When this goes live, I’ll be on the road to the Financial Bloggers Conference outside of Chicago. That translates to a day off here.
Monday, I’ll be back with a whole bucket full of bloggy goodness.
How to Die Well
Most people don’t die quickly.
As much as I would rather die suddenly–while putting a smile on my wife’s face–the odds are that I will spend my last hours or days in a hospital, unable to make the decisions about my care.
Will I be doing my vegetable impression after a car accident, or be left unable to speak during a botched Viagra implanantation in my 90s? I don’t know.
There is one thing I know about the end of my life. I do not want to linger for months, blind and deaf, on a feeding tube. I don’t want my family to spend the last few months of my life secretly ashamed of hoping for my burden to end. I’d like my end to be quick enough that the emotions they are feeling aren’t a sad combination of guilt and relief, just sadness at my passing and happiness at having had me.
That’s the legacy I’d like.
The problem is making my wishes known. If I’m lying in a hospital bed, asking to be allowed to die, they’ll consider me suicidal instead of rationally considering my request. If I’m completely incapacitated, I won’t even be able to ask.
I can certainly make my wishes known beforehand, but how will my family be able to communicate my desires to the doctors in charge and how will they convince the doctor that they aren’t just after my currently imaginary millions?
That’s where a living will comes in. A living will, also know as an advanced directive, is simply a formal document that explicitly states what you want to happen to you if you are too out of it to make your wishes known.
Aging With Dignity has put together an advanced directive called Five Wishes that meets the legal requirements for an advanced directive in 42 states.
The Five Wishes are:
1. Who is going to make decisions for you, if you can’t? For me, the obvious choice is my wife. She appears to like me enough to want me around and love me enough to do what needs to be done, even if it’s difficult. On the chance that we end up in the same car accidents, matching vegetables on a shelf, I’ve nominated my father for the unpleasantness. I don’t think I’ve told him that, yet.
2. What kind of treatment do you want, or want to refuse? When my Grandpa was going, he made sure to have a Do Not Resuscitate order on file with the nursing home, the clinic, and the hospital. He knew it was his time and didn’t want to drag it out.
3. How comfortable do you want to be? Do you want to be kept out of pain, at all costs, even if it means being drugged into oblivion most of the day? Do you want a feeding tube, or would you rather only receive food and fluids if you are capable of taking them by mouth?
4. How do you want to be treated? Do you want to be allowed to die at home? Do you want people to pray at your bedside, or keep their religious views to yourself? Some people want to be left alone, while others are terrified of dying alone. This wish also covers grooming. Personally, if I soil myself, I’d like to get cleaned up as soon as possible. I’ll have enough to deal with without smelling bad, too.
5. What do you want your family to know? This includes any funeral requests you have and whether you’d like to be cremated, buried, or both, but also goes beyond them. Do you want your family to know that you love them? You can also take this section to ask feuding family members to make peace or ask them to remember your better days, instead of the miserable few at the end.
The last 3 wishes are unique to the Five Wishes document, but they are excellent things to include. The most important part of advanced directive is the advanced part. You have the right to want whatever works for you, but your wishes don’t matter if nobody knows about them.
How about you? Do you have a living will? Does your family know what you want to have happen if the worst happens?
Little Monster Late Fees
Last week, I paid a late fee to daycare. I neverpay daycare late.
Except last week.
As I’ve said before, I work 80 hours a week.
For the last couple of weeks, my three year old has decided that she needs to sleep in every morning. No getting up at 6:30 for her. No way. That little prima donna wants to lounge in bed until 8, then watch a movie while eating breakfast in bed. She’s never gotten that treatment, so I don’t know why it’s become her goal.
Last week, she decided to throw a tantrum when I woke her up.
Followed by a tantrum when I reminded her she doesn’t get to wear diapers during the day.
Followed by a tantrum when I dared to pick out clothes that didn’t have horses, or didn’t look right, or weren’t sweats, or weren’t picked out by Mom, or this, or that or….
I’ve been the one to get her ready almost every morning for 3 years and she has never been catered to that way.
Me: overtired, with 1000 things on my mind.
Her: diva training, trying to wake up.
Her sister: teasing, asking questions, and generally doing her best to stand under my feet.
Her brother: gets himself ready, but tries to avoid combing his hair before school, and can’t be relied on to put on clean clothes.
Me: overtired. Juggling getting three kids and myself ready to leave. 1000 things on my mind.
Daycare: What check?
She finally got paid on Thursday. Over the 12 years we’ve had kids there, we’ve paid late maybe 5 times. I hate late fees.
What’s the fix?
Checklists don’t work for me, when I’m rushing around. I tend to ignore them while I’m herding children.
Selling the monsters to the gypsies is out. They are far too difficult to succeed working in the salt mines.
We need to start picking out clothes the night before, to short-circuit most of the tantrum. We also need to enforce bedtimes better, but that’s hard to do Sunday night if they are allowed to nap too long on Sunday afternoon, which happens when I nap with my kids on Sunday afternoon.
Maybe the best solution is to switch schedules with my wife. I’ll go in to work between 6 and 7. She can herd monsters while trying to get ready for work.
Huh?
Am I the only one who just noticed that it’s Wednesday? The holiday week with the free day is completely screwing me up.
Just to make this a relevant post:
Spend less!
Save more!
Invest!
Wee!
Deathbed Regrets
A friend recently pointed me to an article written by a hospice nurse. This nurse spent her career working with people who were dying, beyond recovery, and aware of it. Her job, primarily, was to provide comfort, whether that be physical or emotional.
During her conversations, she found several themes when her patients discussed their regrets and she lists the 5 most common regrets in her article.
I wish I’d had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me.
I don’t see this one being an issue for me. While I did buy in to a standard life template (college, wife, kids, suburbs, office, etc.), I am me. I am undeniably me.
I’d be delusional to think that I wasn’t a bit…different. I see things differently than a lot of other people, I react differently, and I’m vocal about it. That sometimes makes it hard to get close to me. I doubt anyone who is close to me would argue with that.
I also tend to do things. Most people talk about doing things, I try to make them happen. “I wish I were out of debt”, “Honey, I want to start a business”, “Let’s drop 40 pounds this year”, or “I want to build a trebuchet”. I think I know why my wife gets nervous when I say “I have an idea”.
I may not be running anyone else’s script, but at the end of the day, I’d regret not doing things more than I’d regret trying them.
I wish I didn’t work so hard.
This one is a personal struggle for me. I’m scared of missing my children grow up. I hate the idea of looking back and finding my children as adults, with few memories of how they got there.
At the same time, I’ve got a pile of debt I need to get rid of before I can dial back too far. I could quit my job tomorrow, but that wouldn’t be providing a good life for them.
My worry, and the worry of some people close to me, is that, once the debt is gone, I won’t be able to let go of my extreme work hours, even though I’m working so hard now to be able to work less later. “Later”, in this case, means a couple of years, not retirement.
I wish I’d had the courage to express my feelings.
Ugh. Feelings. If this is a standard deathbed regret, I’m screwed. My loved ones know I love them, but other than that, I’m happy to be in control of myself.
I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends.
I do. It’s not always close contact, but it is contact.
I’m of the opinion that life’s too short to spend time with people you dislike, so some people have been relegated to the past. My friends, my family, my loved ones are a part of my life, even if it’s occasionally months between emails or years between visits.
I wish that I had let myself be happier.
I think I do pretty well on this front, too. Happiness is a choice. I could worry about all of the things that aren’t perfect, or I could enjoy the things I have. I choose to enjoy what I’ve got, even while trying to improve the rest.
In the words of Denis Leary : “Happiness comes in small doses folks. It’s a cigarette, or a chocolate cookie, or a five second orgasm. That’s it, ok! [You] eat the cookie, you smoke the butt, you go to sleep, you get up in the morning and go to…work, ok!? That is it!”
Happiness isn’t a hobby farm, a new job, or a dream vacation. Happiness is a date with my wife, or cuddling with my kids to Saturday morning cartoons, or taking my son to the range.
Happiness is the things I’m doing now, not the dreams I’m hoping for someday.
Good Friday
We don’t have daycare on Good Friday.
We do, however, both have to work today. Two rounds of little-girl tonsillitis have zapped our available vacation time.
On an entirely related note, we put our 12 year old son through Red Cross babysitter training a few weeks ago, just for something like this.
My wife gets nervous at the idea of leaving the girls with the boy for very long. I think she thinks the world will explode if he takes care of them correctly.
Our solution for today is to have a slightly older friend come over and help.
She’s 13 and she brought her 10 year old brother with her.
That’s kids aged 3,5,10,12, and 13 in my house today. Total Lord of the Flies.
Hold that thought.
My son, being 12, doesn’t feel it’s necessary to brush his hair for school, or change his clothes every day, and he needs to be reminded to brush his teeth.
This morning, he woke himself up and ran into the bathroom. He emerged with clean teeth and combed hair. I asked him if he was wearing the same shirt as yesterday, and he flew into his room to change.
Hmm. Something is afoot.
While I was putting my shoes on, I reminded him to take care of the house and his sisters, and he made some smart-aleck joke in response.
She giggled.
Watson, I think I’ve found a clue.
Her father told me, just yesterday, the she thinks boys are gross.
The boy has never shown an interest in girls, until this morning.
Grr. The next decade just got considerably more interesting.
Time to lock them both in their respective basements until college.
