On January 12th, my wife Chris and I went to see my 95 year old father in Palo Alto CA. He had recently fallen and hit his head. I had been to see him after the accident and he seemed to be doing well. While i was there he and I had a long conversation with his doctor, Scott Wood.
My Dad, who just weeks before had been attending grand medical rounds, playing tennis, and leafleting for Bernie Sanders on University Avenue, was suffering from some cognitive losses, but he was lucid and clear. He told us in no uncertain terms that if this thing got worse there would be no hospital – only hospice, no food and drink, and comfort. We agreed. His doctor commented, “I’m with you – when I go I want plenty of morphine and ice cream, and the ice cream’s optional.”