said.He’dawoken inseverepainbutthemedicalstaff
wouldn’tgivehimenoughmedicationtostopit,fearing
hemightloseconsciousnessagain.Iaskedthenurseto
givehimthefulldosehetookathome.Shehadtoget
permissionfromthedoctoroncall,andstillheapproved
only half.
Finally, at 3:00 a.m., my father had had enough. He
beganshouting.HedemandedthattheytakeouthisIVs
andlethimgohome.“Whyareyoudoingnothing?”he
yelled.“Whyareyoulettingmesuffer?”He’dbecome
incoherent with pain. He called the Cleveland
Clinic—twohundredmilesaway—onhiscellphoneand
toldaconfuseddoctorondutyto“Dosomething.”His
night nurse finally got permission for a slug of an
intravenousnarcotic,butherefusedit.“Itdoesn’twork,”
hesaid.Finally,at5:00a.m.,wepersuadedhimtotake
theinjection,andthepainbegantosubside.Hebecame
calm.Buthestillwantedtogohome.Inahospitalbuilt
to ensure survivalat all costs and unclear how to do
otherwise,heunderstoodhischoiceswouldneverbehis
own.
We arranged for the medical staff to give him his
morning dose of medication, stop his oxygen and his
antibioticsfor hispneumonia, and letus takehim.By
midmorning he was back in his bed.
“Idonotwantsuffering,”herepeatedwhenhehadme
alone. “Whatever happens, will you promise me you
won’t let me suffer?”
“Yes,” I said.