Microsoft Word Elisabeth Kubler-Ross On Death And Dying doc

thing. But when we awakened in the morning everything, every glass, and everything else in that 
room was frozen solid. And any wall you touched you were just liable to stick to it, it was just 
frozen solid. It took us four days to thaw out that bedroom and warm it up. I mean that's the kind of 
foolish thing you would do, you know. And sometimes somebody looks at me and sees a smile 
across my face, and thinks the guy is nuts, he is finally cracking. But it's just some incident that I 
think about that I get a kick out of. Now yesterday, you asked me what is the main thing that the 
doctors and nurses could do to help a patient. It depends a lot on the patient. It depends a lot on 
how sick the patient is. If you are really sick, you don't want to be bothered at all. You would just 
like to lay there and you don't want anybody fumbling over you or taking your blood pressure or 
your temperature. I mean, it seems that every time you relax someone has to do something with you. 
I think the doctors and the nurses should disturb you as little as possible. Because the minute you 
feel better, you are going to raise your head and be interested in things. And that's the time for them 
to come in and start gradually cheering you up and coaxing you. 
 
DOCTOR: But Mr. J., when the very sick people are left alone, aren't they more miserable and 
more scared? 
 
PATIENT: I don't think so. It's not a matter of leaving them alone, I don't mean to isolate these 
people or anything like that. I mean you are there in the room and you are resting nicely and there's 
someone plumping your pillows, you don't want your pillows plumped. Your head is resting nicely. 
They all mean well, so you go along with them. Then someone else comes along and "Do you want 
a glass of water?" Why, really if you wanted a glass of water you could ask for it, but they will pour 
you a glass of water. They are doing this out of sheer kindness of heart, trying to make you more 
comfortable. Whereas under certain conditions if everybody would just ignore you-just for the time 
being, you feel much better. 
 
DOCTOR: Would you like to be left alone now, too? 
 
PATIENT: Not, not too much, last week I had 
 
DOCTOR: I mean now, now during this interview. Is this making you tired, too? 
 
PATIENT: Oh, I say tired, I mean I've got nothing to do but go down there and rest anyway. But ah, 
I don't see much point in this thing too much longer because after a while you get repetitious. 
 
DOCTOR: You had some concern about that yesterday. 
 
PATIENT: Yes, well, I had reason to be concerned because a week ago, had you seen me, you 
would not have even considered me for an interview because I was speaking in half sentences, I 
was speaking in half thoughts. I would not have known my name. But ah, I've come along way 
since then. 
 
CHAPLAIN: How do you feel about what has happened in this past week? Is this another stroke of 
your bonus? 
 
PATIENT: Well, I look forward to having it happen like this, this thing travels in cycles, you know 
like a big wheel. It goes around and with the new medicine they tried on me, I look for some 

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extenuation of these different feelings. I either expect to feel real well or feel real bad at first. I 
went through the bad spell and now I will have a good spell and I will feel pretty good because it 
happens like that. Even if I don't take any kind of medicine, if I just let things go. 
 
DOCTOR: So you are entering your good cycle, now, right? 
 
PATIENT: I think so. 
 
DOCTOR: I think we will take you back to your room now. 
 
PATIENT: Appreciate it. 
 
DOCTOR: Thank you, Mr. J, for coming. 
 
PATIENT: You are quite welcome. 
 
Mr. J., whose twenty years of illness and suffering had mad him somewhat of a philosopher, shows 
many signs of disguise anger. What he is really saying in this interview is. "I have bees so good, 
why me?" He describes how tough and strong he wash his younger years, how he endured cold and 
hardship; how he cared for his children and family, how hard he worked and never allowed the bad 
guys to tempt him. After all this struggle, his children are grown up and he hoped for a few good 
years, to travel, to take a vacation, to enjoy the fruits of his labor. He knows on some level that 
these hopes are in vain. It takes all hip energy now to stay sane, to fight the itching, the discomfort, 
the pain, which he so adequately describes. 
 
He looks back at this fight, and eliminates step by step considerations which pass his mind. Suicide 
is "out," an enjoyable retirement is out of the question as well. His field of possibilities shrinks as 
the illness progresses. His expectations and requirements become smaller and he has finally 
accepted the fact that he has to live from one remission to the next. When he feels very bad he 
wants to be left alone to withdraw and attempt to sleep. 
 
When he feels better he will let the people know that he is ready to communicate again and 
becomes more sociable. "You have got to be lucky" means that he maintains the hope that there 
will be another remission. He also maintains the hope that some cure may be found, some new drug 
developed in time to relieve him of the suffering. 
 
He maintained this hope to the very last day. 
 
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IX 
 
The Patient's Family 
 
The father came back from the funeral rites. 
His boy of seven stood at the window, with eyes wide open 
and a golden amulet hanging from his neck, 

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