MSI Press Blog

  Just released: the audiobook edition of Passing On: Preparing for the Afterlife  by Joanna Romer. Book description: Existence makes sense only if we include the afterlife as part of our history. Scientists are exploring the concept that life, including what is called the afterlife, may not be as we perceive it. New discoveries having to do with the simultaneous nature of time and the relativity of space coincide dramatically with the testimony of Near-Death Experience (NDE) survivors. The question is, where does our energy go and how much of our identity goes with it? Passing On: How to Prepare Ourselves for the Afterlife attempts to shed light on these questions and many others, such as: Do we meet up with loved ones after we pass on? Do we take form as a physical entity or are we pure essence? Do time and space exist in the afterlife, and: What are the characteristics of the afterlife---is it as joyful, loving and forgiving as those who have undergone a Near-Death Experience claim?

  I have raised two children who were not supposed to live because of the type of birth defects they have. Today, both are in their 40s. I know how to care for someone whom I honestly believe will -- and who does have a hope to -- get better. There was always the struggle of making sure they got the meds they needed, that they did the kinds of activities they needed to do, that their father, Carl, and I researched everything that was going on in medical research about their defects and brought it up to their doctors, and that we interacted actively with all specialists working with them, asking for clarification for us at time and for them at times, ensuring that they knew as much or more than we did. It was purposeful care that had an expected point of diminishing need, with the reins turned over to the children as time passed. Time, then, was a positive. It allowed us to build a brighter future than an initial diagnosis proposed. Things got better over time. The kids gained skills an

(Carl, returning from chemotherapy, getting out of car and onto chair lift)   An inescapable decision--and a potentially life-changing one--can be whether or not to provide chemotherapy at advanced stage 4 of cancer. Chemotherapy given when a cancer is incurable (and side effects are minimal, manageable, or acceptable) is called palliative chemotherapy .  As with nearly anything medical or existential, there are pros and cons.  On the PRO side are the intents (if actually realized) shrink the cancer reduce the symptoms (e.g., pain) improve quality of life prolong life On the CON side are the peripheral aspects uncomfortable and/or disconcerting side effects (the same that accompany any chemotherapy: nausea; neuropathy; in the case of some compounds, hair loss) "end of life" chemotherapy can feel like grasping at straws, especially when/if the intents are not all met or met at all (an emotional side effect of depressions, desperation, anger--it depends upon the person) difficu

  I would be remiss if I did not follow-up on the story of the horrible hospice from hell . Once the complaint was raised by the California office to the federal level, months passed. I wondered if justice would be served. But I kept hearing that one or another person who had witnessed the inadequacies of the horrible hospice from hell were being interviewed. I also heard that the hospice was called in for interview and that a couple surprise visits were made by state staff.  After nine long months, I got a written response from the state. Wow! The hospice had to post that they were not meeting state requirements. They had a two-page long list of deficiencies to correct with a time frame for doing so and an oversight plan. I was not only satisfied, but I was also impressed with the efficacy of California's oversight. It could not bring Carl back; it could not undo the harm it had done to him; it could and likely would spare many others from the kind of trauma we had through. For o

  We interrupt our series of Cancer Diary posts to share what everyone already knows: cancer ( melanoma gone wild) has the upper hand now over Jimmy Carter , former US president and NFobel Prize winner. We salute his service to so many people of the world and his many accomplishments on behalf of peace and humanity. We wish him a humane experience on hospice and a peaceful last chapter in his life. For other Cancer Diary posts, click  HERE . Blog editor's note: As a memorial to Carl, and simply because it is truly needed, MSI Press is now hosting a web page,  Carl's Cancer Compendium , as a one-stop starting point for all things cancer, to make it easier for those with cancer to find answers to questions that can otherwise take hours to track down on the Internet and/or from professionals. The web page is in its infancy but expected to expand into robustness. To that end, it is expanded and updated weekly. As part of this effort, each week, on Monday, this blog will carry an i

  I like to follow the blog of Barbara Karnes , hospice nurse par excellence. Much of what she has to say to hospice nurses about end-of-life issues in general apply to caregivers of cancer patients in particular. Her latest post, " For some doctors, it just isn’t in their tool kit to stop trying to treat,"  reflects our experience very well. Only when Carl fell and needed four people to lift him and get him to the hospital and x-rays showed complete take over by cancer of four major organs along with blood clots in his legs and lungs did the doctor suggest hospice (although he also expressed a willingness to continue treatment -- a different treatment -- if we wanted). We chose hospice, but the period of time was short. Carl returned from the hospital and went on hospice August 7. He died August 16. I have always wished that the doctor had put the hospice option in front of us much earlier, perhaps even at the beginning of the 5-month period during which the doctor tried eve

  When a dying loved one does not want to talk about the ramifications of dying is an issue I have been wanting to address for a time. it was a very difficult one for us. More than head-in-sand, it was a deliberate refusal by Carl, when he was dying, to become involved with completing really important paperwork, like advanced directives, will/family trust, power of attorney. It was as if he could avoid death by not talking about it. (Of course, to be fair in representing the situation, he found out from a fall, with no warning, that he had probably only days and weeks left to live. The local hospital said days; Stanford was more positive about taking steps to turn days into something longer.) Cancer Diary will address this topic again (and likely again). For today, though, I want to share Diane Hullet's Best Life, Best Death podcast interview with Barbara Karnes on these sticky end of life questions, from the point of view of hospice worker and family member. See related MSI Pres

  When Carl came home from the hospital and was put on in-home hospice, we, the members of his family (my daughter had come from the East Coast with her family and my son had come from Sacramento), did our best to learn all about his medical needs. The kids had come home because it was clear the end was near, and we wanted to make sure that his time at home was as pleasant as possible, surrounded by family. We learned about the various medications he had been taking and would be taking. He was not able to communicate well by then, but he had quite an arsenal of regular pills that he took every day, and once he stopped being able to sort them out himself, we had to figure out which he needed when. He was also given new drugs -- morphine, which he used only a little of, and an anti-anxiety drug, which he never needed. With the morphine, instructions were unclear, and we guessed at amounts. Checking in with the hospice nurse, we learned that we were giving a 300-pound man the dosage that

  Earlier, I wrote about the two paths that erupted in front us when faced with a late-stage cancer diagnosis: to focus on living or to focus on dying. There are so many problems and so much confusion when told after a fall or a blood test or something else that seems otherwise innocuous that your loved one has advanced stage 4 cancer.  The worst thing about a late-stage diagnosis is time, or the lack thereof. Not just the time left for a cancer victim to live, but the time available to make decisions.  The first decision--to treat or go on hospice --is a significant one, and there is often no time to really think in through. From my own experience with more than one relative diagnosed with more than one kind of cancer at an advanced stage, there is an automatic, nearly instinctive choice made, not a reasoned one. Got insurance? Treat the cancer. Don't have insurance? Don't treat the cancer. Those are clearly not the most logical or even medically best or viable criteria, but