![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Fat chance on Fat Tuesday.......
Feb. 5th, 2008 01:08 pmI'll admit it freely. I love chocolate.
Dark chocolate.
The darker, the better.
No, I'm not so taken with chocolate to go for the unsweetened genre, though I have eaten it in the past. With just a 'touch' of sweetener, it would be quite palatable. The unsweetened makes it not only into my baking, but my chili as well. (Molé, anyone?)
So, why the talk about chocolate?
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, and once again, I'm giving up chocolate for lent.
Once upon a time, I was engaged to a very Catholic woman; so Catholic, that as child #4, she was the first of her parents' offspring not to enter religious life. Her older brothers entered seminaries at 13 and 14; her sister a nunnery at 15. V's first secular schooling was at university. At the time of our involvement, I was also teaching with the Christian Bros. (A lay teacher please, not a member of the order! Br. Weaver? I think not!) However, this non-Catholic boy got into the habit of giving something up each Lent for discipline. It's something I still do.
For a time, it was coffee and caffeine, but after a few years, I realized that for the first 2 weeks of Lent, everyone around me was doing pennance, thanks to my caffeine-free state. Not a pretty picture. Thereafter, it usually became chocolate that I do without for the 40 days of Lent.
Today held a very difficult conversation, with a patient, who's also the son of an elder I've take care of for nearly 20 years. The father in question is quite elderly, fiercely independant, very non-interventionist and frankly, has one foot in the grave, the other on ball-bearings. It's a far cry from the healthy elder who was still ice skating 5 days a week, just 7 years ago. The son still had dad as a full resuscitation, should he suddenly take a turn for the worse. It's an end-of-life issue we all will ultimately have to face with a loved one. The son had not been ready till now to deal with the sad reality that his father has conditions that we in the medical community cannot currently fix. Well, actually we can, should they occur one at a time, not simultaneously, and not in a person as chronilogically advanced. That the man might survive a code is highly unlikely; trying to revive him would be futile at best and at worst, cruel.
The discussion for a time had us both in tears. It was honest, it was open and it ended with the son having a new grip on the reality of his dad's situation. He's now open to accepting hospice for his father, so that the man's treatment for the next 6 months focuses on quality of life issues and making his transition from this existance to the next a better one, rather than one where the inevitability of that transition is denied, no matter how futile that denial. For me, I have to deal with my own personal issues with accepting this man's condition (after 20 years I do have a strong affection and respect for him), not to mention once again confronting my sense of loss and grief stemming from my father's demise 12 years ago. Losing Pop gave me a different perspective on loss and end-of-life issues, and has made me, I think, better at counseling my patients as they struggle to cope with the same. It certainly has given me greater compassion and empathy, in reassuring people that they're doing the right thing, while acknowledging how emotionally hard it can be. The Kleenex are rarely far from hand, when this type of discussion comes up.
Nor is the chocolate.
When left alone, after the son left for the hospital to meet with the representative from hospice, I had a small chunk of dark chocolate to savor, and remember with joy and some tears, an earlier time when his father was still ice skating, and when mine was still where I could reach him on the phone, rather than in the reaches of my memory.
There is a reason it's called bittersweet.
Dark chocolate.
The darker, the better.
No, I'm not so taken with chocolate to go for the unsweetened genre, though I have eaten it in the past. With just a 'touch' of sweetener, it would be quite palatable. The unsweetened makes it not only into my baking, but my chili as well. (Molé, anyone?)
So, why the talk about chocolate?
Tomorrow is Ash Wednesday, and once again, I'm giving up chocolate for lent.
Once upon a time, I was engaged to a very Catholic woman; so Catholic, that as child #4, she was the first of her parents' offspring not to enter religious life. Her older brothers entered seminaries at 13 and 14; her sister a nunnery at 15. V's first secular schooling was at university. At the time of our involvement, I was also teaching with the Christian Bros. (A lay teacher please, not a member of the order! Br. Weaver? I think not!) However, this non-Catholic boy got into the habit of giving something up each Lent for discipline. It's something I still do.
For a time, it was coffee and caffeine, but after a few years, I realized that for the first 2 weeks of Lent, everyone around me was doing pennance, thanks to my caffeine-free state. Not a pretty picture. Thereafter, it usually became chocolate that I do without for the 40 days of Lent.
Today held a very difficult conversation, with a patient, who's also the son of an elder I've take care of for nearly 20 years. The father in question is quite elderly, fiercely independant, very non-interventionist and frankly, has one foot in the grave, the other on ball-bearings. It's a far cry from the healthy elder who was still ice skating 5 days a week, just 7 years ago. The son still had dad as a full resuscitation, should he suddenly take a turn for the worse. It's an end-of-life issue we all will ultimately have to face with a loved one. The son had not been ready till now to deal with the sad reality that his father has conditions that we in the medical community cannot currently fix. Well, actually we can, should they occur one at a time, not simultaneously, and not in a person as chronilogically advanced. That the man might survive a code is highly unlikely; trying to revive him would be futile at best and at worst, cruel.
The discussion for a time had us both in tears. It was honest, it was open and it ended with the son having a new grip on the reality of his dad's situation. He's now open to accepting hospice for his father, so that the man's treatment for the next 6 months focuses on quality of life issues and making his transition from this existance to the next a better one, rather than one where the inevitability of that transition is denied, no matter how futile that denial. For me, I have to deal with my own personal issues with accepting this man's condition (after 20 years I do have a strong affection and respect for him), not to mention once again confronting my sense of loss and grief stemming from my father's demise 12 years ago. Losing Pop gave me a different perspective on loss and end-of-life issues, and has made me, I think, better at counseling my patients as they struggle to cope with the same. It certainly has given me greater compassion and empathy, in reassuring people that they're doing the right thing, while acknowledging how emotionally hard it can be. The Kleenex are rarely far from hand, when this type of discussion comes up.
Nor is the chocolate.
When left alone, after the son left for the hospital to meet with the representative from hospice, I had a small chunk of dark chocolate to savor, and remember with joy and some tears, an earlier time when his father was still ice skating, and when mine was still where I could reach him on the phone, rather than in the reaches of my memory.
There is a reason it's called bittersweet.
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif){kind=small}
greasybiker