and more. During this time, our guides and ascended Masters meet us in loving collaboration. During that time, from what I have read and experienced in meditation, there is no judgment. The only judgment we experience is our own internal remorse that we may carry. From what I understand, there is only unconditional love at Home. It is coming to this Earth school in human bodies where judgment is experienced.

Having this long-term, intractable illness has allowed for an elongated process of life review for which I have received much assistance. I have gratitude for all the support I have received throughout my life which has allowed me to be of help to others. Receiving help and helping had gone hand-in-hand. I have much gratitude for my helpers along my journey, both incarnate and discarnate. Without the assistance and my openness to that assistance I would have been much less helpful to others. So for my helpers, my openness and helpees, I am deeply grateful.

The hole represents a questioning of whether this illness was necessary or whether it caused needless harm to myself and/or my loved ones. Just entering the latter thought makes my stomach turn with grief and anxiety. That is my hole. In a totally open, vulnerable moment in my life I acknowledged to a beloved teacher, while practically on my knees in a proverbial sense, that, “I want to give more than I take while in this life.” I had never consciously thought about this, but it came from the deepest part of my heart and soul. Likewise, it reveals my deepest vulnerability, that perhaps I did not fulfill this prayer, this deep yearning.

This inner questioning has provided an opportunity to explore the value of this illness in my life. It has stimulated a deep exploration that has required much meditation and dreamtime; this process has yielded much benefit. I cry with deep gratitude as I describe this sacred process. And this is what I have learned thus far:

One of my newest helpers, a shamanic practitioner, while in trance acknowledged that I, in fact, did not have to have this illness which triggered much emotional material for me to grapple with. Ironically, I found myself in the very hole the author described in the parable above. I was humbled to see that the hole is still a vulnerable place for me. I was both appreciative and humbled to have this opportunity to revisit this vulnerability, mostly because when I leave, I want to be as complete as I am able.

Not much is in my way of a conscious, liberating transition into Freedom. That is what I am going toward; that is what we are all going for. In my opinion, any vulnerability can be an obstacle toward this freedom. And obstacles are places where deeper self-love can be cultivated.

In the parable, it occurs to me that this illness afforded me the opportunity to become adept at traversing Day 4. I can now see the hole and perhaps even walk around it. Maybe I have not walked down a different street, which may represent a life with perfect health, but a lifetime perfecting Day 4 is pretty damn awesome. I can know that I will no longer get lost in this hole of my ego’s creation. How liberating it is that?!

So thank you my Beloveds, my helpers, my helpees. As I tell my children, I will still be connecting and sharing. You just have to become better listeners.