Five weeks ago, my 91 year old grandfather fell into a coma, after being revived by the paramedics for a total of seven times, on the way to the hospital. My grandfather, who believed that Death would somehow forget him, had adamantly refused to sign a DNR, and as a consequence, arrived brain dead. Because my mother and her two sisters believe in the role of the halacha (sometimes over common sense), their father was immediately placed on life support and a feeding tube.
In addition to managing my father's business, my mother visits my grandfather every day, twice a day in the hospital. She tells me that it is clear hat he is unaware of his surroundings; that his physical situation remains stable only with the benefit of the various machines that have taken over the function of his brain and parasympathetic system.
This past week, in an attempt to move my grandfather into a Chronic Care Facility, the doctor removed the breathing tube in the presence of my mother and one of my aunts. According to my mother, my grandfather began gasping for breath, and while he may have expired soon afterwards, the guilt and perceived immorality of the situation overtook them. The breathing tube was returned, and it seems that my grandfather must now spend the rest of his days as a vegetable, in the highest cost situation possible. His heart is strong, and he could very well "live" this way for another five years.
In Judaism, a traditional blessing is given, "May you live to 120." Not so in this case, I know that my grandfather could not have imagined his full life culminating in this tragic never-ending end.
The family knew at some point that the home in Providence would have to be cleaned out and sold, with the death of my grandmother seven years ago and the subsequent deterioration of my grandfather's health. Now not only will the house be sold as soon as possible, regardless of the poor showing of the current housing market, but all his carefully planned stocks and retirement assets will be liquidated, to pay for this care.
It doesn't stop there. Medicaid will only pay their share when it can be shown that my grandfather has essentially become a pauper. This includes gifts he has give to his daughters and eleven grandchildren in the past five years. My parents, who themselves are struggling with a mortgage, running a business and sending my youngest brother through college, may have to sell their home and leave the community in which they have lived and actively contributed for the last 23 years, in order to pay off their portion of the gifts to be returned.
The thought sends me spinning: because my grandfather was not allowed to die a simple death, it could bankrupt my immediate and extended family. This is a case of mismanagement by both the medical establishment and the Orthodox Rabbis who did my family no favors by insisting upon extreme measures. Even worse, the same government that allows a parent to give tax free gifts has a cleverly placed back door in the program, to take it away with a vengeance.
My grandparents, founders of the Orthodox Jewish community in Providence, Rhode Island, raised their family and planned for their financial future. My grandfather, and Optometrist by training, worked until his mid-80's, until he was physically unable to get to his office.
That is the harshest irony in this whole story: A workaholic by nature, my grandfather sacrificed much in his primary role as breadwinner, concerned with providing for his family and community. He often said that if it had not been for the Shabbat, he would have worked seven days a week, and he would not have spent any time at all with his family. At the end of his life, his mind is now literally disconnected from his body, and all those years of proving his manhood as a doctor will be taken away in an instant.
We live in an age of "miracle" medicine, where life is prolonged without having the resources in place to properly care for our elderly, and by extension, the sandwich generation left with the burden, both financial and emotional.
Showing posts with label aging. Show all posts
Showing posts with label aging. Show all posts
Friday, May 8, 2009
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Joshua (Jesh) Leeder, Z"L
After a year of neurological symptoms, my uncle was misdiagnosed by several doctors, who told him he had a "bad case of Lyme Disease." When it was too late, they realized (what I and my father, 'mere Chiropractors,' had realized long ago) that Jesh had ALS, Lou Gehrig's Disease, a severe attack on the neurological pathways which mostly affects men in their 40's through early 60's, and has no cure.
One year ago, Jesh fell into a coma, and the doctors, ignoring his DNR request, put him on life support. Of course, upon consultation with the Rabbi, it was decided that even though my uncle had vehemently refused extreme measures, NOW that he was on life support, he could not be taken off, according to the halacha as they see it.
In denial, his wife (and their 13 children) decided that it was still a simple case of Tick Fever, and that if they took him home to be surrounded by his family and friends, he would wake up one morning as if this all never happened.
Two days ago, my uncle Jesh Leeder, died. And the Rabbis, who before were willing to ignore his pain and suffering and personal wishes, felt that now that the body was just a shell, he should be buried immediately, without even waiting for some members of the family to arrive for the funeral.
Jesh was a man who lived by his convictions, a modest, talented and spiritual man, and his loss will be felt by many.
The implications of his death scare me more, in a selfish human way. In the last year, my father has lost both his older sister (one year older) and now his older brother (older by two years). I am not ready to G-d Forbid sit shiva.
I am hoping that my father has inherited his father's genes, a man who lived a somewhat active life for 25 years after a severe stroke. My grandfather was a stubborn genius: a surgeon, a Rabbi and Scholar, a Sofer (ritual Jewish ancient Hebrew script), and a Shochet (ritual Jewish slaughter expert for Kosher meat). He saved Uncle Jesh's hand from amputation as a child, by essentially inventing micro-surgery and personally supervising the rehabilitation process. My grandfather also disciplined his children in ways that today would alarm social services and would be considered child abuse.
My grandfather died when he was ready, and not a minute sooner, at the age of 84.
I wish my father a long life of health, happiness and success, may he, as his father before him, live to see his great-grandchildren.
One year ago, Jesh fell into a coma, and the doctors, ignoring his DNR request, put him on life support. Of course, upon consultation with the Rabbi, it was decided that even though my uncle had vehemently refused extreme measures, NOW that he was on life support, he could not be taken off, according to the halacha as they see it.
In denial, his wife (and their 13 children) decided that it was still a simple case of Tick Fever, and that if they took him home to be surrounded by his family and friends, he would wake up one morning as if this all never happened.
Two days ago, my uncle Jesh Leeder, died. And the Rabbis, who before were willing to ignore his pain and suffering and personal wishes, felt that now that the body was just a shell, he should be buried immediately, without even waiting for some members of the family to arrive for the funeral.
Jesh was a man who lived by his convictions, a modest, talented and spiritual man, and his loss will be felt by many.
The implications of his death scare me more, in a selfish human way. In the last year, my father has lost both his older sister (one year older) and now his older brother (older by two years). I am not ready to G-d Forbid sit shiva.
I am hoping that my father has inherited his father's genes, a man who lived a somewhat active life for 25 years after a severe stroke. My grandfather was a stubborn genius: a surgeon, a Rabbi and Scholar, a Sofer (ritual Jewish ancient Hebrew script), and a Shochet (ritual Jewish slaughter expert for Kosher meat). He saved Uncle Jesh's hand from amputation as a child, by essentially inventing micro-surgery and personally supervising the rehabilitation process. My grandfather also disciplined his children in ways that today would alarm social services and would be considered child abuse.
My grandfather died when he was ready, and not a minute sooner, at the age of 84.
I wish my father a long life of health, happiness and success, may he, as his father before him, live to see his great-grandchildren.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Ignorance is Not Bliss, It's Psycosis (Chiropractic)
In the past three days, I have been getting hate emails from a gentleman (using the term loosely) who feels that my profession of Chiropractic is, and I quote:
"Quackery"
"There is proof on the world wide web for anything, including Chiropractic, Holocaust deniers, alien invasions and government conspiracies."
"You have no right to treat children."
"What crap, that Chiropractic strengthens the function of the body and the immunity system."
And my personal favorite;
"BTW, you are not a real doctor."
I am thinking that in a previous life, a Chiropractor ran over this man's dog. He doesn't need me, he needs a shrink, and fast, and he had better stay on his meds.
This kind of talk, especially given the vast amount of information available on the net, went out of style in the 1950's and 60's, when Chiropractic was against the law in many states in America. Today, by contrast, national and international legislation puts a Chiropractor on the same level as an MD, a Psychiatrist, and a Dentist.
Here are the facts: A Doctor of Chiropractic is a specialist in the spine and nervous system, a Doctor, if you will, of Human Performance. The spinal cord and its nerves act as the central computer for the body; when something (discs, muscles, stress, nutrition, lack of exercise, lack of sleep, and many other factors) causes interference on the flow of information from the brain to the body, your body will experience dysfunction, both emotional and physical. My job is to clear the traffic jam, so the body can behave at its highest level, and self-correct when needed.
In the case of children, in the first 7-8 years, their neurological pathways grow and change monumentally, every day. Chiropractic treatment in the early years will help avoid common problems later on, experienced now by the Couch Potato Generation, including ADD/ADHD, scoliosis, headaches and disc problem, among others.
Chiropractic, like any other profession, has its limits as well, and that is why I enjoy an excellent relationship with various medical practitioners; we inter-refer on a regular basis.
That being said, you want to avoid colds this Winter? Get your family, young and old, to a local Chiropractor. (Contact me for referrals in your area.)
"Quackery"
"There is proof on the world wide web for anything, including Chiropractic, Holocaust deniers, alien invasions and government conspiracies."
"You have no right to treat children."
"What crap, that Chiropractic strengthens the function of the body and the immunity system."
And my personal favorite;
"BTW, you are not a real doctor."
I am thinking that in a previous life, a Chiropractor ran over this man's dog. He doesn't need me, he needs a shrink, and fast, and he had better stay on his meds.
This kind of talk, especially given the vast amount of information available on the net, went out of style in the 1950's and 60's, when Chiropractic was against the law in many states in America. Today, by contrast, national and international legislation puts a Chiropractor on the same level as an MD, a Psychiatrist, and a Dentist.
Here are the facts: A Doctor of Chiropractic is a specialist in the spine and nervous system, a Doctor, if you will, of Human Performance. The spinal cord and its nerves act as the central computer for the body; when something (discs, muscles, stress, nutrition, lack of exercise, lack of sleep, and many other factors) causes interference on the flow of information from the brain to the body, your body will experience dysfunction, both emotional and physical. My job is to clear the traffic jam, so the body can behave at its highest level, and self-correct when needed.
In the case of children, in the first 7-8 years, their neurological pathways grow and change monumentally, every day. Chiropractic treatment in the early years will help avoid common problems later on, experienced now by the Couch Potato Generation, including ADD/ADHD, scoliosis, headaches and disc problem, among others.
Chiropractic, like any other profession, has its limits as well, and that is why I enjoy an excellent relationship with various medical practitioners; we inter-refer on a regular basis.
That being said, you want to avoid colds this Winter? Get your family, young and old, to a local Chiropractor. (Contact me for referrals in your area.)
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
The Spring Roll Strike
Israel's Asian restaurants refused to serve spring rolls yesterday, to protest the government's plans to sabotage the employment of foreign chefs. "Today there is no egg roll, and in two weeks there will be no sushi and noodles." Considered part of the "foreign worker" problem, Asian cooks will be purged from theme restaurants, unless of course you are willing to pay twice the average national salary to keep them on.
The Israeli argument states that non-Asians can be trained to achieve the same high quality results. This initiative comes at a time when speciality restaurants are opening fast and furious all over the country, and when the slide of the dollar allows people to splurge more often on luxuries, like a sushi dinner.
The argument falls apart when you consider the essential laziness and elitism of the modern Israel. The same time that Israelis complain about unemployment, they refuse to fill jobs such as elderly care-takers, a market dominated by men and women from the Philipines, brought over both legally and illegally. These foreign workers take better care of the Israeli aging generation, our parents and our grandparents, than any Israeli would choose to do for their own family member.
This is not the Israeli who came over to British Palestine by boat from Europe, who dug out swamps and built houses for Jews, brick by brick.
So please don't take away my expert sushi makers, and instead think about a reasonable, fair and effectively implemented policy that will benefit Israel in the long run.
The Israeli argument states that non-Asians can be trained to achieve the same high quality results. This initiative comes at a time when speciality restaurants are opening fast and furious all over the country, and when the slide of the dollar allows people to splurge more often on luxuries, like a sushi dinner.
The argument falls apart when you consider the essential laziness and elitism of the modern Israel. The same time that Israelis complain about unemployment, they refuse to fill jobs such as elderly care-takers, a market dominated by men and women from the Philipines, brought over both legally and illegally. These foreign workers take better care of the Israeli aging generation, our parents and our grandparents, than any Israeli would choose to do for their own family member.
This is not the Israeli who came over to British Palestine by boat from Europe, who dug out swamps and built houses for Jews, brick by brick.
So please don't take away my expert sushi makers, and instead think about a reasonable, fair and effectively implemented policy that will benefit Israel in the long run.
Friday, October 26, 2007
Tall People
A song called "Short People" came onto the radio this morning, and I paid attention to the words, and the chorus in particular disturbed me: "Short people got no reason to live." I don't think a folk song should be advocating suicide, just because someone is height challenged.
I also challenge the world to consider the detriment of being tall. Only a tall woman can relate to the following painful memories of childhood:
1. Wanting to shop at the same stores where all the other girls buy their clothing.
2. Wanting to buy your first pair of high heels, and realizing that none of the cool stores carry a size 11 or 12 women's, and having to go to the Ugly Shoe Store for Old Ladies to buy some hideous Orthopaedic pair of "comfortable shoes."
3. Never being "cute."
4. Going to a bowling birthday party and being told in front of all your friends that they don't have your size in a women's shoe, you will have to wear one of the men's bowling shoes. (Like you don't feel awful enough already in a bowling shoe...)
5. Maintaining poor posture and slouching to the height of the group, so that you can feel like you are at eye-level.
5. Having limited dating options, or actually dating someone who is at least a head shorter than you, and seeing your reflection as a couple in the mirror for the first time, and feeling like you are Shrek and he is Princess Fiona, when she is not an ogre.
One of my grandmothers had a size 12 shoe, quite rare for a woman of that generation, and unlike today, there were zero options to walk into a normal store and buy normal fashionable foot ware. My other grandmother bought me a book called The Tallest Girl in the Class, a story about this girl in the fourth grade felt like an outsider and a freak, until she was picked to play the Christmas tree in the pageant, because she was the tallest person in the class. The children's book does not specify if she needed therapy later in life.
In elementary school, because I towered over both the girls and the boys, I was chosen to play Mordechai in the Purim musical, which we performed in front of the whole school. In retrospect, I would like to question the intelligence and sensitivity of putting a shy tall girl in a beard. My best friend at the time, Karen Zomick, got to play Queen Esther, because she was petite and "cute."
Today as an adult, I appreciate the many ways in which I am outside the box, my height being only one factor through which I stand out in the crowd. Tall people have stature and authority; my three brothers each stand over six feet. If I were thin enough, I could be a super-model. Quite content with my body and my build, I have no desire to lose a few inches, I will lose an inch and a half from my spinal discs as I get older anyway (as all humans do over time).
Maybe I ought to sue my elementary school for my not being married, because they caused gender confusion and set back my self-confidence. Anyone want to take on the case?
I also challenge the world to consider the detriment of being tall. Only a tall woman can relate to the following painful memories of childhood:
1. Wanting to shop at the same stores where all the other girls buy their clothing.
2. Wanting to buy your first pair of high heels, and realizing that none of the cool stores carry a size 11 or 12 women's, and having to go to the Ugly Shoe Store for Old Ladies to buy some hideous Orthopaedic pair of "comfortable shoes."
3. Never being "cute."
4. Going to a bowling birthday party and being told in front of all your friends that they don't have your size in a women's shoe, you will have to wear one of the men's bowling shoes. (Like you don't feel awful enough already in a bowling shoe...)
5. Maintaining poor posture and slouching to the height of the group, so that you can feel like you are at eye-level.
5. Having limited dating options, or actually dating someone who is at least a head shorter than you, and seeing your reflection as a couple in the mirror for the first time, and feeling like you are Shrek and he is Princess Fiona, when she is not an ogre.
One of my grandmothers had a size 12 shoe, quite rare for a woman of that generation, and unlike today, there were zero options to walk into a normal store and buy normal fashionable foot ware. My other grandmother bought me a book called The Tallest Girl in the Class, a story about this girl in the fourth grade felt like an outsider and a freak, until she was picked to play the Christmas tree in the pageant, because she was the tallest person in the class. The children's book does not specify if she needed therapy later in life.
In elementary school, because I towered over both the girls and the boys, I was chosen to play Mordechai in the Purim musical, which we performed in front of the whole school. In retrospect, I would like to question the intelligence and sensitivity of putting a shy tall girl in a beard. My best friend at the time, Karen Zomick, got to play Queen Esther, because she was petite and "cute."
Today as an adult, I appreciate the many ways in which I am outside the box, my height being only one factor through which I stand out in the crowd. Tall people have stature and authority; my three brothers each stand over six feet. If I were thin enough, I could be a super-model. Quite content with my body and my build, I have no desire to lose a few inches, I will lose an inch and a half from my spinal discs as I get older anyway (as all humans do over time).
Maybe I ought to sue my elementary school for my not being married, because they caused gender confusion and set back my self-confidence. Anyone want to take on the case?
Tuesday, October 16, 2007
Rebecca Danzig Keller, In Memoriam
Last Thursday was the eighth anniversary (Yartzeit) of my grandmother's death, a woman who very much impacted my life and with whom I was quite close growing up. My mother (her eldest daughter) had suggested that we children and grandchildren do something "meaningful" to mark the day, to honor her memory.
Not coincidentally, the Universe gave me a slow Chiropractic work day, and I was able to look through letters and journal entries from the time immediately before and after her death, which in turn gave me a burst of almost overwhelming creative energy, which I used to channel into photography and creative writing.
The day of her funeral, eight years ago, I wrote the following in my journal:
"There is a whole life in this house, from large details like her car to small details like her basement office organization, her color coordinated towels, her books. How does one dismantle a life? How does one distribute and incorporate it? Everyone keeps saying that her legacy is us, her grandchildren, we are the proof that she did something worthwhile, that each of us carries her within us. Why can't she be here to see it, I feel like everyone has a time, and this was not hers.
What will people say about me when I die? What will be my legacy?"
In speaking to a friend today, a woman aware of my issues at being single and childless in my late 30's, she challenged me with that exact question: What is my legacy? Can I say that I am an inherently worthwhile and important person, regardless of the standards imposed by society or by my family? Why do I exist?
For now, I have a sufficiently unconvincing answer, with the only fact on the ground being that I EXIST. I would even venture to say that I exist for a reason, and that I have faith that the Universe and its Higher Powers generally knows what it is doing. But I cannot answer the "Why," and it terrifies me, because I am afraid that if I explore these answers and possibilities, I will not like what I find. Perhaps it will come to me in a dream.
I do, however, have an opinion on the subject, and it starts with the classic philosophical question, if a tree falls in the middle of the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? And actually, my answer to that is a definitive NO; hearing, like the other five senses humanity has been programmed with as part of their genetic package, is dependent upon relative perception. While the sound and the loss of a tree in the middle of a random forest will most definitely impact the Greater Universe - in keeping with the principles of Chaos Theory - if it has not been perceived by another, it gets lost.
To apply that theory on a micro level, I assert that I am in fact a worthwhile person, deserving of love and being in a loving relationship, and I assert that I value my own company. Ultimately, I wonder if I count, if I leave no trail behind me when I die, genetic or otherwise; if there was never one person in my life who loved me unconditionally, who wanted to be my husband and raise a child with me not out of obligation, but out of eagerness and interest and a desire to grow old with me. Surely, the heavens will cry when I leave this Earth, and somewhere in the cosmos there will be a ripple, but will any human miss me or remember me?
As a child, fame and global recognition represented my idea of meaning and legacy in life, I would not be considered a success until I had been featured on the front page of the New York Times for saving humanity, or until at least one of my works of art was hanging in the Metropolitan Museum. That template has dramatically shifted, I do not need nor want to save the world. Right now I want and need intimacy, physical and emotional, the knowledge that for at least one person on this planet, I am their first and most precious priority. You can argue that it means that I don't love myself 100%, or that I err in using an external measure of my worth, but I am human living in a society of other humans. Robinson Caruso had it much easier.
I don't know how to express or explain that feeling of total acceptance, except to say that I received that affirmation from my grandmother, and that is a large part of the reason why I miss her.
I close with a Celtic sonnet that someone read to my family when they visited the shiva house, eight years ago, and I dedicate this poem to my grandmother, and to myself, that I may have a long, fulfilling and happy life, and will have left it a better place for my being there.
Grieve not
Nor speak of me with tears
But laugh and talk of me
As though I were beside you.
I loved you so
"Twas Heaven here with you.
Not coincidentally, the Universe gave me a slow Chiropractic work day, and I was able to look through letters and journal entries from the time immediately before and after her death, which in turn gave me a burst of almost overwhelming creative energy, which I used to channel into photography and creative writing.
The day of her funeral, eight years ago, I wrote the following in my journal:
"There is a whole life in this house, from large details like her car to small details like her basement office organization, her color coordinated towels, her books. How does one dismantle a life? How does one distribute and incorporate it? Everyone keeps saying that her legacy is us, her grandchildren, we are the proof that she did something worthwhile, that each of us carries her within us. Why can't she be here to see it, I feel like everyone has a time, and this was not hers.
What will people say about me when I die? What will be my legacy?"
In speaking to a friend today, a woman aware of my issues at being single and childless in my late 30's, she challenged me with that exact question: What is my legacy? Can I say that I am an inherently worthwhile and important person, regardless of the standards imposed by society or by my family? Why do I exist?
For now, I have a sufficiently unconvincing answer, with the only fact on the ground being that I EXIST. I would even venture to say that I exist for a reason, and that I have faith that the Universe and its Higher Powers generally knows what it is doing. But I cannot answer the "Why," and it terrifies me, because I am afraid that if I explore these answers and possibilities, I will not like what I find. Perhaps it will come to me in a dream.
I do, however, have an opinion on the subject, and it starts with the classic philosophical question, if a tree falls in the middle of the woods and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? And actually, my answer to that is a definitive NO; hearing, like the other five senses humanity has been programmed with as part of their genetic package, is dependent upon relative perception. While the sound and the loss of a tree in the middle of a random forest will most definitely impact the Greater Universe - in keeping with the principles of Chaos Theory - if it has not been perceived by another, it gets lost.
To apply that theory on a micro level, I assert that I am in fact a worthwhile person, deserving of love and being in a loving relationship, and I assert that I value my own company. Ultimately, I wonder if I count, if I leave no trail behind me when I die, genetic or otherwise; if there was never one person in my life who loved me unconditionally, who wanted to be my husband and raise a child with me not out of obligation, but out of eagerness and interest and a desire to grow old with me. Surely, the heavens will cry when I leave this Earth, and somewhere in the cosmos there will be a ripple, but will any human miss me or remember me?
As a child, fame and global recognition represented my idea of meaning and legacy in life, I would not be considered a success until I had been featured on the front page of the New York Times for saving humanity, or until at least one of my works of art was hanging in the Metropolitan Museum. That template has dramatically shifted, I do not need nor want to save the world. Right now I want and need intimacy, physical and emotional, the knowledge that for at least one person on this planet, I am their first and most precious priority. You can argue that it means that I don't love myself 100%, or that I err in using an external measure of my worth, but I am human living in a society of other humans. Robinson Caruso had it much easier.
I don't know how to express or explain that feeling of total acceptance, except to say that I received that affirmation from my grandmother, and that is a large part of the reason why I miss her.
I close with a Celtic sonnet that someone read to my family when they visited the shiva house, eight years ago, and I dedicate this poem to my grandmother, and to myself, that I may have a long, fulfilling and happy life, and will have left it a better place for my being there.
Grieve not
Nor speak of me with tears
But laugh and talk of me
As though I were beside you.
I loved you so
"Twas Heaven here with you.
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