Stripped of any sense of comfort or dignity on that hospital bed, my 84-year-old father, my best friend, was enduring raw, intrusive medical procedures against his own wish; defenseless, vulnerable, agonized. A feeding tube went in through his nose; catheter tubes drained urine out of his bladder; a suction pump drew out fluid from his airway. A needle jammed into the central line, making it impossible for him to turn his head. Dialysis took over the job of his kidneys. But no painkillers were given for fear his weak heart could not take more chemicals. Three nights later, the blood report arrived, which stated my father had no blood infection, for which he was undergoing treatment for a week. Could they not have waited till the report came before breaking him up?