My Will
A couple of weeks ago I was watching a new show on TV – Grays Anatomy- It’s about a bunch of interns in a hospital all vying for experience in the O.R.
It’s an interesting series- enough humour to be not too morose. For example, in the opening scene of the last week’s episode the interns discover that a mad bicycle race is being held in the core of the city. – The result is a flood of carnage descending on the ER. One of the very-eager-interns gleefully observes the influx of bloodied bodies and, in a very Roben-esque way exclaims, “Its like candy, but with blood. Which is SO much better!”
The series has its darker moments as well. The lead character has a mother who was once a famous surgeon – however she now has Alzheimer’s and lives her life in a an addled state in a nursing home.
In last weeks episode a patent comes in who is a brain dead victim of the mad bicycle race. One eager intern decides that his organs should be harvested. Another intern wonders if this is fair. – Should they not wait? After all it has occurred that brain dead patients have woken up. They discide to harvest the organs and the very eager intern is left with the unenviable job of dealing with the brain dead man’s wife.
It made me think of Terry Shivo. I found my self wondering – Who does have the right to judge? – who is dead who is not? – what is acceptable quality of life?
I certainly am no innocent in judgement.
I judge that Terry Shivo died fourteen years ago – and what her parents were putting her through was an obscene half life that I would not wish on my worst enemy.
What would I want? – Certainly in a case where I am unresponsive and brain damage is indicated, for the love of the gods people -Push that Morphine HARD!
But what if I am incapacitated but responsive? What if I got ALS? More than one person has asked what keeps Mrs K. going. More than one person has said “If it were me, I’d have opted out.”
But Mrs K. is not me, and as much as I may think that I am qualified to make a judgement on her situation - I cant – Because I am not in it. I don’t know how I would feel is I were in that body.
The following is pilfered liberally from an article in the Toronto Star that Roben sent to me – adapted slightly for my own purposes.
MY LIVING WILL
I, Vxxxxxxxx, Lxxxxxxx, being of sound mind, make this statement as a directive to be followed if I become permanently unable to participate in decisions regarding my medical care.
I direct my attending physician and other medical personnel to withhold or withdraw treatment that serves only to prolong the process of my dying, if I should be in an incurable or irreversible mental or physical condition with no reasonable expectation of recovery.
These instructions apply if I am permanently unconscious or if I am conscious but have irreversible brain damage and will never regain the ability to make decisions and express my wishes.
Should I be in the condition described above, please pay attention to the following requests.
I dislike pain. I want all the drugs you've got.
I do not want cardiac resuscitation.
I do not want mechanical respiration.
Food in a tube? No. That's an invasive medical treatment, in my view.
I want my hair washed and my nails polished.
I want "nang champa" incense burned in the room.
Should there be any sturdy hairs sprouting from my chin, do me a favour and pluck them.
I want Loreena McKennitt playing by my bedside, not for my benefit, but because I
think it would bring a smile to the faces of the people who love me and will signal to them that I love them back.
I hate carnations.
Should there be any confusion about this, let me be clear: my rights of
self-determination trump any notions anyone else may have of the sanctity,
quality or "culture" of life.
Don’t spend a great deal of money getting rid of my body -it was not me it was the shell I walked around in. A very simple coffin, a cremation. Take my ashes and plant a tree on top of them.
I like white flowers and Ivy. Those were my wedding decorations.
Do have a party. Make it loud and drink lots. Sing my praises and quietly sweep my faults under the carpet.
Remember my greatest accomplishments,
To Date:
Raising 12,000.00 for Mrs K. and Volunteering for Toronto Hospice.
There, that's done.
And you?
It’s an interesting series- enough humour to be not too morose. For example, in the opening scene of the last week’s episode the interns discover that a mad bicycle race is being held in the core of the city. – The result is a flood of carnage descending on the ER. One of the very-eager-interns gleefully observes the influx of bloodied bodies and, in a very Roben-esque way exclaims, “Its like candy, but with blood. Which is SO much better!”
The series has its darker moments as well. The lead character has a mother who was once a famous surgeon – however she now has Alzheimer’s and lives her life in a an addled state in a nursing home.
In last weeks episode a patent comes in who is a brain dead victim of the mad bicycle race. One eager intern decides that his organs should be harvested. Another intern wonders if this is fair. – Should they not wait? After all it has occurred that brain dead patients have woken up. They discide to harvest the organs and the very eager intern is left with the unenviable job of dealing with the brain dead man’s wife.
It made me think of Terry Shivo. I found my self wondering – Who does have the right to judge? – who is dead who is not? – what is acceptable quality of life?
I certainly am no innocent in judgement.
I judge that Terry Shivo died fourteen years ago – and what her parents were putting her through was an obscene half life that I would not wish on my worst enemy.
What would I want? – Certainly in a case where I am unresponsive and brain damage is indicated, for the love of the gods people -Push that Morphine HARD!
But what if I am incapacitated but responsive? What if I got ALS? More than one person has asked what keeps Mrs K. going. More than one person has said “If it were me, I’d have opted out.”
But Mrs K. is not me, and as much as I may think that I am qualified to make a judgement on her situation - I cant – Because I am not in it. I don’t know how I would feel is I were in that body.
The following is pilfered liberally from an article in the Toronto Star that Roben sent to me – adapted slightly for my own purposes.
MY LIVING WILL
I, Vxxxxxxxx, Lxxxxxxx, being of sound mind, make this statement as a directive to be followed if I become permanently unable to participate in decisions regarding my medical care.
I direct my attending physician and other medical personnel to withhold or withdraw treatment that serves only to prolong the process of my dying, if I should be in an incurable or irreversible mental or physical condition with no reasonable expectation of recovery.
These instructions apply if I am permanently unconscious or if I am conscious but have irreversible brain damage and will never regain the ability to make decisions and express my wishes.
Should I be in the condition described above, please pay attention to the following requests.
I dislike pain. I want all the drugs you've got.
I do not want cardiac resuscitation.
I do not want mechanical respiration.
Food in a tube? No. That's an invasive medical treatment, in my view.
I want my hair washed and my nails polished.
I want "nang champa" incense burned in the room.
Should there be any sturdy hairs sprouting from my chin, do me a favour and pluck them.
I want Loreena McKennitt playing by my bedside, not for my benefit, but because I
think it would bring a smile to the faces of the people who love me and will signal to them that I love them back.
I hate carnations.
Should there be any confusion about this, let me be clear: my rights of
self-determination trump any notions anyone else may have of the sanctity,
quality or "culture" of life.
Don’t spend a great deal of money getting rid of my body -it was not me it was the shell I walked around in. A very simple coffin, a cremation. Take my ashes and plant a tree on top of them.
I like white flowers and Ivy. Those were my wedding decorations.
Do have a party. Make it loud and drink lots. Sing my praises and quietly sweep my faults under the carpet.
Remember my greatest accomplishments,
To Date:
Raising 12,000.00 for Mrs K. and Volunteering for Toronto Hospice.
There, that's done.
And you?
posted by veronica at 12:23 AM
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