You Say 'Pal-iative,' I Say 'Pay-liative'
However we pronounce it, why do we run away from the concept of palliative care?
However we pronounce it, why do we run away from the concept of palliative care?
A note, as I move this post back to the top of my blog: I know many of the people who left comments below in the "real world," and I did not know these stories about their parents' ashes. Amazing. Jeanne
I'm just back from a week at the beach with Younger Son and Constant, the wonder dog. Missing from the good times was GB, Younger Son's golden retriever, who died a few months ago.
We had planned to scatter GB's ashes at the beach--the dog's favorite spot in all the world, and mine as well--but I forgot to put the box containing his remains in the car before we left.
In hindsight, that was probably a good thing, because I'm not sure Younger Son is ready, emotionally, to scatter the ashes of a dog that became his at the age of 8 weeks. So the box will stay in the kitchen cupboard for awhile longer.
This got me thinking, however, about ashes and human and beloved-animal remains in general. I've written out all my end-of-life planning, which includes cremation, although I don't intend to have my ashes scattered. I'd rather have them buried at the beach than scattered.
The reason for this is that several years ago I went to a ceremony during which the ashes of a good friend of mine who died of cancer were "scattered" on Puget Sound. The fact is, the ashes DIDN'T scatter, they fell into the water with a clump, with a few bits blowing away on the breeze.
I decided then and there that my ashes were not going to be scattered, thank you very much.
Then there's the question which headed up this post: WHOSE ashes are in your closet?
A relative of mine has the ashes of her daughter, who died 30 years ago, and her husband, who died more recently, in the closet. I believe she is keeping them so that when she dies the ashes of the three of them will be mingled and scattered.
I'm not criticizing this plan, just wondering if she has everything carefully spelled out so there are no surprises.
I'm also wondering how many of us have human ashes tucked away ... that's a question. Please answer with a comment below.
@ Jeanne Sather 2008.
Here I am, dinking around, trying to keep Citibank from cancelling my home equity line of credit so that I don't lose my house, and meanwhile, people are dying.
Where do you think I want to put my time and energy?
Yesterday I received an e-mail from a reader, a woman with metastatic breast cancer like me who had tried Tykerb recently. That was why she first contacted me, to get more info on Tykerb, which I've been taking since Thanksgiving.
Here's what she wrote in yesterday's message:
Dear Friends and Family,
Please forgive the form letter but I lack the energy to write each of you separately.
I have decided to stop chemo and am now officially a hospice client. My intention is to stay here in my home assisted by my wonderful friends, family, and the hospice team.
I am not able to handle telephone calls but would love to hear from you by e-mail or U.S. mail. Please personal notes only—no “forwards” or chain letters; I just don’t have the strength.
Of course, I e-mailed her right back, telling her how sorry I am to get this news, and to offer whatever help I can give. I'll e-mail her again regularly, and will also check in with her team of friends who are helping.
And then there was yesterday's post, about finding in-patient hospice care in Seattle:
In-patient Hospice Care in Seattle?
What do I feel? Grief. Just a deep sadness for these two women and all the other friends I have lost to this damn disease: Surain, Kevin, Jill. My brother. My father.
See also: The ‘Undaunted’ Die Too
@ Jeanne Sather 2008.
Yesterday, a friend asked me if I knew of any in-patient hospice programs for cancer patients. A woman she knows is dying of pancreatic cancer (the disease that killed my father) and probably won't live longer than a month.
This woman is single, and she doesn't want to be home alone at the end of her life.
I didn't know, off the top of my head, but I knew who to ask--Leah, the Wonder Woman social worker at Swedish. I e-mailed Leah, and within 24 hours I had the information my friend needed.
There are two places in the Seattle area that provide in-patient hospice care, Leah said.
One is Bailey-Boushay House on Capitol Hill, and the other is Evergreen Hospice in Kirkland, a suburb across Lake Washington from Seattle. Both require a physician's statement that the patient will
be terminal in six months or less.
Bailey-Boushay used to be the AIDS hospice, but Leah said it has converted to a regular skilled-care center with an emphasis on hospice. Does that mean fewer people are dying of AIDS in Seattle? I hope so.
Both are apparently very expensive, although Medicare, Medicaid, or other insurance that includes a hospice benefit would cover the cost.
For more information:
@ Jeanne Sather 2008.
This is a chapter from the book I'm working on, called 'The Assertive Cancer Patient: A Troublemaker’s Guide to Getting the Best Cancer Treatment Possible.' I hope to have the book done by the end of 2008, but who knows? This blog takes up most of my time. Jeanne
I call them “MIA doctors”—doctors who go missing in action when their patients are dying.

Cancer patients do not expect the doctor who has cared for them throughout their illness to turn and walk away once they are terminally ill. But that is what happens more often than not. The doctor hands them off to hospice for palliative care or sends them home to die, and that’s it: These dying patients never see or hear from their doctors again. Often, during their last appointment oncologists don’t even say goodbye or acknowledge that they will not be seeing the patient again.
Before I get into the reasons for this, how things are starting to change, and what you can do, a couple of stories:
When my friend Surain af Sandeberg was dying of cancer in the spring of 2002, her husband Robert told me how distressed he was that they had not heard from Surain’s doctor since her last appointment.
Surain had metastatic breast cancer. Late in 2001 her doctor discovered that the cancer had spread to her brain, and she had radiation therapy to the head. Then cancer was found in her upper spine, and in January 2002 Surain’s doctor told her that it was unlikely further treatment would work.
Surain went home to the houseboat on Seattle’s Lake Union where she had lived with Robert since 1994, and a group of friends helped Robert care for her during the remaining months of her life. But during this time, and even at the time of Surain’s death in March, her doctor never once contacted her or her husband. She never called; she never sent a note.
“It’s is definitely true that [the doctor] disappeared completely after she told us that Surain had one to two months left to live,” says Rain Robert af Sandeberg (who has since added his wife’s nickname to his name). “Surain and I were surprised by that—I might say a bit upset.
“Surain liked her doctor very much. She was a famous doctor, yet she seemed to give preference to Surain’s case and gave her quick appointments when it was possible in her busy schedule.”
I was one of the people who helped care for Surain at the end of her life, and I was shocked when Robert told me Surain’s doctor had gone MIA. At that time I had no idea that this was standard practice for most oncologists. Once they feel they can do nothing more for the patient medically, they hand them off to hospice, to a social worker or pastor, or just send them home to die.
Since then, I have heard a number of similar stories, and each time I hear one, my outrage grows. These dying patients are not asking for a lot: a phone call, a chance to say goodbye and thank you, some acknowledgement of the relationship they have had with their doctor.
The family doctor goes MIA
A woman I know told me a similar story, but in this case it was the family doctor who went MIA when her mother-in-law was diagnosed with metastatic cancer at age 82.
“This was the most difficult thing for us as a family—feeling that her family doctor of 25 years farmed her off to an oncologist, and then as soon as he handed her off we never heard from him again,” she says.
Several years after her mother-in-law’s death, these memories are still painful. She had accompanied her mother-in-law to a number of doctor’s appointments over the years, and saw what she thought was a warm, caring relationship. But once her mother-in-law was diagnosed with cancer, she says, “It was as if the relationship they had was phony; it didn’t exist.”
And when her mother-in-law died, she says, “We had expectations—it would have been just common courtesy—for the doctor to make a phone call when she died or send a little note. But nothing. A gaping vacuum. It was hard for us.”
Her husband adds, ”There was no good-bye, no card, no appearance at her bedside or funeral.”
These stories are difficult to read, I realize, but read on, because it gets better.
One thing that makes these experiences so painful for cancer patients and their families and friends is that they were unexpected. If you know that your doctor might behave this way at the end of your life, there are some things you can do to change the script. These including choosing a doctor early on who you know won’t go MIA on you at the end.
Why doctors go MIA
Doctors are taught in medical school to keep an emotional distance from their patients to protect themselves from burnout. And oncologists are taught to hand their patients off when there is nothing more that they can do for them medically—no more drugs to try, no clinical trials left that might prolong their lives for a little while—and turn their attention to patients they can help.
What they don’t seem to realize is that we patients experience our relationships with our doctors as so much more than a “medical” relationship.
In addition, many oncologists experience the death of a patient as a personal failure, when, as one woman points out, “It’s not all about them.” Also, several doctors have told me that giving bad news, telling a patient that he or she is terminal, for example, is one of the of the most stressful things they do. And to top that off, the vast majority of oncologists were never taught how to talk with their patients—so they avoid having these difficult end-of-life conversations, and the patients are left confused and sad and feeling abandoned.
“We are expecting that physicians have a level of emotional maturity and a level of comfort with all aspects of life, including death, and most of us are not OK with it,” says Karen Gorrin, a therapist who works with cancer patients.
“It’s not what our culture has taught us,” Gorrin says. “We don’t grow up with this and we aren’t taught this in schools.” She adds that in her training as a therapist she was also taught to distance herself from her clients, but she has broken ranks and doesn’t do things that way any more.
“In my training one of our mentors was really clear: ‘You don’t go to funerals; the way you do this is you do your work as a professional and you keep a distance,’” she says. “But I found that this didn’t work for me. I had a relationship and I needed closure and I needed to see through the relationship. That works for me.”
Change is coming
Dr. Anthony Back, a medical oncologist at the Seattle Cancer Care Alliance in Seattle, Washington, is doing research on doctor-patient communication and training doctors to have what he calls “difficult conversations” with their patients. He says, contrary to the conventional wisdom, doctors benefit from being able to have these conversations with patients and are less likely to burn out.
Dr. Back is one of a handful of voices in the wilderness at this point, but his work offers hope that the next generation of oncologists will be able to talk openly with their cancer patients throughout their diagnosis and treatment and at the end of life. (A side note here: Some oncologists have figured this out, despite what they were or were not taught in medical school, and do a wonderful job of having difficult conversations with their patients. My own doctor is one of them.) Dr. Back’s work may well mean that the next generation of oncologists will be able to say goodbye to dying patients and not go MIA on them.
Dr. Back and several co-authors published an article, “On Saying Goodbye,” in the April 2005 issue of the Annals of Internal Medicine that has attracted a lot of attention. Dr. Back says the article was needed because, “There was kind of a gap in the medical literature about how to close a relationship with someone who is dying. … There is something about modern medicine—our huge job is to keep people alive as long as possible. It’s not as much about honoring and respecting the life. There hasn’t been a lot of talk about that.”
Dr. Back helps train young doctors, including medical students, residents, and fellows, and he says they don’t see their mentors having these conversations with patients who are at the end of their lives. “There is not a lot of role modeling about it,” he says. “They are learning by trial and error.”
In the journal article, Dr. Back and his co-authors walk doctors through seven steps in the process of saying goodbye to a dying patient. These include choosing an appropriate time and place, giving the patient a chance to respond, and my favorite, “Number Six: Articulate an ongoing commitment to the patient’s care, to make it clear she is not being abandoned.”
It is clear that this is needed. After the article came out, Dr. Back says he received one phone call and four e-mails from people saying that their veterinarian did a better job when a pet died. He says, “I got phone calls and e-mails from people who said something like, ‘When my dad died I didn’t hear anything from the doctor. But when my cat died I got a handwritten note the next week and a call.’ One woman said the vet made a donation to PAWS [the Progressive Animal Welfare Society] in honor of her pet rabbit. The contrast is a little creepy.”
What you can do
1. Know what you want
The first thing you can do, to help keep your doctor from going MIA, is to think about what you want from your doctor at the end of your life. I am not terminally ill, but I have an advanced cancer that cannot be cured, so I’ve spent some time thinking about these issues.
I want my doctor (by which I mean my medical oncologist) to tell me, clearly, when all of my treatment options have been exhausted and I am dying. At that time, I want the opportunity to thank him for all that he has done for me, and I want the opportunity to say goodbye.
And I want my doctor to stay in touch with me during the time I have left. This doesn’t need to be a personal visit, a phone call or two is fine.
My doctor will also be invited to my funeral. Whether he attends or not is of course up to him, but he will be invited.
2. Choose a good time for you
If possible, you will want to carefully choose the time to have this conversation. For example, I did all my end-of-life planning, including rewriting my will and making plans for my funeral during a period when I was in remission and feeling physically and emotionally strong. Don’t kid yourself that this will be an easy conversation, for either you or your doctor. Choose a good time.
3. Give your doctor some warning
Once you’ve prepared yourself to have this conversation with your doctor, give your doctor a verbal warning that you are going to bring up a tough subject. “It’s a little tough for some doctors to hear this out of the blue,” says Dr. Back. “You might say something like, ‘I’ve been doing some thinking and planning and there are a couple of things I want to request.’”
4. Be specific about what you want
You may want to go into this meeting prepared with a written list of the things you want to talk about to make sure you don’t forget anything. Then just tell your doctor what your concerns are, whether it is making sure you have a chance to say goodbye, or wanting reassurance that you will still have contact with your doctor at the end of life. Dr. Back says he encourages cancer patients to raise these issues. “I think most doctors would appreciate this kind of invitation,” he says. “It could be uncomfortable, but just hang in there.”
5. Enlist help to get what you want
You, or a family member, can enlist the help of your doctor’s nurse, suggests Dr. Back. “Family members could call the doctor’s office at the end of life,” he says. “It is totally fine to say to the nurse: ‘It would mean a lot to us to have a call from the doctor. We just want to talk a little bit.’ Most doctors would respond to that. It is a respectful request about something you need.”
6. Be prepared for the possibility of an MIA doctor
You’ve told your doctor what you want, but that doesn’t guarantee that the doctor will be responsive. You need to be prepared for that possibility. Some doctors, for all the reasons mentioned above or for personal reasons of their own, may not be able to maintain contact with you at the end of your life. That’s sad.
If this does happen to you, don’t put too much energy into trying to change the doctor. Acknowledge to yourself that it’s not what you want, and find someone else who will be comfortable being present for you in the last weeks and months of your life. This could be a pastor, a therapist, or a close friend.
See also:
Discovering the power of goodbye
@ Jeanne Sather 2008.
I've been wondering about this, so decided to put it out there and find out--
How many of you had your will and other end-of-life planning in good order at the time you were diagnosed with cancer?
Answer: yes or no
Six months after diagnosis: How many of you had taken care of your will and other end-of-life planning?
Answer: yes or no
One year after diagnosis: How many of you had taken care of your will and other end-of-life planning?
Answer: yes or no
Please answer with a comment (below), or send me an e-mail if you want me to post your answer anonymously. Feel free to elaborate on the simple yes/no answers. jeanne.sather@gmail.com
I'm very curious about this, because I know how hard it is to face end-of-life planning when you're healthy, and I think it is in some ways even harder to face when you are sick.
And I'll start the ball rolling by admitting that at the time I was diagnosed, I did not have a formal will. Only a handwritten letter spelling out my wishes for my sons if I should die.
This, despite the fact that I was a single parent, with (at that time) sole custody of both my sons. This was criminal. What was I thinking? (I know, of course, that I WASN'T thinking. I didn't want to face these issues, or something else was always more important--one thing single parents are is time-starved.)
Since then, I've done my will and other documents twice, and I'm due to update them again, now that Younger Son is 17 and counting. Older Son is 23.
Sorry that I don't have the HTML ability to build a snazzy little poll that will tabulate answers automatically. I'll just have to do it by hand.
Answers, please.
See also: To be dead sure you get the last word, write your own obit
(Note that I was interviewed for the above story FOUR years ago. Women with metastatic breast cancer are living longer.)
@ Jeanne Sather 2008.