Decision Portraits

I first came across the work of quilt artist Susan Lenz-Dingman through another blogging needle friend and her sister, Wanda Lenz of Wanda's World (Wanda lives in Germany.)

She engages in many innovative and compelling techniques like her stained glass art series and her grave rubbing art quilts.

But it is her Decision Portraits series that captivates me the most.


Susan's intent is to portray important, everyday decisions. There is no judgment in her work, she merely wants to document the decision made. She uses a xylene transfer method on tea-stained muslin designed to give the quilt a newspaper look. The result shows a specific person but also suggests others in the same situation. Each work is suppose to be both individual and universal.

And I was blown away by how effective this artistic method is when I had a very strong personal and emotional response to this portrait...(read more about it here)


Many of you know that I lost my Mom to acute leukemia two years ago. She was 70 years old.

When I saw this portrait of this woman who had survived aggressive treatment, I was moved by her story and delighted for her outcome.

But I found myself scrolling down through all of the other portraits, searching for the alternate decision...for the person who either chose aggressive treatment and died because of it or for the person who refused further treatment and let life takes its own course.

I didn't see either one. So I contacted Susan and asked her if she would be interested in stitching a portrait of someone who refused further treatment.

You see, my mother went through two 6-week in-hospital stays -- with only a one week break in between-- on the Hepa Filter unit for leukemia patients at the Sidney Kimmel Cancer Center at Johns Hopkins Hospital. My mother's diagnosis was very dire. She had about one year to live with a 50% chance of extending her life if she chose to participate in a clinical trial that gave her the best chance for remission.

At first, her answer was "ok. yes, of course" because the diagnosis was new to her, she hadn't had time to process what it all meant and, of course, she wanted to live...to live to see her granddaughters and grandson grow up...to still be part of her family.

During the first six weeks of treatment, they used chemotherapy to kill off all of the bad cells and the good cells within her bone marrow...and then we waited for her good cells to begin to grow back. It was miserable for her. After all, it had had only been one week from the time of her initial diagnosis at her annual doctor's check-up in Florida to her first inpatient stay at Hopkins. And then she was almost killed by the aggressive treatment...weakened, loss of sleep, sick, loss of appetite, loss of hair...misery.

Because of the lack of white blood cells, she was totally at risk for infections and had to be in completely sterile environment throughout the course of her treatment. Which meant she had limited visitors and was unable to see her friends or grandchildren.

When she began to feel better, they told her she could go home for a week but that she had to come back again for another six weeks of treatment. She groaned. She wept. She left the hospital and went back to Florida...got her affairs in order...had a week of freedom. And then returned to the hospital, where she was almost killed for the second time.

By the end of the grueling 12 weeks, I think she would have pulled out her own hair if she had had any. She was released from the hospital, and only had to come back for transfusions and weekly blood tests to see if the leukemia had returned. She had a great Summer and we partied at the beach where she celebrated her 70th birthday and 50th wedding anniversary. It was possible to be in remission for a year and we were hopeful.


In the end she wasn't that lucky. Her leukemia levels returned in October and her doctor prepared the admission papers for another round of chemotherapy and torture. And my mother said No.

I'll never forget that day. My Mom's doctor was a wonderfully energetic and accomplished leukemia expert named Judith Karp...and she was almost the same age as Mom. They had a good relationship because Dr. Karp could relate to my mom's strong-willed nature and her hatred for a clinical environment that removed her self-control.

So, there we were in for a routine visit and Dr. Karp was busily writing her orders and clinical notes. Head down, her eyeglasses perched on the tip of her nose...ready to admit my mother for her Round 2 and Mom said No.

Dr. Karp stopped what she was doing, dropped her pen, pulled her glasses off of her nose, turned, looked my mother straight in the eyes and said, "no...Are you sure?" I got the impression that she didn't hear this every day. This No.

And my mother, with moist but determined eyes, said Yes. And my father and I slowly watched the scene as tears puddled in our own eyes.

And Dr. Karp said. "You, my dear, are a very brave woman."


When we left that day, Dr. Karp gave my mom a long, meaning-filled hug. She kissed her on the cheek and said, "You've got guts". Mom laughed and thanked her for all she'd done. We left the office and we didn't see Dr. Karp again though she did oversee Mom's care when she was on hospice.

My mother had about six more months to live; four of them good. To be in the home that she loved, surrounded by her family and by the life that she had built for herself. The last two months were harder, but I was proud of her.

Proud that she chose to die at home rather than die in the hospital like so many others do. She was brave to refuse further treatment. It's not a choice that many people can make. And it's one of the most difficult.

For 10 years, I was lucky to work as an administrator with some of the country's best geriatricians providing health care to senior citizens. And I applaud them for the work they do in explaining the unbelievable risks that seniors undertake when choosing to aggressively treat diseases. I admire geriatricians because they get patients to think about their own death and how they'd like it to go.

Death is never pretty. But there is a way to do it more gracefully. I think my Mother found that grace and she died in her own way, the way she lived her life.

I am delighted that, after getting permission from my Dad, Susan will be stitching Mom's decision...Refused Further Treatment.

Susan is on a short time frame as she prepares for a solo exhibition (Sept. 10-October) at the City Gallery at Waterfront Park in Charleston. It will spotlight her Decision Portrait Series during the MOJA 2010 Festival. And she still needs more portraits. You can see the list of desired portraits here on her blog and here's what she wrote to me just yesterday...

"There are still lots of portraits on the list, but the ones I'm most interested in are Divorced with stitched words reading Irreconcilable Differences; State of the Economy with stitched words reading I never thought I'd accept food stamps; and any of the ones about "aging" and/or "beauty"....like tanning regularly, having cosmetic surgery, taking Viagra or Botox, etc. "

If you're interested, you can email Susan here. She needs a signed release form and a high-resolution image (the higher, the better) and she needs to finalize everything no later than mid-June.

Thanks for listening to my story and I'll update you here when Susan has finished Mom's portrait. I sent her the picture you just saw above.