One day I arrived to find David trembling with fear and distress.  “I’ve made a big mistake,” he told me.  “I signed a paper that gives them permission to kill me, and now they’re going to do it.  They just told me.”  No, I said, they’re not because they have to get my permission as well as yours, and I’m not going to sign that form.  In fact, I’m going to tell them right now that we’re revoking that form.”  A staff member, someone we knew and trusted, was nearby.  I turned to her and told her, loudly enough for David to hear, that he had changed his mind: he’d signed the form giving staff permission to kill him, but we were revoking that permission.  Her eyebrows went up.  She got it.  She confirmed that the permission was now revoked. 

Maybe David had heard something about DNR status.  Maybe he’d remembered the advance directive and POLST discussions.  Maybe he’d had a nightmare.  It was impossible to know, but I was grateful that he’d been able to tell me what distressed him and grateful that he trusted me.