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lissa_quonClown
Good madonna, why mournest thou?
OLIVIA
Good fool, for my brother's death.
Clown
I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
OLIVIA
I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
Clown
The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's
soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.
-quote from Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
I know the quote is about mourning the dead, but I felt is also had some poignancy for this issue as well so bear with me. I'm so pissed off about this whole issue that I need to vent. So I apologize in advance to anyone hoping for either drawings or some boring monolouge about my day.
I'm all for medical advances, I really am. If it wasn't for intensive care and other such medical miracles my lungs would have stuck together when I was born and I would have died. If it wasn't for surgery I would have died at the age of seven due to a ruptured appendix. I acknowledge this, so don't go thinking I'm against hospitalization and surgeries and life support. I'm all for that.
All I'm saying is: theres a point when you have to (if you'll pardon the expression the expression) pull the plug
Theres a time when medicine is prolonging life past the point of actual living. When the only thing keeping you alive is the machine or the tube and the only life you have is your organs churning on theres when you've gone to far.
I've seen my grandmother fade away like that. She had signed various DNR forms and such before things got really bad so she was spared the majority of the discomfort. But towards the end she could barely eat, she didn't recognise anyone and she couldn't perform basic functions.
She was under hospice care at the house so I saw her everyday, heard her oxygen machine chugging away constantly, and when I walked up the hall I could hear her stuggled breath-y moans and whispers for help. I can close my eyes and see her in her room, her tiny figure in the hospital bed. Sometimes late at night in bed I swear I can still hear her machine and her moans. Without even concentrating I can remember the smell.
No one wants to be remembered like that, no one wants to remember that. Death is bad enough without drawing it over a long extended period of torture.
Good madonna, why mournest thou?
OLIVIA
Good fool, for my brother's death.
Clown
I think his soul is in hell, madonna.
OLIVIA
I know his soul is in heaven, fool.
Clown
The more fool, madonna, to mourn for your brother's
soul being in heaven. Take away the fool, gentlemen.
-quote from Twelfth Night by William Shakespeare
I know the quote is about mourning the dead, but I felt is also had some poignancy for this issue as well so bear with me. I'm so pissed off about this whole issue that I need to vent. So I apologize in advance to anyone hoping for either drawings or some boring monolouge about my day.
I'm all for medical advances, I really am. If it wasn't for intensive care and other such medical miracles my lungs would have stuck together when I was born and I would have died. If it wasn't for surgery I would have died at the age of seven due to a ruptured appendix. I acknowledge this, so don't go thinking I'm against hospitalization and surgeries and life support. I'm all for that.
All I'm saying is: theres a point when you have to (if you'll pardon the expression the expression) pull the plug
Theres a time when medicine is prolonging life past the point of actual living. When the only thing keeping you alive is the machine or the tube and the only life you have is your organs churning on theres when you've gone to far.
I've seen my grandmother fade away like that. She had signed various DNR forms and such before things got really bad so she was spared the majority of the discomfort. But towards the end she could barely eat, she didn't recognise anyone and she couldn't perform basic functions.
She was under hospice care at the house so I saw her everyday, heard her oxygen machine chugging away constantly, and when I walked up the hall I could hear her stuggled breath-y moans and whispers for help. I can close my eyes and see her in her room, her tiny figure in the hospital bed. Sometimes late at night in bed I swear I can still hear her machine and her moans. Without even concentrating I can remember the smell.
No one wants to be remembered like that, no one wants to remember that. Death is bad enough without drawing it over a long extended period of torture.
