antibiotics.Butifthingsgot worse,theywouldnotput
herona breathingmachine.Theyalsolethimcallthe
palliativecareteamtovisit.Theteamprescribedasmall
dose of morphine, which immediately eased her
breathing. Her family saw how much her suffering
diminished, and suddenly they didn’t want any more
suffering.Thenextmorning,theyweretheonestohold
back the medical team.
“Theywantedtoputacatheterinher,dothisotherstuff
to her,”her mother,Dawn,toldme.“Isaid, ‘No.You
aren’tgoingtodoanythingtoher.’Ididn’tcareifshe
wetherbed.Theywantedtodolabtests,bloodpressure
measurements,fingersticks.I wasvery uninterestedin
theirbookkeeping.Iwentovertoseetheheadnurseand
told them to stop.”
Inthepreviousthreemonths,almostnothingwe’ddone
toSara—noneofthescansortestsorradiationorextra
roundsof chemotherapy—hadlikely achievedanything
except to make her worse. She may well have lived
longerwithoutanyofit.Atleastshewassparedatthe
very end.
That day, Sara fell into unconsciousness as her body
continuedtofail.Throughthenextnight,Richrecalled,
“therewasthisawfulgroaning.”Thereisnoprettifying
death.“Whetheritwaswithinhalingorexhaling,Idon’t
remember,butitwashorrible,horrible,horribletolisten
to.”
Herfatherandhersisterstillthoughtthatshemightrally.
Butwhentheothershadsteppedoutoftheroom,Rich
knelt downweepingbesideSara and whispered in her