Everybody dies. Why shouldn’t it occupy my thoughts? My brother is dying; they say within the next few days. In less than a decade, I have lost both my parents and my stepmother, my aunts and uncles. At my age, that’s not unexpected, but I have also lost my best friend of 50 years, my best friend from college, the man I had been dating for several years, and numerous other of our friends as well as my beloved cat, Ham. I will be the only remaining living member of my nuclear family, and the only one that did not contract and die of cancer, so far anyway.
I have been very fortunate to do so many of the things I dreamed of doing, and even though I am only 64, I would not consider myself unfortunate if I died. It is not stopping being in this world that scares me. It is the pain, indignity, and inability to take care of myself in the process of dying that scares me. I am alone. Even if I wanted, there is no one to help me go through a long process of dying.
My odds of escaping my family members’ same lethal disease are not good. I am exhausted in spirit from supporting others through their bodies’ digestion by cancer. It leads me to wonder if human beings are digesting this planet, that we are a disease, cancers on the planet consuming it just as we ourselves are more and more frequently consumed by it. Perhaps we are reaping what we’ve sowed.
I saw throat cancer in one of my cats about 20 years ago and it still haunts me. Being eaten by a lion or a shark is a horrifying thought but at least it’s quick. Cancer eats you from the inside out slowly. How is that not more awful? So, what about humane assisted death? Should we all include plans to move to Oregon if we get the bad news so that we can be put out of our misery humanely?
He was the most engaging, gentle, lovable cat and now he didn’t want to be petted, held or interact at all. He ate very little. He still used his box. But he did nothing else but sleep; no interaction or interest in anything. So, after verifying my feelings that he was ready to move on with his acupuncture vet, regular vet, and even an animal communicator, I made the decision.
I arranged for an anesthesiologist to come put him to sleep at the house. He was sleeping on the bed in my guest room when she arrived. For the first time in weeks, he got up and walked to me (stumbled actually) and looked at her. He rubbed my face with his, turned and curled back up at the head of the bed. I took it as his thank you. First, she gave him a shot of valium and again, for the first time in a month or more, he purred. I stroked him and said my goodbye and then she gave him the last shot. It was over fast.
While I still cry every time I remember these last minutes, I am also absolutely certain it was the best thing for him. Knowing this makes it so much harder to bear these last few days that my brother must suffer through. There is no hope he will recover but the law, the system says we cannot help him over. He must experience either in agony or in an opioid saturated state, every moment of the shut down of the vessel in which he lives; the loss of control of his limbs, his bodily functions, the agonizing impingement of nerves and organs being consumed by this voracious disease until his heart or brain or lungs are so damaged his body finally stops living.
I can think of many, many things in this country, my country, that are problems, and this is one of them. Everyone dies and so many from Cancer. Why can we not say how we want to die when the end becomes known to be inevitable. If life is sacred, why do we allow it to be defiled like this?
If I knew I had only a few weeks to live, I would want to see all the people I care for and celebrate my life by doing those things I was still able to do. That might be watching a sunset on Lake Michigan, seeing the ship Badger come into port, watching my favorite movies a last time, dancing if I was able, snuggling with a cat (my cat, if I have one), looking through some memorabilia and reminiscing, having drinks and/or meals with friends, going for a drive in the woods, sitting on the patio watching the birds and looking at the flowers and trees.
These are tactile things my body-vessel was created to experience and process. These are the things that will be left behind. Once I can no longer do these things, why should my body linger, trapping me inside it? I am done with it. Put it to sleep. My sweet brother, I wish I could do this for you.`