Friend's dying underlines message about living

by Gordon Legge - Religion Editor
Published in Calgary Herald
March 19, 1994

A little more than a year ago, I wrote about Rik Sward, a Calgary man with AIDS. He was involved in neo-shamanism, a contemporary offshoot of an ancient spiritual tradition.

Rik, 56, hoped that when he died, a group of friends would gather in his room, which he referred to as his "departure lounge," and begin drumming as he made his final journey into death.

Following the story, we became friends. Every so often Rik called, inviting me to "materialize" in his Ramsay room.

I enjoyed Rik. He was determined to live life to the fullest right to the end. His walls were covered with artwork and supportive messages from friends.

Monday I received a telephone call from a mutual friend telling me that Rik was in the Holy Cross Hospital dying of lung cancer.

I dropped by around suppertime. He was lying in his hospital bed naked, a pillow covering him for privacy and a fan blowing cool air across his body.

Hooked to an IV machine, he was in considerable pain. His breathing was labored. He could only cough out a few words at a time. But he knew who I was. His eyes told me.

There was a sadness about him, about leaving life behind. But there was also acceptance.

He stretched his hand out to hold. I joked with him. But after a few minutes, we lapsed into silence and I stroked his forehead. Then we prayed.

I felt grateful for this last opportunity to see him. I think he was grateful too. After about 20 minutes, another friend showed up and I left.

He died at 5:30 Thursday morning.

As I left the hospital, I felt sad that Rik was unable to finish his life being drummed into the next phase of life - although he told us we should not be unhappy that he couldn't leave from his departure lounge.

But I also knew that there were friends who had come together during the weekend to drum for him.

I also reflected on an interview earlier that afternoon with Rabbi Elliott Dorff, a philosophy professor at the University of Judaism in Los Angeles.

Dorff visited Calgary Monday to give a talk at Beth Tzedec Congregation called "Rabbi, I'm Dying: Judaism and Euthanasia." We talked about passive and active euthanasia.

Until 40 years ago, people generally didn't have much of an idea when they were going to die. So they spent their final weeks and months in the company of family and friends. "There was a kind of liberation because you didn't know," says Dorff.

But modern technology and medicine make it easier to predict the onslaught of death, yet blurring the boundary separating life and death. "The line between active and passive euthanasia is increasingly thin as we develop more ways of keeping people alive," says Dorff.

Jewish medical ethics demand that when a person can be healed, such as from bronchitis, everything should be done to ensure recovery.

On the other hand, when the condition is incurable, such as with an inoperable brain tumor, everything should be done to alleviate the pain.

One of the problems with contemporary medicine, however, is that when people need their friends and family the most, they are moved out of the friendly home environment and into the antiseptic environs of modern-day hospitals where there is little emotional or psychological support.

"Nurses are doing a yeoman's job and are the unsung heroes of the current medical system," says Dorff. "But you can't expect a nurse to provide the emotional support that a family can."

Cases in which euthanasia becomes a consideration fall in the middle ground.

AIDS patients are poignant example. They're often young. But they sometimes reach a place at which they can't see the point of carrying on. The same is sometimes true of cancer and stroke victims.

"You've got to ask yourself, whose interest are we serving by not helping him to die?" Dorff asks.

Often physicians do not use enough pain killer for fear of later being sued for accelerating death. That's because morphine, the primary painkiller, reduces suffering but also slows the respiratory system.

Nevertheless, pain reduction is sufficiently scientific that an appropriate dosage can be calculated.

People also often feel they are a burden to their families - or are made to feel that, financially, psychologically, or in terms of time.

"That's one of the problems with our youth-oriented society. It doesn't have a tolerance for death. It doesn't see dying as part of the course of life."

In Judaism, it's all right to alleviate pain, or withdraw life-support systems which impede the natural process of dying.

But you do not have a right to commit suicide or to ask for help killing yourself, except in rare and stringently defined situations such as a holocaust.

"In Judaism, the body belongs to God. It's as if you're renting an apartment," says Dorff. "You can have fair use of the apartment during the time of the lease but you have no right to destroy it."

But there's another, maybe even more essential commandment within Judaism - to visit the sick.

Illness is inherently degrading, not only because of the pain, but because a person is unable to contribute to the community.

"That's the wisdom of the tradition," says Dorff. "It's precisely at that time that the community has a positive obligation to visit so that the patient knows 'You are valued.'"

"You can't go to the community. So the community comes to you. You are provided with reassurance that you are still part of the community and people care."

In Jewish synagogues, there are groups of people whose designated responsibility is to visit the sick, especially in the absence of close family and friends.

People are social beings. People need other people. If there is a community around them, they are less likely to want to die.

That is where we fail people like right-do-die activist Sue Rodriguez, who suffered from Lou Gehrig's disease and who died from a doctor-assisted suicide in mid-February.

Rather than surrounding them with the community of people saying, "You are valued," we encourage them to pursue death even more quickly.

Instead of assisting them hasten their deaths, we ought to be helping them in living with dignity and affirming the importance of their lives.

Dying with dignity involves the greatest attention to the most basic needs of the human person, physical as well as spiritual. The terminally ill need to be surrounded with love, compassion, tenderness and the best palliative care.

Moreover, it means ensuring that their families receive the best social, emotional and spiritual support.

By asking our legislators to provide a political solution, we abdicate responsibility. What we need is help in building communities of support within our communities for people nearing the end of their lives.

As Rik so eloquently demonstrated to me this week with his life, we'd all be better off for them.

Laureen Rama is available to lead retreats and workshops for private groups. She also teaches advanced shamanic healing techniques and offers shamanic healings in person or by distance.

Laureen can be reached at info@soulrestore.com or 1-403-851-1198.