Monday, April 04, 2005
Death - What's all the fuss about?
As I troll the newsy backwaters, I occasionally run across stories that the corporate media overlooks or neglects. Often these little gems can be fascinating, enlightening, or thought-provoking. This isn’t one of those.
In case you’ve recently been in a coma, there was a story about a woman named Terri Schiavo and the question of whether or not to remove her from artificial life support. Underscoring the controversy was a debate between the woman’s family and husband about her level of awareness of hovering silver mylar balloons.
The interesting part about the story wasn’t Terri’s life-and-death struggle, but rather that it made many folks think about what would happen if they were in the same situation. Advances in medical technology mean it’s possible to keep someone breathing long after so-called “life” has ceased. I mean there’s life—and then there’s *quality* of life. The two are not the same.
I estimate that 94.2% of Americans haven’t specified their medical treatment wishes in writing. I’m sure you’ll agree that’s a high percentage if it’s right. Written instructions are critically important in case you become incapacitated and nobody can remember what you said back when you were capacitated. If you’re not going to bother write them down, it’s best to make your wishes memorable like, “If I should become incapable of making decisions about my own care I’d like for a naked shaved Mickey Rooney to shoot me in the head with a bazooka.” People remember things like that.
If I were in Terri’s predicament I don’t think it would have been such a big deal. The more likely scenario in my case would have been a family and spouse fighting each other to see who actually got to yank the plug. As evidence, here’s a transcript of a recent conversation between my wife and hospital nurses:
Wife: “The man I married is gone. He wouldn’t want us to prolong his suffering like this. I want to cease all life support.”
Nurse: “He’s not on life support; he’s just groggy from the anesthesia.”
Wife: “Well, just unplug him, or use a pillow or whatever you usually do. I just want to have closure so I can move on. I have a nail appointment at 4:00”
Nurse: “This is just an outpatient procedure; he’ll be fine in a few minutes when he wakes up.”
Wife: “Why won’t you just let him die with dignity? Must I do everything myself?”
Nurse: “Code orange! Security!”
As you can see, in the absence of clear instructions the medical establishment isn’t always supportive of the family’s wishes. That’s why I’d like to take this opportunity to lay out five specific conditions in which I’d like my life support to be terminated.
1. If doctors determine all my cerebral brain activity has ceased for a period of one year or more, I’d like to remove any artificial respiration, nutrition, or extraordinary procedures to prolong my life.
2. If I am aware but unable to move or communicate due to degenerative disease or injury I’d like to be propped up in bed with a gun in one hand and a beer in the other. Then call police and explain to them there’s a drunken Irishman in room 237 shooting up the place and that he keeps shouting, “tell the coppers they’ll never take me alive! Top of the world Ma!”
3. If I ever pay money to attend a WWF professional wrestling event I’d like to be cremated instantly and have my ashes pressed into small pills that look just like Viagra and then sprinkled over the crowd.
4. If I become completely incontinent and have to wear big crunchy adult diapers so I can maintain my *active lifestyle* (e.g. golfing) while simultaneously making in my pants, I’d like Art Garfunkel to bludgeon me with a low iron as I tee off—like a 3 or 4 maybe. A five wood is okay too. Call the starter and tell him I was killed by a stray ball. See if you can finagle some discounted greens fees or pro shop merchandise because of the trauma you sustained witnessing the horrible tragedy.
5. If I become profoundly mentally disabled due to injury or illness, I’d like to become a Fox News field journalist.
That said, I have been thinking about having a feeding tube installed. It would be pretty convenient for days when you can’t get away from the office for lunch. And, no flossing necessary!
In case you’ve recently been in a coma, there was a story about a woman named Terri Schiavo and the question of whether or not to remove her from artificial life support. Underscoring the controversy was a debate between the woman’s family and husband about her level of awareness of hovering silver mylar balloons.
The interesting part about the story wasn’t Terri’s life-and-death struggle, but rather that it made many folks think about what would happen if they were in the same situation. Advances in medical technology mean it’s possible to keep someone breathing long after so-called “life” has ceased. I mean there’s life—and then there’s *quality* of life. The two are not the same.
I estimate that 94.2% of Americans haven’t specified their medical treatment wishes in writing. I’m sure you’ll agree that’s a high percentage if it’s right. Written instructions are critically important in case you become incapacitated and nobody can remember what you said back when you were capacitated. If you’re not going to bother write them down, it’s best to make your wishes memorable like, “If I should become incapable of making decisions about my own care I’d like for a naked shaved Mickey Rooney to shoot me in the head with a bazooka.” People remember things like that.
If I were in Terri’s predicament I don’t think it would have been such a big deal. The more likely scenario in my case would have been a family and spouse fighting each other to see who actually got to yank the plug. As evidence, here’s a transcript of a recent conversation between my wife and hospital nurses:
Wife: “The man I married is gone. He wouldn’t want us to prolong his suffering like this. I want to cease all life support.”
Nurse: “He’s not on life support; he’s just groggy from the anesthesia.”
Wife: “Well, just unplug him, or use a pillow or whatever you usually do. I just want to have closure so I can move on. I have a nail appointment at 4:00”
Nurse: “This is just an outpatient procedure; he’ll be fine in a few minutes when he wakes up.”
Wife: “Why won’t you just let him die with dignity? Must I do everything myself?”
Nurse: “Code orange! Security!”
As you can see, in the absence of clear instructions the medical establishment isn’t always supportive of the family’s wishes. That’s why I’d like to take this opportunity to lay out five specific conditions in which I’d like my life support to be terminated.
1. If doctors determine all my cerebral brain activity has ceased for a period of one year or more, I’d like to remove any artificial respiration, nutrition, or extraordinary procedures to prolong my life.
2. If I am aware but unable to move or communicate due to degenerative disease or injury I’d like to be propped up in bed with a gun in one hand and a beer in the other. Then call police and explain to them there’s a drunken Irishman in room 237 shooting up the place and that he keeps shouting, “tell the coppers they’ll never take me alive! Top of the world Ma!”
3. If I ever pay money to attend a WWF professional wrestling event I’d like to be cremated instantly and have my ashes pressed into small pills that look just like Viagra and then sprinkled over the crowd.
4. If I become completely incontinent and have to wear big crunchy adult diapers so I can maintain my *active lifestyle* (e.g. golfing) while simultaneously making in my pants, I’d like Art Garfunkel to bludgeon me with a low iron as I tee off—like a 3 or 4 maybe. A five wood is okay too. Call the starter and tell him I was killed by a stray ball. See if you can finagle some discounted greens fees or pro shop merchandise because of the trauma you sustained witnessing the horrible tragedy.
5. If I become profoundly mentally disabled due to injury or illness, I’d like to become a Fox News field journalist.
That said, I have been thinking about having a feeding tube installed. It would be pretty convenient for days when you can’t get away from the office for lunch. And, no flossing necessary!
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Comments:
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I guess the great Oz has spoken then. And written. Patrick, you do realize you just wrote your death instructions and that, legally, your wife can enforce all of it, to the letter?
By the way, I'm sending you some wrestling tickets.
I really like the Oz-in-a-Viagra concept. Instant Cremation sounds difficult but tasty. Make mine thick and creamy.
You're a very funny writer. You'd make a good counterpart to the right cartoonist. Somebody odd. Google it.
Before you get too big, now be might a splendid time to assess your unique identity as "Oz" and whether you want to use as a tag ("from Oz") or a header ("Oz presents") Monday Update. Point: Oz could be a killer keyword if paired with update or monday.
You're so funny. It's really quite depressing. This is what it's all about, man. It's war.
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By the way, I'm sending you some wrestling tickets.
I really like the Oz-in-a-Viagra concept. Instant Cremation sounds difficult but tasty. Make mine thick and creamy.
You're a very funny writer. You'd make a good counterpart to the right cartoonist. Somebody odd. Google it.
Before you get too big, now be might a splendid time to assess your unique identity as "Oz" and whether you want to use as a tag ("from Oz") or a header ("Oz presents") Monday Update. Point: Oz could be a killer keyword if paired with update or monday.
You're so funny. It's really quite depressing. This is what it's all about, man. It's war.
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