Siggy's Blurbs: Siggy's Edge of Country …

Why can’t people talk openly about death?  It is a mystery but so what.  Death claims us all.  The mortality rate is 100 per cent but no one wants to talk about it.

We act as if it is a curse.  When death occurs in a hospital, patients are just whisked away as if they were never there.  No one wants to die alone.  Dying has become very impersonal.  Thus the hospice movement.

All this is running through my mind when my kidney function worsened and my nephrologist said she might put in motion dialysis and I found out only one third of patients on dialysis survived five years and another said 20 per cent died the first year.

All of a sudden it looked as if I will never see seventy–much less the age my parents died (my Mom was eighty and my Dad was ninety).  I am sixty-one.

It has been three weeks since my last visit with my nephrologist and I was depressed.  I needed to talk about my condition but it was not so easy.  People do not talk openly about death except in passing at best.

I even had difficulty with those closest to me–my wife.  On one level we all know we are going to die but we act as if that is never going to happen.  I just asked for one thing:  I wanted to die with grace.  I just wanted to talk about it and there was no one.

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All I want you to do is listen, not feel sorry for me.  The prognosis was not good.  My kidney function had declined and I might have to undergo dialysis within a year.

My depression further increased when I learned only a third of the people undergoing dialysis survive five years and there was, also, a greater chance of stroke and heart disease.

Suddenly I realized I might not make it even to sixty-five.  My mortality became real.  Everyone knows that they are going to die eventually but act as if death will never come and when it does others act surprised and think it is a terrible thing.

I wanted to talk openly about this latest development but I felt odd bringing it up with certain loved ones and friends.  Death has become a taboo.  It is not discussed openly in our society.

I did not want sympathy.  I did not want others to feel sorry for me.  Instinctively I knew who I could not discuss my situation with.  I felt odd with them.

With those people when they ask me how I am doing, I just say “fine.”  I really wanted someone to listen, to be able to share my fears–my fears of hopelessness, of being in pain and discomfiture, dependent on others, afraid of losing my mental facilities.

I just wanted to go out in grace and peace.  Death was knocking.  There are no certainties.  It just did not look good.  I will grab every bit of control I can in my situation.  I just did not want to do it alone.

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