Hannah commander-in-chief of the country’s palliative care physician. Accompanied terminally ill people to death. On FOCUS Online reported of a patient who has stayed particularly in my mind, that Mr. Miller is 70 and suffers from lung cancer. He’d rather die than be a life-saving chemotherapy.
The elegantly dressed man stood at the living-room window and looked on down the road. “If I were to jump off of here, then it would probably be very useful. Finally, we are only on the second floor.“ Then he turned and came up to me. “You have to be a doctor, the Palliative.” He stretched out his Hand to me. I nodded. “Hannah Haberland. And you’re Mr Müller*?“
About the guest author
Hannah Haberland was born in 1984 in Northern Germany. After her medical studies she did a residency in anesthesia and then the additional designation of palliative medicine. Since some years she works in a Team of Specialized Outpatient palliative care and care in a multi-disciplinary Team for people with incurable diseases until the end of her life.
I knew of course who he was. His live-in partner had me warned at the door that Mr. Miller played up the fact of suicide. Mr. Miller smiled and pointed in the direction of the Seating area.
I looked at him closely. He was a little short of breath and not coughed again and again, otherwise, noted him of his disease. He looked significantly younger than 70 years, and you saw that he was in his Appearance.
A potentially life-saving surgery he had rejected
“I know that you have a lung tumor. They wanted to operate, but they have refused, even though their disease was still curable.“ He nodded. “It suggested to me an Operation and then chemotherapy. Maybe I’m not healed then, maybe not. I’ve decided against it. This is a Problem for you?“ His tone was mocking, he looked at me intently.
“No. Should it?“, I asked in a neutral way.
“Now, they Doctors want to treat always be around.”
“That may be so, but I am a palliative care physician. If you tell me that you want to no tumor-specific therapies, I can live with that.“
Mr. Miller leaned back in the seat group, and looked at me quizzically. He then showed the approach of a smile. “Well, we can do business.”
“But I must ask of course, why do you not operate want to leave?”
This question had to be. Because, of course, I went on somewhat thin ice, if I agreed to a palliative treatment when a cure was still possible. I had to be sure that Mr Müller, the scope of this decision term. Mr. Miller made a defensive movement of the hand. “You know, I smoked for 50 years, drinking and whoring – sufficient now.”
This was not quite the explanation I had expected. How his words to underline the handle Mr. Miller, after a pack of cigarettes. “Does it bother you?”
I shook my head. “Is your apartment.”
“Maybe you say Yes, I shouldn’t smoke because of lung cancer and so.”
“Now no matter, is it?” I could be very dry. Mr. Miller grinned and took a deep breath, and he had to vigorously cough.
“I didn’t want to go to the doctor”
“See you…”, he cried. “I have this cough and shortness of breath. I didn’t realize that there was something wrong. I didn’t want to go to the doctor. I made my Partner for the sake of, because of the has pushed me each and every day. Now I have the diagnosis, but my setting has changed nothing. I will not cut, in the clinic, fat, then Chemo, then the hair go out of me… no, that’s not the picture I have of me.“
Now I understood. Mr. Miller had apparently no fear of death, but he was afraid to lose control over his flawless body. You can now find vain, but for Mr. Müller, it was important and he was obviously in his Situation, fully aware of this and had made a conscious decision. Even if I would not make this decision even so, I had to accept his attitude.
I gave him morphine drops. “You should try it sometime. You take the same time five drops, then we can see if your shortness of breath improves.“ Mr. Müller studied in depth in the pack, then took in a good the drug. “And if I’m going to drink the whole pack all at once empty, is it over?” he asked so casually, as if he had asked for the time.
“Well, maybe. Perhaps is not only your brain, for a time, enough oxygen, and you lie around half of a year on hoses hanging in an intensive care unit.“ I was now clear that Mr. Miller took a very graphic and direct language.
Mr. Miller looked at me horrified. “No!”
“Well, then you leave it at the dosage I’ve written for you.”
He listened to talk of suicide
Mr Müller lived after this first visit, exactly a year, and he lived well. His symptoms were easy to get a grip, and when he realized that we would help as an outpatient palliative care team for him to control his shortness of breath and him otherwise, as he wanted it, he stopped to speak of suicide.
Just the once he asked me provocative, which firearm I would consider for a suicide to be the most suitable thing I could intervene with a reference to its bright carpets and the mess it would leave on it, a paradox that he had to laugh out loud.
Shortly before his death, he became increasingly confused and was able to focus poor. I suspected that he had developed brain metastases and asked him if we should make an attempt with cortisone, which would push back these symptoms for at least a short time. He smiled. “You know, now I have 50… no, 51 years of Smoking, boozing and whoring. Now it’s enough.“
He died two days later peacefully in his apartment. Exactly as he had wished.
*Name of the author changed. Hannah Haberland has anonymized all the cases in your book, in order to safeguard the identity of patients and their families. In it she refers to other cases, and there are touching insights into their daily work: