Getting Harder

Forge and anvil in black and white

“Doc, I just want to die.”

I nodded my head sympathetically. At a certain age, all patients say that. She was in her 90’s…. 

“I am so tired of hurting.”

She groaned and worked her way through her usual litany of aches and pains starting at her head and working all of the way down to her toes. She had pain medicine she could take for the arthritis so I knew that wasn’t really the issue. Not all of it, at least.

“I pray every day that the Lord just takes me away.”

She’d had a gentleman friend at the center. For a few months she positively glowed. He sent her roses for Valentine’s Day, bought treats for her little dog, left her love notes, told her she was beautiful. Never mind that he was twenty years younger than she was. 

At that age, what does twenty years mean? Nothing. It means nothing at all.

“I think they might be having sex…,” her granddaughter said. “Can’t you make them stop?”

My patient was not demented. She was not handing over her life’s savings. She was a consenting adult in an assisted living community who met another consenting adult and while there were significant physical challenges to a sexual relationship at her age if she really were having sex, who was I to meddle?

Then, he died. 

Here she was, left behind again. Sure, she had aches and pains but the real issue was this last man standing thing, or in her case last woman standing. She had already buried two husbands. Now this man. She could not bear to lose anyone else.

But what do you do? Give her a pill? Tell her to get counseling? Pat her on the hand and tell her the sun will come out tomorrow? What do you do for a grieving woman in her 90’s who wants to die but is not suicidal?

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