At the outset, let me just say that I am not one of those who considers 64 to be anywhere near old age. So it goes without saying that it was like like a splash of cold water when the folks at the hospital asked me if I wanted a DNR order.
Even more unsettling was the reasoning behind their suggestion that I say “no.”
The situation came about with bewildering rapidity. I have written about The Dalek Inside Me before, so no need to go into it it just now. I’ll just say that last Tuesday, I had a really, really good day. On Wednesday, Tracy looked hard at me and said, “You’re skin is yellow. We need to go to the hospital.”
“Ah, no, it isn’t,” I said. I took the dogs outside and looked hard at the skin on my arm, and then lifted my shirt and looked at my stomach.
“Oh, shit,” I said. Trudging into the house, I told Tracy that yeah, we needed to go to the hospital.
One shunt later, lounging around in my bed, two doctors came in and explained the DNR situation to me. It seems that folks who are younger than the tender age of 64 fare much better with a DNR order.
Folks who are oldER (not old), well, not so much. Do I want to suffer intellectually, or frankly, to suffer from a substantial loss of quality of life?
Quote of the Day
I dearly love to persuade people. There can hardly be a greater pleasure (of a selfish kind) than to feel you have brought another person around to your way of thinking. – James Hinton