I have my own opinions about the Schiavo case, but have (in many places and on many boards) not said anything because, really, I have no experience with her condition and quite frankly wouldn't want to speculate on what I might do in that instance. However, this thread specifically mentions terminally ill people and their right to die. I would like to also point out that this subject is an extremely difficult one for me, and because of the fact that I'm saying what I am, I would appreciate it if I were not "attacked" for this.
My Mom was diagnosed with lung cancer in 1998 and given (unknown to her and the rest of us as my Step-Dad didn't tell us) 2 months to live. She lived for 2 1/2 years more, spending her time crocheting beautiful heirlooms for her family, and travelling as she was able. Out of all my siblings, I visited the most. I watched her slowly decline. My flesh and blood sister (the only other member of my family who was a JW with me) was very upset that my Step-Dad didn't let her be a part of the decision making (she would have made sure my Mom didn't have blood; I was of the mindset that she was an adult and able to make her own choices), and was vehemently angry at his not disclosing how long Mom had. When my Mom lay dying at Easter of 2001, I was scheduled to visit (they lived 5 hours from me) for the weekend. Upon seeing my Mom in palliative care and the state she was in, my Step-Dad and I conferred and agreed that the family should be called to come. It was a devastating and emotionally exhausting time. My Mom was my friend as well as my beloved Mother.
I'm ashamed of my sister, and I think that this was a huge catalyst in my eventual leaving JWs, or at least seeing how wrong they are about treating people. Upon being called on the Friday afternoon that it was time to come, my sister opted to wait until Sunday so that she could go to a party for her JW inlaws on the Saturday night. I have NO doubt that my Mom hung on until she could say goodbye to everyone. Shortly after my sister arrived, my Mom started losing "consciousness". She began having seizures. Every 5 minutes for 14 hours straight. Each seizure required her to be propped up and given oxygen to be able to breathe. Throughout, and as she was able, she, a not particularly religious person, kept BEGGING for Jesus to just take her and crying. The morphine wasn't doing a thing anymore. She was delirious from the pain, exhausted from the disease.
A month after she died, my Dad went off work with a shoulder injury. Except it turned out that it was also lung cancer, only advanced to 4th stage (the shoulder injury was actually cancer having infiltrated the bone). I was his primary caregiver and I held his power of attorney. After a couple of health scares in which he was hospitalized, he was finally diagnosed with 6 months to live. He lived 4 months after that, with septic wounds and pneumonia. The night before he died I walked into his hospital room and knew by his look that he wasn't long. I confirmed with a nurse and again called the family to come. I then went back to his bedside and told him that he didn't look good and that I didn't think it would be much longer. He looked at me, and said that he was tired, and he was ready to go, but didn't want to be alone. He asked me to stay. I 'didn't sleep" in a chair all night by his bedside. That night, my Daddy, who had managed his cancer with tylenol and ibuprofen until the day before when he went on morphine, asked me to ask the doctor to give him something to go with. He was simply ready to; he'd said his goodbyes, made his peace. Because they can't do that (give him something), he drowned in his own fluids and agonizing and painful 24 hours later. By the time family came the next morning he was not cognizant of their presence.
I guess my point is what is the point of prolonging it when the person is ready to go? My parents were neither one of them suicidal. They were exhausted and sick. What were those extra hours for? For us? For those who couldn't be bothered to rush to their bedsides? For those who were too selfish to put the dying person's needs above their own? The place my parents were at when they were dying was zero quality of life.
And I guess the last thing I'd say is that before experiencing their deaths up close and personal, I was an not an advocate of euthenasia. It's a world of difference to have a viewpoint and not have ever been in the position of being the decision-maker or a related supported of a decision-maker. To be quite honest, I wouldn't have wished what they went through, on my worst enemy, much less loved ones. It's not pretty, and in both of their cases, they were adults expressing their wishes. And if it had been in my power, I would have assisted them when they begged to be released.
You can debate the morals and rights as much as you want. It all really goes out the window when it's someone you love and they have a wish.
