Horror stories about end-of-life care abound. Here’s mine. After a terrible car accident at age 56, my beloved mother lay in a vegetative state for nearly two years. She’d always been very outspoken about choosing death over life as a vegetable, so when all hope for any sort of recovery was gone, we brought her home to die.
It is illegal to kill. We couldn’t just give her an overdose. But we could “withhold care,” so we stopped her tube feedings to let her effectively starve to death. She lay in a hospital bed at home for nine days, slowly fading. Even knowing her wishes, and with support from the most saintly and sensitive hospice workers, it was a nightmare.
At one point, a hospice doctor told us that if my mother showed any signs of discomfort, her morphine dose could be increased. I remember snapping at him something like: “Why in the world would we wait for her to show ‘signs of discomfort’? Crank the morphine all the way up now! Why let there be even a chance of pain? The point here is for her to die, and if the morphine depresses her breathing and hastens that along, so much the better!”
It would have been good to be able to register a request for “absolutely maximal pain relief.” But there was no mechanism for that. There was no formal way to lay out our end-of-life instructions.
That is very likely to change soon. The coming thing for patients near the end of life in Massachusetts is a new official form that lets them discuss and document their choices for “life-sustaining treatments” — based on their own needs, their own preferences and what is medically appropriate. I think of it as “the final menu.”
Far more specific than a “Do Not Resuscitate” order, it asks: Would you want to be intubated? Put on a ventilator? How about dialysis? Do you want to be brought to the hospital, or remain at home? How about tube feedings? Anything else? (Personally, I think I’d write: “Please drug me up so intensively that I float into death in a happy morphine haze.” Doctors might not be able to comply, but I’d still ask. )
The form is not for everyone — unlike the health-care proxy form that everyone over 18 should fill out to designate a backup medical decision-maker. But if you have a chronic, advancing illness with no hope of recovery, you can choose to talk about your options with your clinician. Then together, and perhaps with your family as well, you convert that conversation into checks in boxes on the shocking pink form, called a MOLST, Medical Orders for LIfe-Sustaining Treatment.
The MOLST becomes a valid medical order, to be honored by all who treat you, whether the ambulance crew or nursing home staff or hospital physician. If you change your mind, you can always change your MOLST.
I call the MOLST the coming thing for two reasons: One, it’s not here yet. The form is available only in a small pilot project that has been running for just six months in Worcester, training hundreds of doctors, nurses and social workers to use the forms. The project’s managers are still evaluating it, and if it gets approval for use statewide, they want to roll it out carefully, possibly as soon as next year.
But two, those managers are already fielding frequent requests for the form, suggesting how popular it may become. The MOLST eliminates guess-work about a patient’s wishes, both for medical personnel and for families. And it is simply, appealingly explained in this 13-minute video.
“A lot of people hear about it, they see it, they want it,” said Andy Epstein, who co-chairs the MOLST steering committee as special assistant to the state public health commissioner. It involves “a process of discussing and communicating and ultimately honoring the patient’s wishes. and it’s very comprehensive — that’s the beauty of it.”