Dead wrong

It was the nineteenth-century Liberal politician and prime minister Willim Ewart Gladstone who famously said “Show me the manner in which a nation or community cares for its dead, and I will measure with mathematical exactness the tender sympathies of its peoples, their respect for the laws of the land and their loyalty to high ideals.” His words are largely forgotten in the UK but they are often quoted by American undertakers seeking to big up their role and get inside their clients’ wallets. Care = spend. 

Were Gladstone living today he would probably have broadened his message to take in the elderly and exclude US undertakers. 

The Oldie magazine recently received an appeal from Ward 23, a care of the elderly ward at Bristol Royal Infirmary. The writer, Sue Nicholls, Ward Clerk, asked for money to buy basic toiletry items. She said, “Even the smallest of items such as a bar of soap would benefit our patients … we get single sachets of shower gel and shampoo, but they are unscented and don’t lather. Vile stuff.” Ward 23 hopes also to raise enough money to buy special chairs and footstools for the patients. 

Vile treatment of the elderly is normal in our country. Punitive legislation has altered attitudes to black and minority ethnic people and all sorts of other people, but no one has thought it worthwhile to extend attitude-altering legislation to include old people. Nor are there any current plans for an Old People In Need telly-jamboree fundraising festival. 

The manner in which a nation or community cares for its elderly is a measure of its attitude to its dead. We shan’t get death right until we change the way we treat our elders. 

If you are inclined to send a donation or a little parcel to Ward 23, the address is: Ward 23, Uppwer Maudlin Street, Bristol BS2 8HW

ADRTs — who does and who doesn’t

From a letter in the New York Times:

Older adults who do not formally convey their treatment preferences to loved ones create a distressing situation in which children and spouses must make emotionally draining (and costly) decisions about whether to continue or stop life-extending treatment.

As Ms. Jacoby points out, one obstacle to planning is a reluctance to discuss and confront one’s own demise. Yet my research, based on interviews with more than 7,500 Americans, points to another important obstacle: money. Many people complete their advance directives as part of their estate planning; the living will is written up along with one’s will and other documents to protect one’s assets.

But many people with few financial assets to protect do not take the important first step that often kicks off the advance care planning process. People in the lowest quartile of assets are only half as likely as those at the top of the assets ladder to have a living will, to appoint a health care proxy or to discuss their treatment preferences with loved ones.

Source.

Grave dressing at Easter

Posted by Vale

On my way to the crematorium today I passed a family tidying a grave, clearing it after the winter and bringing fresh flowers for Easter.

It reminded me of this description from the diary of Francis Kilvert. At the time of writing he was a curate at Clyro on the Welsh border near to Hay on Wye.

Saturday Easter Eve 16 April 1870

…When I started for Cefn y Blaen only two or three people were in the churchyard with flowers. But now the customary beautiful Easter Eve Idyll had fairly begun and people kept arriving from all parts with flowers to dress the graves. Children were coming from the town and from the neighbouring villages with baskets of flowers and knives to cut holes in the turf. The roads were lively with people coming and going and the churchyard a busy scene with women and a few men moving about among the tombstones and kneeling down beside the green mounds flowering the graves. An evil woman from Hay was dressing a grave…

More and more people kept coming into the churchyard as they finished their day’s work. The sun went down in glory beside the dingle, but still the work of love went on through the twilight and into the dusk until the moon rose full and splendid. The figures continued to move about among the graves and to bend over the green mounds in the calm clear moonlight and warm air of the balmy evening…

When the choir had gone and the lights were out and the church quiet again, as I walked down the Churchyard alone the decked graves had a strange effect in the moonlight and looked as if the people had laid down to sleep for the night out of doors, ready dressed to rise early on Easter morning.

On this blog we’ve sometimes discussed the need for special days – like the Mexican Day of the Dead – where we spend time with the ancestors. Rightly, the general view is that you couldn’t import such an alien custom but this beautiful celebration is native to us and the scenes described were only a little over a hundred years ago. And some families still take time at Easter to dress ’their’ graves.

Are there places out there where this is still a more general tradition and ritual?

Three ways of talking to the dying

Virginia L Seno of the Esse Institute here proposes three ways of addressing a person who is dying. Here they are in stark outline:

  1.  Ask the question,“What is most important to you right now?”
  2. Do what needs doing
  3. Be quiet and open-minded. Be present. Be available. Be willing to ask and hear and do.
Read the whole article here

Cherry blossoms

Posted by Vale

Blossom bursting from bare wood,
old hearts crack open
spring sunshine.

There is something unlooked for in the pleasures of spring: light, warmth and the flush of blossom; a sudden generosity beyond expectation.

Japan marks this annual marvel by holding blossom viewing parties. It’s part of a culture which reverences nature by going out and actively celebrating it – moon gazing, listening to mountain streams and viewing flowers.

Springtime brings the most intense experience. A wave of cherry blossom festivals sweeps the islands of Japan starting in the south and following the sun northwards over two or three months. Picnics under the trees can be raucous and lively (older people often prefer more sedate plum blossom viewings), but winter is over and the sap is rising.

Underneath the joy there is, of course, a poignancy. It’s not as simple as reminding us that – like our lives – the blossoms’ beauty is brief and all too quickly ended, it’s also the sense that there could be no better time to leave than when the world around you is at its most lovely. Back in the 12th Century Saigyo famously wrote:

I wish to die in spring
beneath the cherry blossoms
while the springtime moon is full

Of course the connection between the cherry blossom and time’s passing can be found much closer to home too. This from AE Housman’s A Shropshire Lad:

Loveliest of trees, the cherry now
Is hung with bloom along the bough,
And stands about the woodland ride
Wearing white for Eastertide.

Now of my threescore years and ten,
Twenty will not come again,
And take from seventy springs a score,
It only leaves me fifty more.

And since to look at things in bloom
Fifty springs are little room,
About the woodlands I will go
To see the cherry hung with snow.

How nice to imagine the time when you thought you had fifty blossom seasons more.

Spoilsport

My father told me that he attended a funeral in the parish of Tuosist, in South Kerry, at the turn of the century. As the coffin was being taken in a cart to the local graveyard at Kilmackillogue, three women keeners sat on top of it, howling and wailing at intervals. The parish priest, on horseback, met the funeral near Derreen, a few miles from the graveyard, and rode at its head along the road. As soon as he heard the three women howl loudly , he turned his horse around and trotted back until he reached them, where they sat on the coffin. He started to lash them with his whip, as the cart passed by, and ordered them to be silent. This they did, but on reaching the graveyard, they again took up their wailings, whereupon the priest forced them down from the coffin with his whip. They were afraid to enter the graveyard to howl at the graveside. This put an end to the hiring of keening women in that parish. 

Ó Suilleabháin, 1973

If we can get a better ref for this, we’ll give it to you. Sent in by Phoebe Hoare, to whom we say thank you. 

Victorian deathmyths

Here’s a collection of Victorian superstitions around death and funerals. Of course, everyone didn’t believe all of them but, even so, it’s remarkable (perhaps) how few have survived.

If the deceased has lived a good life, flowers would bloom on his grave; but if he has been evil, only weeds would grow.

If several deaths occur in the same family, tie a black ribbon to everything left alive that enters the house, even dogs and chickens. This will protect against deaths spreading further.

Never wear anything new to a funeral, especially shoes.

You should always cover your mouth while yawning so your spirit doesn’t leave you and the devil never enters your body.

It is bad luck to meet a funeral procession head on. If you see one approching, turn around.  If this is unavoidable, hold on to a button until the funeral cortege passes.

Large drops of rain warn that there has just been a death.

Stop the clock in a death room or you will have bad luck.

To lock the door of your home after a funeral procession has left the house is bad luck.

If rain falls on a funeral procession, the deceased will go to heaven.

If you hear a clap of thunder following a burial it indicates that the soul of the departed has reached heaven.

If you hear 3 knocks and no one is there, it usually means someone close to you has died. The superstitious call this the 3 knocks of death. 

If you leave something that belongs to you to the deceased, that means the person will come back to get you.

If a firefly/lightning bug gets into your house someone will soon die.

If you smell roses when none are around someone is going to die.

 If you don’t hold your breath while going by a graveyard you will not be buried.

If you see yourself in a dream, your death will follow.

If you see an owl in the daytime, there will be a death.

If you dream about a birth, someone you know will die.

If it rains in an open grave then someone in the family will die within the year.

If a bird pecks on your window or crashes into one that there has been a death.

If a sparrow lands on a piano, someone in the home will die.

If a picture falls off the wall, there will be a death of someone you know.

If you spill salt, throw a pinch of the spilt salt over your shoulder to prevent death.

Never speak ill of the dead because they will come back to haunt you or you will suffer misfortune.

Two deaths in the family means that a third is sure to follow.

The cry of a curlew or the hoot of an owl foretells a death.

A single snowdrop growing in the garden foretells a death.

Having only red and white flowers together in a vase (especially in hospital) means a death will soon follow.

Dropping an umbrella on the floor or opening one in the house means that there will be a murder in the house.

A diamond-shaped fold in clean linen portends death.

A dog howling at night when someone in the house is sick is a bad omen. It can be reversed by reaching under the bed and turning over a shoe.

People are still dying of old age. What are the damn medics doing about it?

 

Extracts from an excellent article in the Washington Post: 

I know where this phone call is going. I’m on the hospital wards, and a physician in the emergency room downstairs is talking to me about an elderly patient who needs to be admitted to the hospital. The patient is new to me, but the story is familiar: He has several chronic conditions — heart failure, weak kidneys, anemia, Parkinson’s and mild dementia — all tentatively held in check by a fistful of medications. He has been falling more frequently, and his appetite has fallen off, too. Now a stroke threatens to topple this house of cards.The ER physician and I talk briefly about what can be done. The stroke has driven the patient’s blood pressure through the roof, aggravating his heart failure, which in turn is threatening his fragile kidneys. The stroke is bad enough that, given his disabilities related to his Parkinson’s, he will probably never walk again. In elderly patients with a web of medical conditions, the potential complications of any therapy are often large and the benefits small. It’s a medical checkmate; all moves end in abdication.

I head to the ER. If I’m lucky, the family will accept the news that, in a time when we can separate conjoined twins and reattach severed limbs, people still wear out and die of old age. If I’m lucky, the family will recognize that their loved one’s life is nearing its end.

We want our loved ones to live as long as possible, but our culture has come to view death as a medical failure rather than life’s natural conclusion.

Suffering is like a fire: Those who sit closest feel the most heat; a picture of a fire gives off no warmth. That’s why it’s typically the son or daughter who has been physically closest to an elderly parent’s pain who is the most willing to let go.

At a certain stage of life, aggressive medical treatment can become sanctioned torture. When a case such as this comes along, nurses, physicians and therapists sometimes feel conflicted and immoral. We’ve committed ourselves to relieving suffering, not causing it. A retired nurse once wrote to me: “I am so glad I don’t have to hurt old people any more.”

Read the whole article here.

Is Fear Killing Compassion for Older People?

Posted by Jon Underwood, founder of the Death Café project

“In this case, ignorance is not bliss. With death, ignorance is fear.”

Caitlin Doughty – The Order of the Good Death

The UK Commission on Improving Dignity in Care chose the 29th of February to drop their bombshell in the form of a draft report on how to improve care for the elderly. Their recommendations were dry and sensible but the Commission used their moment in the spotlight to prod at a shadowy part of our national psyche. When splashed across the media nuance was lost to the big message – we’re not compassionate enough, we need to care more. Their implication was clearly that we don’t care enough. 

Though it was NHS staff that were labelled as lacking compassion there were a lot of us who felt, deep down, that we might not care enough too. If we did how would we allow incidents like those that set this Commission in motion continue to occur. Some of these were documented by the Health Ombudsman in a migraine inducing report, the kind that you have to steel yourself to open.

And when you do you learn of Mr. D whose family arrived at hospital on the day he was due to be go home and found he had been waiting for several hours. He was in pain, desperately needed the loo and couldn’t ask for help because,  he was so dehydrated. His daughter said that ‘his tongue was like a piece of dried leather’. The emergency button had been placed beyond his reach, his drip had been removed and the bag of fluid had fallen and had leaked all over the floor making his feet wet. When the family asked for help to put Mr D on the commode they reported that he had ‘squealed like a piglet’ with pain. Truly a  horrific experience for any family.  His daughter said that ‘From the moment cancer was diagnosed my dad was completely ignored. It was as if he didn’t exist – he was an old man and was dying.’

The report continues in a totally dreadful way. You read about Mrs. H who was transferred from hospital to a care home. When she arrived the Manager found she had numerous injuries, was soaked with urine and was dressed in clothing that did not belong to her and which was held up with large paper clips. Or you read about how staff at Ealing Hospital left Mr. J forgotten in a waiting room, waiting to be told he could come in now,  while his wife died in the ward nearby. Or about how staff at Oxford Radcliffe Hospital turned off Mr C’s life support despite his family’s request that they wait until they got there. 

Can you imagine equivalently painful situations would be allowed to occur and reoccur if they concerned children rather than older people? Its convenient to blame medical staff but there is evidence of a much more pervasive problem. According to the European Social Survey Britain has one of the worst records in Europe on age discrimination. Age UK, our loudest voice on behalf of older people, says “Undignified care of older people does not happen in a vacuum; it is rooted in the discrimination and neglect evident towards older people in British society. Age discrimination is the most common form of discrimination in the UK.” 

Abuse and neglect is a crime. Horrible incidents like the ones described above are much more likely to happen to older people. These things together, I firmly believe, constitute hate crime. In the face of them it’s hard not to feel we have some questions to answer, like why these things happen and what can we do about it.

The explosive reaction following the publication of the Dignity in Care commission report was unsurprising because they almost dared to point the finger of blame at the general public. The tone of this debate is shrill and pervaded with unease. Commentators seem happy to skip the bit about what the problem actually is and focus on what should be done about it, and about this there is almost a complete lack of clarity and agreement. 

Some suggest banning the use of the word ‘dear’ to describe older people. Many say that nurses pay and conditions do not allow them mental space to be compassionate and when they are improved standards will improve too. Others suggest that NHS privatisation will only make things worse (a view one suspects they had before the report was published). Esther Rantzen is proposing Silverline, a 24-hour phone service where older people or their families can blow the whistle on cruelty or neglect. Virtually no one suggests that the Commission’s own mild and unthrilling recommendations will amount to much more than a cursory step in the right direction.

The most entertaining commentary I’ve seen was a teeth-grindingly awful piece by Allison Pearson in the Telegraph called ‘Listen darling you can’t legislate for compassion.’  Pearson thinks that “Caring is a vocation, empathy a gift”, conveniently letting herself off from ever having to develop any compassion herself. She continues “Hospitals used to know as much, back when girls with big hearts and a small clutch of CSEs were recruited to do what they did instinctively: fetch a flannel and basin to give someone a nice wash, stroke a shaking, ancient hand, share a joke over a bedpan.” Ah! The harking for the mythical past! So comforting to invoke because it didn’t exist so there is no chance of us ever getting back to it. 

Pearson is wrong on so many levels but the idea that things were better then is just bollocks. This is because the issue here isn’t about reintroducing matron or even about older people. It’s about death. The people profiled by the Health Omdudman were dying. 9 out of 10 of them didn’t live to see the report get published. Things can often go to shit when people are dying and this is where so many problems lie. Key fact: 54% of the complaints that the Healthcare Commission receives are ‘bereavement related’.

It makes sense because many of us don’t do dying very well. We don’t even like to talk about it. And when we see people who are dying we can freak out, a bit or a lot, and sometimes not do the best things. It doesn’t take anything else to cause incidents like Mr. D’s. 

So the flipside of this, is that someone who is more OK about death (and all that is all associated with it) should be better at looking after a dying person than someone that who is scared. This makes sense and there is a surprising amount of evidence of this point. Its not just nurses that are afraid of death – count me in and probably you too – but they are the ones who’ve mainly been studied as far as I can tell. G. G. Eakes studied the relationship between death anxiety and attitudes towards the elderly amongst 159 nursing staff.  The conclusion was clear: “Nursing staff with high levels of death anxiety had significantly more negative attitudes toward the elderly than nursing staff with low levels.” Vickio and Cavanaugh found that the results of their study of 133 nurses “indicate that a connection between old age and death may underlie the relationship between death anxiety and attitudes toward elderly adults.” DePaola, Neimeyer, Lupfer and Fiedler’s comparison of 145 nurses with a control group found similarly that “increasing levels of death concern were associated with greater anxiety toward ageing, especially in the nursing home sample, and nursing personnel displayed significantly fewer positive attitudes toward the elderly than did controls.”

If our problem is fear of death then what should we do about it? The good news is that in many areas we’ve never been better at it  – another reason that Allison Pearson from the Telegraph is wrong to yearn for the good old days of matron. For example, the modern Hospice movement is a magnificent British gift to the world through the pioneering work of Dame Cicely Saunders. It is noteworthy that the word ‘hospice’ is completely absent from the Health Ombudman’s report. Britain is also a world leader in natural burial thanks in large part to two decades of effort by the Natural Death Centre. There is always compelling off-centre debate on this blog. The GFG has the courage to fire sharp barbs at the big funeral chains and is clever enough to lead on big tasks like redefining ritual for non-religious funerals. There are many fantastic undertakers and celebrants and lots of great stuff is happening, like my personal project Death Café and the brilliant Order of the Good Death

Saying that this is a debate about how we care for the elderly makes nurses, care homes and hospitals the things we need to change. No one would deny that changes to date haven’t been entirely successful. Saying this is a debate about how we die would bring the focus back to where it needs to be – on the dying person and their family with nurses, care homes and hospitals there to provide compassionate support.

[Death Café works with anyone who wants to talk about death. This includes those who are dying, those that support them and everyone else. Please do get in touch if you’re minded to.] 

They fit into a spread hand, yet reach into eternity

Posted by Rupert Callender, owner of The Green Funeral Company.

As human beings, we look for meaning everywhere, superimposing it over everything that comes into our lives. The Australian aborigines believe that the world was vocalised into existence, literally sung into creation, and that the song needs to be continued so that reality can flourish. We are no different, giving identities to our household objects, cursing our computer when it misbehaves or urging our spluttering car toward home. We see patterns where, without us, there are none. A world that responds to our awakening gaze, and freezes again as we look away.

As undertakers, we work in an area where meanings blur and identities become less certain. For us, a body is just that: a body. Something awkward and heavy to be treated practically between us, to be lifted and moved, dressed or washed. But when they are in the presence of those who loved them, they become people again, suffused with personality and history, mute vessels for love and longing, themselves but changed. It is to witness this change that we gently lead the living toward, no more certain as to what it means than they, only sure that it is as important as it is painful.

The picture above is of one of our lowering straps, part of our meagre collection of professional equipment. We have two of them, simple strips of furniture webbing to reinforce chairs that we bought thirteen years ago in a haberdashery shop in Cornwall. You can see the colouration of the soil on them, their history stained into the edge. The red thread marks the midpoint. It rests over the centre of the grave, a guide for when we stretch them over before the coffin is laid on top.

They are just material, yet for me they are one of the most powerfully resonant things I possess. They have lowered old men and children, people whose deaths were a longed for mercy and those ripped from their families. They have held mothers leaving shellshocked children, people who have had terrible things done to them, and those who have done terrible things. They have slipped through mine and Claire’s hands a thousand times, and the hand’s of grandmothers and fathers, lovers and friends. They are tinged with our blood cut by the edges of coffins, stained with soil and mud and grass and sweat, and of course, with tears. The tears of people doing the bravest, hardest, saddest thing of their lives, gently lowering their beloved down into a grave.

They fit into a spread hand, yet reach into eternity. Not just bits of woven cloth, but portals, ladders to another world, or at least to the end of this one. At times they appear like mandalas, or spiraling universes. They seem to possess a patient wisdom, to have personality. We certainly have shared history.

I wonder what part they will play in my own end, whether their frayed edges will still be strong enough by then. In my secret heart, I know they will, that they are an umbilical cord reaching out into the womb of my own death, ravelling me nearer.

Hopefully, when my time has come I will be burnt on a hill. If I am, them perhaps one should be wrapped around me, the other to journey with Claire to who knows where. 

These decisions are not ours to make, and maybe they will slip through the hands of my family as they lower me down into the ground. Where ever I am going, I have confidence that the straps will see me safely to the end. They always have.