My client died on Friday night. As an end-of-life provider in my community, I help Orthodox Jewish people die without suffering, and according to Jewish law.
When the family begged me for a timeline weeks ago, I predicted (with the caveat that only God knows) that he’d live
When the family begged me for a timeline weeks ago, I predicted (with the caveat that only God knows) that he’d live
until just after Sukkos. But he progressed rapidly at the end of the week and I wasn’t surprised to receive a call on Friday night. His son called, afraid, that his father didn’t look well at all.
“His oxygen is 72% and he’s on 5 liters,” he said. “And he’s breathing quickly.”
“His oxygen is 72% and he’s on 5 liters,” he said. “And he’s breathing quickly.”
I told him to turn on a timer and count his breaths for 1 minute.
I listened, noting that he counted a breath per second, over 3 times the normal breathing rate.
“Let’s give him morphine,” I suggested gently.
Step by step, the young man did so.
“He will die tonight,” I said
I listened, noting that he counted a breath per second, over 3 times the normal breathing rate.
“Let’s give him morphine,” I suggested gently.
Step by step, the young man did so.
“He will die tonight,” I said
to him as softly as I could.
He breathed in hard and whispered “oh my god. Oh my god. Ok.”
I apologized for being out of town for Yom Tov but I didn’t have a choice.
“You will be ok, and I’ll be here on the phone. Let’s wait to see if the morphine eases his breathing.”
He breathed in hard and whispered “oh my god. Oh my god. Ok.”
I apologized for being out of town for Yom Tov but I didn’t have a choice.
“You will be ok, and I’ll be here on the phone. Let’s wait to see if the morphine eases his breathing.”
He called me 20 minutes later and again we counted his breaths.
30 per minute. Much better.
We spoke about what else may change shortly. He said his mother was sleeping in another room, exhausted.
He asked if he could call me first when his father stops breathing, instead of
30 per minute. Much better.
We spoke about what else may change shortly. He said his mother was sleeping in another room, exhausted.
He asked if he could call me first when his father stops breathing, instead of
calling Hatzalah or Chevra Kadisha. I said of course.
4 hours later he called me.
“I... I don’t think he’s breathing.”
We counted.
“Call the chevra kadisha,” I whispered.
He never called back. No longer on call, I shut my phone for the rest of Yom Tov.
4 hours later he called me.
“I... I don’t think he’s breathing.”
We counted.
“Call the chevra kadisha,” I whispered.
He never called back. No longer on call, I shut my phone for the rest of Yom Tov.
Tonight after Havdalah I called him.
He answered right away.
“He died, Blimi. I assume you guessed.”
I did.
“It... it was amazing. I sat there holding his hand, and sang to him. And I watched him take his last breath. I’ll never forget it.”
He answered right away.
“He died, Blimi. I assume you guessed.”
I did.
“It... it was amazing. I sat there holding his hand, and sang to him. And I watched him take his last breath. I’ll never forget it.”
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