Schiavo victim of legal tug-of-war
Newspapers, television talk shows, news broadcast, even talk radio have all been covered the past few weeks with the story of Terri Shaivo, the Florida woman who is at the center of a life and death struggle.
Terri suffered brain damage 15 years ago when her heart stopped. He husband says with no chance of recovery it is time too let her go.
Her mother and father say there is still hope she might recover and want to keep her alive.
So far, her husband is winning, if you can call it that. All of those on his side of the issue applaud the court rulings that have agreed that she should be allowed to die. Those opposed say she is being murdered.
It’s not her death that troubles me so much as the method by which she will die. Terri Shaivo is not being allowed to die, she is being starved to death.
There is nothing beautiful or peaceful about death and dying. I know, I’ve seen it up close — too many times for my liking. I’m sure I’ll see it again before it is my time to go. However, I’ve never had to make the decision to allow someone to die. I hope I never do. If faced with that choice, I may pull the pug on a respirator but I will not agree to hasten someone’s death by depriving them of food and water.
There is something to be said about dying, as they say, “with dignity.” I’ve seen that, too.
My father died almost 25 years ago. I came down stairs early one Saturday morning and found him lying on the living room floor where he had collapsed after getting up to take his first dose of medicine for the day.
Dad had been sick for years and we knew he had little time left. We just didn’t know how little. Then again, we never do. We all thought he would probably die in the hospital after what had become increasingly frequent stays there. But he didn’t and I was glad.
Dad was a very private person and the last thing he would have wanted was a bunch of strangers standing around his bed, shoving tubes into every available opening on his body, sticking him with needles and thumping on his chest to stave off the inevitable.
My only regret is that he died alone.
We lost my brother Rick almost three years ago to cancer. The end came mercifully quick, about two weeks after he was diagnosed. He died at home with his wife and children around him, the way he wanted. I’m not sure he knew where he was when the end came but I do know death didn’t come easily.
Always a man’s man, there was little dignity left for Rick after the cancer ravaged his body and his mind.
Rick knew he was dying and had made his peace with God while he was still aware of what was happening. I’m still struggling with the peace thing, trying to make sense not only of why he had to die so young but also why he had to die such a horrible death.
Little more than a year ago, my brother Bill died. Unlike Dad and Rick, there was no warning. No one expected it, least of all Bill, I’m sure. He got up one morning, fixed his coffee, turned to go outside to get the newspaper, fell over and died.
I ran to the kitchen where I found him lying on the floor. I called 911 and then knelt beside him, whispering in his ear that help was on the way. “Hang on, ” I told him. But even then I knew it was too late. He was gone.
I didn’t think about how lucky Bill was to have gone so fast, although I’m not convinced it was painless. Instead, I wondered how I was going to tell my mother, for the second time, that she had lost a son.
Over the past few years, I have also been faced with the loss of some beloved pets. The most memorable was my cat, Bonkers. As he neared 20, I knew it was time to let him go. He was blind and was having a hard time walking. Still, I was reluctant to make the call. Finally I did.
I didn’t starve the cat or deprive him of water. I gave him an extra helping of 9 Lives and a bowl of milk the night before.
The next morning, I put Bonkers in a box with his favorite blanket and made the trip to the vet’s office where Dr. Brian Biddle helped ease his suffering with a simple shot. I stroked his fur and told him I loved him as he took his final breath. It was, dare I say, almost peaceful.
Although pets are dear to us, there is no comparison between losing a dog or cat and losing a person that we love.
You see, the law says it’s criminal to starve an animal to death. The law also says we cannot take the life of a condemned murderer through “cruel and unusual punishment.”
But apparently the law agrees we can starve a human being to death if they refuse to die on their own.
How right is that?
