Everyone would agree that advances in medical science have helped extend the quantity and the quality of life. But by extending the lives of terminally ill patients, those advances have created a raging debate about euthanasia.
Many argue that just because we CAN keep certain people alive does not necessarily mean that we SHOULD keep them alive.
Euthanasia is defined as the action of inducing the painless death of a person for reasons assumed to be merciful…and covers three different situations:
Passive euthanasia occurs when a patient’s life support equipment is turned off, when food or water is withheld, or when doctors administer large doses of morphine to alleviate suffering.
Active euthanasia describes the instance when another person helps the patient end their life.
Physician assisted suicide occurs when the patient’s doctor supplies the means or the information the patient needs to end their life.
Would you make the choice to “die with dignity” as under the upcoming Spanish law?
Would you want euthanasia applied on yourself?
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
Robert Latimer, the Saskatchewan wheat farmer, was recently granted a full parole beginning today: Monday, December 6, 2010.
He was the Canadian convicted of second-degree murder for what he says was the “mercy killing” (to end pain and suffering) of his severely disabled twelve-year-old, forty-pound daughter, Tracey, in 1993. He was convicted in 2001.
(Latimer was released from prison 2 years ago, in Feb 2008, and has, since September, been spending five nights a week at a Victoria halfway house and the other two nights in his Victoria apartment.)
The residents of the community where the death occurred say he has spent his time and paid the price. Do you agree?
Has our society changed over the past ten years with regard to mercy killing, and euthanasia?
Have your thoughts and beliefs changed in that time?
Is the voice of people with disabilities being heard?
What are your thoughts?
….
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
“Some of the greatest battles will be fought within the silent chambers of your own soul.”
~Ezra Taft Benson
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
Life is the first gift, love is the second, and understanding the third.
~Marge Piercy (American poet and novelist)
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
Here is another response about my post regarding Spain’s upcoming decision to allow ‘death with dignity’:
“I really hope the Spanish law does allow for this. I certainly wouldn’t want someone else making the decision for me.”
~Claire
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
Here is another response about my post regarding Spain’s upcoming decision to allow ‘death with dignity’.
“Euthanasia should be fully legal, fully agreed. The one nuance: it should be the choice of the patient IMO, and a decision made in fully conscience. A patient not able to grasp the consequences of it should not have euthanasia, ditto with those where a doctor or family member would be making the decision. If the patient however is fully aware of the consequences and makes the choice, who are we to condemn that?
“All we have with us for our entire lives, is life itself. I strongly believe it is nobody else’s and that we have absolute choice over it, including the choice to end it.
“To bypass the question ‘What happens if a person ends up in coma and cannot decide for himself anymore’: it could be made optional that those supporting euthanasia can sign an official document stating in which cases they wish to be euthanised.”
~Garret
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
Recently I posted about Spain’s upcoming decision to allow ‘death with dignity’. Over the next several posts I’d like to share some of the thoughts I received. Here is the first:
“Tell me about it. This time last year my neighbors mother, aged 90, whose house I bought, was given a few days to live. She was kept alive for 5 months, only by the machines. At the same time the next neighbor’s mum was given the same time to live. The daughter came over from Mallorca and stayed until January & they’re still keeping mother alive. It’ll be a year in 10 days time. It’s unbelievable, the poor old dear, who’s 95, had severe Alzheimer’s anyway & now is just fed by tubes, knows no one, can’t speak, as far as the son is concerned she died a long while ago & he’d like to give her the dignity she deserves & should have had a long while ago.”
~Gus
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
My husband brought to my attention a recent article in the B.C. newspaper: Spain to OK death ‘with dignity’.
Of course I had to read the article and google for more information.
It appears that in March 2011 Spain’s socialist government will approve a draft law that will allow people with incurable diseases in the terminal phase to ‘die with dignity’ – to die without suffering. It is a law that will be based on existing legislation in European nations.
“It will have nothing to do with euthanasia, which is the decision taken by someone and for their own reasons, and because they are sick, to die,” Alfredo Perez Rubalcaba, the Spanish deputy prime minister said.
(Euthanasia is illegal in Spain but the law allows a sick person who is in control of their mental faculties to refuse treatment.)
Do you view Spain’s recent decision as a sin and think it is morally unacceptable?
Do you believe human suffering reveals human virtues, and should not be tampered with?
Or, on the basis of individual freedom, should an act of self-decision not be punishable?
I think most people would agree that futile life-sustaining treatment is an unethical practice and people should have the right to refuse it. But what happens when a patient can no longer express consent—isn’t that what living wills are for?
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
Something For Stevie.
Thanks for passing this story on to me Marlene.
If this doesn’t light your fire, your wood is wet!
I try not to be biased, but I had my doubts about hiring Stevie. His placement counselor assured me that he would be a good, reliable busboy.
But I had never had a mentally handicapped employee and wasn’t sure I wanted one. I wasn’t sure how my customers would react to Stevie.
He was short, a little dumpy with the smooth facial features and thick-tongued speech of Downs Syndrome. I wasn’t worried about most of my trucker customers because truckers don’t generally care who buses tables as long as the meatloaf platter is good and the pies are homemade.
The four-wheeler drivers were the ones who concerned me; the mouthy college kids traveling to school; the yuppie snobs who secretly polish their silverware with their napkins for fear of catching some dreaded ‘truck stop germ’ the pairs of white-shirted business men on expense accounts who think every truck stop waitress wants to be flirted with. I knew those people would be uncomfortable around Stevie so I closely watched him for the first few weeks.
I shouldn’t have worried. After the first week, Stevie had my staff wrapped around his stubby little finger, and within a month my truck regulars had adopted him as their official truck stop mascot.
After that, I really didn’t care what the rest of the customers thought of him. He was like a 21-year-old kid in blue jeans and Nikes, eager to laugh and eager to please, but fierce in his attention to his duties. Every salt and pepper shaker was exactly in its place, not a bread crumb or coffee spill was visible when Stevie got done with the table. Our only problem was persuading him to wait to clean a table until after the customers were finished. He would hover in the background, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, scanning the dining room until a table was empty. Then he would scurry to the empty table and carefully bus dishes and glasses onto his cart and meticulously wipe the table up with a practiced flourish of his rag. If he thought a customer was watching, his brow would pucker with added concentration. He took pride in doing his job exactly right, and you had to love how hard he tried to please each and every person he met.
Over time, we learned that he lived with his mother, a widow who was disabled after repeated surgeries for cancer. They lived on their Social Security benefits in public housing two miles from the truck stop. Their social worker, who stopped to check on him every so often, admitted they had fallen between the cracks. Money was tight, and what I paid him was probably the difference between them being able to live together and Stevie being sent to a group home. That’s why the restaurant was a gloomy place that morning last August, the first morning in three years that Stevie missed work.
He was at the Mayo Clinic in Rochester getting a new valve or something put in his heart. His social worker said that people with Downs Syndrome often have heart problems at an early age so this wasn’t unexpected, and there was a good chance he would come through the surgery in good shape and be back at work in a few months.
A ripple of excitement ran through the staff later that morning when word came that he was out of surgery, in recovery, and doing fine.
Frannie, the head waitress, let out a war hoop and did a little dance in the aisle when she heard the good news.
Marvin Ringers, one of our regular trucker customers, stared at the sight of this 50-year-old grandmother of four doing a victory shimmy beside his table. Frannie blushed, smoothed her apron and shot Marvin a withering look.
He grinned. ‘OK, Frannie, what was that all about?’ he asked.
‘We just got word that Stevie is out of surgery and going to be okay.’
‘I was wondering where he was. I had a new joke to tell him. What was the surgery about?’
Frannie quickly told Marvin and the other two drivers sitting at his booth about Stevie’s surgery, then sighed: ‘ Yeah, I’m glad he is going to be OK,’ she said. ‘But I don’t know how he and his Mom are going to handle all the bills. From what I hear, they’re barely getting by as it is.’ Marvin nodded thoughtfully, and Frannie hurried off to wait on the rest of her tables. Since I hadn’t had time to round up a busboy to replace Stevie and really didn’t want to replace him, the girls were busing their own tables that day until we decided what to do.
After the morning rush, Frannie walked into my office. She had a couple of paper napkins in her hand and a funny look on her face.
‘What’s up?’ I asked.
‘I didn’t get that table where Marvin and his friends were sitting cleared off after they left, and Pete and Tony were sitting there when I got back to clean it off,’ she said. ‘This was folded and tucked under a coffee cup.’
She handed the napkin to me, and three $20 bills fell onto my desk when I opened it. On the outside, in big, bold letters, was printed ‘Something For Stevie.’
‘Pete asked me what that was all about,’ she said, ‘so I told him about Stevie and his Mom and everything, and Pete looked at Tony and Tony looked at Pete, and they ended up giving me this.’ She handed me another paper napkin that had ‘Something For Stevie’ scrawled on its outside. Two $50 bills were tucked within its folds. Frannie looked at me with wet, shiny eyes, shook her head and said simply: ‘truckers.’
That was three months ago. Today is Thanksgiving, the first day Stevie is supposed to be back to work.
His placement worker said he’s been counting the days until the doctor said he could work, and it didn’t matter at all that it was a holiday. He called 10 times in the past week, making sure we knew he was coming, fearful that we had forgotten him or that his job was in jeopardy. I arranged to have his mother bring him to work. I then met them in the parking lot and invited them both to celebrate his day back.
Stevie was thinner and paler, but couldn’t stop grinning as he pushed through the doors and headed for the back room where his apron and busing cart were waiting.
‘Hold up there, Stevie, not so fast,’ I said. I took him and his mother by their arms. ‘Work can wait for a minute. To celebrate your coming back, breakfast for you and your mother is on me!’ I led them toward a large corner booth at the rear of the room.
I could feel and hear the rest of the staff following behind as we marched through the dining room. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw booth after booth of grinning truckers empty and join the procession. We stopped in front of the big table. Its surface was covered with coffee cups, saucers and dinner plates, all sitting slightly crooked on dozens of folded paper napkins. ‘First thing you have to do, Stevie, is clean up this mess,’ I said. I tried to sound stern.
Stevie looked at me, and then at his mother, then pulled out one of the napkins. It had ‘Something for Stevie’ printed on the outside. As he picked it up, two $10 bills fell onto the table.
Stevie stared at the money, then at all the napkins peeking from beneath the tableware, each with his name printed or scrawled on it. I turned to his mother. ‘There’s more than $10,000 in cash and checks on that table, all from truckers and trucking companies that heard about your problems. ‘Happy Thanksgiving.’
Well, it got real noisy about that time, with everybody hollering and shouting, and there were a few tears, as well.
But you know what’s funny? While everybody else was busy shaking hands and hugging each other, Stevie, with a big smile on his face, was busy clearing all the cups and dishes from the table.
Best worker I ever hired.
Plant a seed and watch it grow.
~Written by Dan Anderson; Nov, 1998
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James
It was a valuable lesson: Don’t believe everything you read and hear!
But it was a harsh way to learn it.
Last week on Thursday the life of my family was thrown into a tailspin when a car hit a thirteen-year-old girl…a girl we happen to know…a close friend to Brody, my same-aged son.
Although it was mid evening, my son was sleeping when my daughter received news of the accident via a phone call from a friend who had seen something on Facebook—exhausted from an accumulation of long days that had started with early mornings of sports practices at school, he had laid down after supper.
Shedding tears, my daughter had dragged herself upstairs two-and-a-half hours after he had fallen asleep and said Megan had been hit by a car at 4:45PM, and it looked pretty bad. In fact, some kids had already posted RIP on Facebook!
We were devastated. Megan had been at our house only the week before.
But before waking up Brody to tell him of the tragedy, we needed confirmation. So, choking back tears, my hubby made phone calls to several people we thought might have more details…and yes, the accident was confirmed…but nobody knew whether Megan had survived or how bad her injuries were although it was believed she might have a broken neck, broken ribs, severe head trauma and internal bleeding.
It was a struggle as we debated whether or not to wake up Brody to tell him what we knew…or let him sleep until morning. He had to know before school (and decide if he was up to attending classes)…but what a horrible way to wake up!
The look on his face when we told him and the intense tears he shed and the grief he shared, haunted my daughter the next day at school—recalling how upset her younger brother had been, combined with hugs from friends and questions of, “Are you OK?” and having an understanding of the implications of a severe head injury, her grief came pouring out. With the counselor’s encouragement she called me to pick her up and take her home. Brody, on the other hand, had by now assumed a calm demeanor and attitude of, “We don’t know what’s happening at the hospital so I can’t worry for now.” –A typical male response the counselor had said.
(After the accident, via well-meaning people on Facebook and in person, we heard that Megan hadn’t survived. Then she was supposedly on her way to a Vancouver hospital. Then no, she was in fact at the Children’s hospital in Spokane. Then we heard she was on life-support. Then we heard she wasn’t on life support nor had she ever been! What was the reality, we wondered?)
Now my family knows that when an event occurs for which we have no confirmed details, it’s best not to jump to conclusions—it’s best not to believe everything you read and hear.
Now we know Megan IS in the Spokane Children’s hospital.
Megan DOES have severe head trauma.
She IS in critical but stable condition.
And she HAS shown slight body movements when receiving care…
Here’s something currently on Megan’s Facebook page (I think it’s beautiful):
“I wrote your name on a piece of paper, but I accidentally threw it away. I wrote your name on my hand, it washed away. I wrote your name in my heart & forever it will stay.”
May you have a full recovery Megan. Please know there are a lot of people who love you and are sending warm, caring, positive thoughts your way!
Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James