Dilemmas

This morning, our family gathered to farewell Lucky. Given his amiable, sincere and honest nature, the funeral service was absolutely packed. Michael wrote a beautiful tribute to his Dad -  but he was concerned the flood of memories may have overwhelmed him.

First dilemma. I had gently reminded him of this task for a day or so. If he did or he didn't compose a written piece for Lucky was irrelevant to me. The love and respect Michael has for his Dad is wound into his heart and soul. In the end, he dictated the words he wished to say to me last night.  He just wanted to express these emotions without breaking down. We organised a contingency plan. Which he didn't need. I was so proud of him.

These posts about Lucky's last days and his death I have composed has caused some angst. Lucky was a self-reliant and private person. And I understand that. But he was important. He counted. As a man who would have done anything for his family and friends, I believe he would have been distressed by the ordeal of his last day and would not want anybody else to suffer as he suffered.

Second dilemma. How much do I share? I have bitten the bullet and posted on this blog, on Facebook and I have written to the hospital, the Health Minister and the ABC. There will be those who believe I should not have gone to these lengths. However, I have been overwhelmed by the level of positive support I have received. And all the other stories that demand attention.

What happened to Lucky should not have occurred. We were promised dignity and comfort for him. This was not forthcoming. There was no palliative care plan for Lucky. Midland Hospital does not offer palliative care services. This has been confirmed by the hospital's Consumer Liaison. All to do with funding.

Yet, I have read and heard stories of peaceful deaths within hospital settings. If peaceful deaths can occur in hospital settings, why is this not the normal course of events?

Third dilemma. Death, although the end for us all, is still a taboo subject. Those of us who watch our loved ones experience more comfortable deaths are relieved and thankful for their lack of suffering. Those of us who witness the cries, the terminal restlessness and the obvious trauma of other deaths, such as my beloved father-in-law, are left devastated by these experiences.

I accept that I may be viewed as both whistle-blower and pariah.  But I am driven to follow justice. And I need to speak whilst my memories are raw and clear and savage.  If I remain quiet and honour Lucky's privacy above all else, then these awful deaths will be accepted as reasonable. When they are not.

And the total absence of comfort and dignity that Lucky experienced will be in vain.