Pain makes dying bearable

Tuesday, February 23, 1999

Pain makes dying bearable

DEATH: Suffering prepares you for the end, allows you to accept
fate

Death is not my friend, but I sure hope it makes me suffer. I
look forward to my Room 101, unlike George Orwell’s "1984"
characters who dreaded that room where they were forced to endure
their worst fears. In my Room 101, the pain and agony before death
will taunt and tease me – if I’m lucky.

After having said this, let me also tell you that I am a very
fearful person. I dread pain of any kind. I can’t even handle a
minor headache, and whenever the slightest symptom shows up I start
leafing through my self-help medical dictionary to confirm my worst
suspicions. I’m even unnerved by that spooky music they play on
"Unsolved Mysteries."

So it should be no surprise that death scares me, well, to
death. It strikes me as the ultimate disease, because there is no
cure – no vaccine, no pills, no magic herbs.

So have I thoroughly confused you? Good. "If you’re so scared of
death, why in the name of an IV drip would you want to have a
painful death of all things?" you ask. Allow me to explain.

The only way I will willingly go (not that I really have a
choice in the matter) is if the pain is so great that I actually
want to die.

I am suggesting that those who are the most lucky before death
are those who are in the most pain. Sounds morbid, I know, but for
so many death is something we don’t think about … it’s an
unknown, it’s a scary thought, and it’s better left unspoken – an
"un-thought" because there’s nothing we can do about it anyway.

Especially now, since we are young adults at the prime of our
youth with optimism and excitement about the future, death is the
last thing we want to think about. You might be disturbed that I am
even raising the issue. But if you are disturbed, like many, then
maybe that is all the more reason to keep reading.

Most of us never really confront our fears about death. On one
hand, I don’t doubt that it’s a natural psychological denial
response, and in some ways perhaps it’s all for the better. After
all, with only one life to live, it would be wasteful to spend our
life dreading death, because we’d never really have the chance to
live it. On the other hand, I suspect that most of us repress any
feelings on the subject, when at least contemplating or coming to
terms with our mortality may allow us to make more out of our
present lives. I know I have.

If there is one positive thing that comes out of my fear of
death, it is the thirst for life. My fear has led me to be
constantly conscious of how I live.

In whatever I do, in my time with friends and family, in the
pursuit of my career, I hear the admonition of "Lisa, you’re only
here for so long – are you spending your time wisely?" from that
little voice inside of me (oh, don’t act like you don’t know what
I’m talking about – you have one, too!). To some, this may sound
strange, if not downright annoying, but this voice keeps me on
track to pursue the best quality of life out of what little
quantity I’ve been given.

Even if you are religious and believe in an afterlife (as do I),
there is still the smallest hint of uncertainty. For death is also
the ultimate unknown. And what if there is nothing? What if when
life ends, you end?

Take a second and imagine what it would be to no longer exist,
to suddenly just be nothing. Stretches the limits of even your UCLA
brains, doesn’t it? We’re reaching into concepts such as infinity
that our mortal minds cannot quite comprehend, and I think that,
out of this, some apprehension develops as well.

As I say all of this, I am quite aware that no way in hell will
I take a painful death sitting down (unless I can’t get up, of
course). As soon as I get what I’m asking for, I’ll probably be
begging to take it back.

My rabbi used to say that there is living room talk and hospital
room talk. With living room talk, everyone is gathered around,
speaking naively about how they would deal with hypotheticals in
the hospital room. But when we’re actually in the hospital room,
all of a sudden those hypotheticals become a reality, and how we
deal with it then is a whole other story. Basically, it’s easy to
talk the talk, but not so easy to walk the walk.

I also tread carefully because perhaps it would be best to have
a quiet, easy death, with time to say goodbye to loved ones and do
those last few things to reconcile and accept our impending demise.
And yet, in doing this, I am distressed that it will only make me
want to stay more – make me want to cry out "Hey! I’m not ready!"
And aren’t we most afraid of that which we have no control
over?

Nevertheless, until I get to that point, I suppose I’ll continue
with my living room banter, since my logic makes sense as long as
I’m lucid, without a bedpan, and not breathing through a tube. It
still seems to me that if you’re full of life, happy and fulfilled
before you die, you will never want to go, and it will make
accepting death all the more difficult.

Conversely, those in the most pain (emotionally, mentally or
physically), while no doubt braving tremendous suffering, may have
it the easiest in the end. At least the pain may allow them to let
go where they otherwise wouldn’t, because they truly want to – as
the only way out of such torture.

I look at the elderly, and this suspicion is only confirmed
more. With some, even in their 80s, they are vibrant, active and
have all of their faculties. They stay busy with friends and
family, search out group activities and classes, and maintain
independence over most of their daily life. Many of them are slowly
dying from a relatively painless but untreatable disease. Others
know they will soon die of natural causes. But ask this group about
death and that is one subject they want nothing to do with.

Then I look on the other side of the fence, to the sick and
dying in pain. Some are in such tremendous agony. Others don’t even
know who or where they are. We would view this as the ultimate
tragedy at first, right? But this might be just the thing we’ll
need: an insulation against having to accept the unacceptable and
expect the inevitable when our time comes.

Maybe it is better not to know, or to be in so much pain that we
beg for the only way out.

Maybe I shouldn’t worry too much. I suppose none of us should.
The best reason? There’s not a damn thing you, I, or the
president’s lawyers can do to get us out of this one, folks.

Yet, just to recognize our mortality is still an important step,
I think, in reminding us of life’s brevity and encouraging us to
live each day to the fullest.

Because when I’m finally taken to my Room 101, I don’t want to
have any regrets. Do you?Lisa Silver

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