The 2018 Death Bed

I sat in a hospital room Friday night with my father and sister, watching my mother's pulse, heartrate and breathing slowly weaken. 

Back in the 19th century my mother would have died coughing and wheezing, each breath harder than the last. Modern medicine was keeping her alive in an effort to cure one disease so that the doctors might treat another. By Friday morning the issue was quality of life.  Who wants to live like that?

Now I wondered about quality of death, if there is such a thing.

Twenty-five years ago I figured technology would have progressed  so that thousands of dollars of machines were unnecessary.

But no. 

I thought, the year is 2018 and this is still how we die.