Okay, because I can be such an emotional girl at times (not to be confused with emo!)
I'm feeling three different things right now.
I am going to go back in time to, oh, about the time they pulled the plug on Terry Schiavo (spelling?) and allowed her to die. That's been, what, six years now since she's passed away? I don't know. Anyway, there are many things about that situation that, to this day, do not sit right with me, and it never will, not with the things I have seen in my life. What I'm about to say next will quite possibly offend some due to religious beliefs and whatnot. For those people I ask that either you read this fully before you start to persecute me for my personal opinions and feelings or that you don't read what I'm about to say. Period.
I think the whole situation with Terry got blown way out of proportion. I really, truly do, and I, for one, am glad the woman is now knowing peace and is free of the agony. She should not have lived on life support as long as she did. Her parents were incredibly stupid and selfish. They should not have done that to their daughter. They should have seen beyond their own wants and desires to what their daughter truly wanted.
Just so some on my friends' list know, I am not a mother. I am a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister, a neice, a cousin, a friend, and a human being. I'm also certified to work as a nurse's assistant in most healthcare settings that require a nurses' aide. This entry is my outrage over the things I've seen, and Terry happens to be the one situation most everyone knows about.
We talk about the right to live, and we fight so hard so people can live a decent life or even the right to a life. We never talk about the right nor the need to die. Terry, as much as I hate to say this about anyone, needed to die. She was no longer the same vibrant woman after her stroke. Her brain activity ceased and never resumed, even after fifteen years.They should have let her go with dignity.
Around the time this was happening, I know I made some remarks to my grandmother and my Aunt Paula how it wasn't fair that Terry was kept alive for as long as she was. Or something to that effect. I do not remember my exact words. I know I commented on how that was no kind of life. I know I commented on how I'd seen a person in a similar situation to Terry, and I wondered why someone would do that to another person. I know what I've seen and I know how selfish people can be. My aunt even proved me right when she told me that I wasn't a mother, that I don't understand that I would do whatever it takes to keep a child alive.
To keep a child alive . . . no. I don't know those feelings. I'm not a mother. I keep bouncing back and forth between the idea of becoming a mother and not becoming a mother. I kept my mouth shut after that because what I had seen working at Lakeview Lutheran Manor counted for nothing. Seeing people confined to a bed, drooling, messing themselves, and relying solely on someone to provide them food and nourishment counted for NOTHING. My experiences meant I had no voice whatsoever in a controversy like Terry's. All that counted was that someone should have saved Terry's life, someone should have saved a child's life when all quality of living had ceased a long time ago.
What I do not understand is this. Why is it when we see a dog or a cat or a horse that's grown so old, can no longer move on its own, and is in a great deal of pain, it's merciful to give that animal an injection to ease its suffering permanently? It's better that way. Yet, when Grandma is stuck in a nursing home, bound to a wheelchair because a stroke has left her permently disabled, reliant on others, and possibly in as much pain as that suffering dog, we make Grandma suffer? It's murder to give Grandma something to end her pain forever. Where is the difference? The dog can't tell us it's hurting? Yes, it can. A dog can be just as vocal about pain as a human. Grandma can tell us she's hurting? What if she can't. Has anyone ever considered that? This dog we love just as much as Grandma is considered a member of the family yet we'll make Grandma suffer but not the dog. Yes, there are pain medications, but they wear off. They stop working. I've seen people be given morphine supplemented with either Tylenol or Motrin to keep the pain levels at bay, and that, too, eventually ceases to work.
This will sound cold to many people, but I have always felt relieved when a resident has passed away. Not because I hated the resident and was glad to be rid of the person, but because I saw the pain and the suffering this person endured. Because this person felt (s)he was a burden to me when I washed that person's butt to get the urine and fecal matter from their private areas, and they needed to rely on me to feed them their food or to even get out of bed or the wheelchair. For most of these people, it's worse than death. It's living without life. These were vibrant, lively, hard-working people, and they feel like they've been reduced to nothing because they can't take care of themselves and ease their pain anymore. I would not want to spend the last years of my life living like that. It's cruel, and there isn't anything an aide can do to prevent that cruelty. We can give hugs and kisses to the cheek and forehead. We can reassure the person (s)he's not a burden, but it isn't always enough. We cannot take away their pain. The best we can do is tell the nurse and hope that person has a pain pill coming soon so the pain can stop. So this person can breathe easier. Yes, nursing homes (and AFC homes and assisted living homes) provide religious comfort and activities, but is it really the same for these people? I don't think that it is, not when some of them were able to sew beautiful clothes for their children and grandchildren or to knit hats and scarves as Christmas gifts.
I remember watching the news around the time they decided to remove the feeding tube from Terry Schiavo. It was one of the few times I was able to catch the news or was even remotely interested in what was going on. I think they had said George W. was not going to intervene since the Florida Supreme Court had already ruled in Terry's husband's favour. Anyway, I saw this guy, a pro-lifer, trying to get into the place where Terry was housed and he had a bottle of water. The police stopped him, and I was thinking, they should have let the man in. Then he could have given Terry a drink, she could have choked on the water, and he could have his ass arrested for attempted murder. (Have I mentioned before how bitchy and opinionated I can get?) I think that's what sparked the conversation with my grandmother and my aunt that Thanksgiving. I thought those people were stupid to even attempt such a thing, especially since Terry could not even swallow something as thick as pudding without it nearly choking her to death.
For those of you who don't know, a feeding tube is often inserted, usually through the belly, when a person can no longer swallow any kind of food, be it thickened to the consistency of pudding or pureed beyond recognition. The body is now refusing to function in a proper manner anymore. The nutritional stuff used for tube feeding . . . is not the most pleasant of substances to deal with, either. You can make a mess worse before you can make it better with that stuff!
And not everyone who has a feeding tube inserted stays on the feeding tube forever. I mean, there is always some kind of hope that a person can recover from a stroke or to come out of a coma. It does happen, if whoever you believe in allows for the chance of that recovery. The question now becomes how long do you want someone to hold onto that hope for you should you end up in a vegetative state like Terry Schiavo? One year? Two? Ten? Twenty? Even if you could recover from such a state, would you have the same life as you did before? Or will you be stuck in a bed, a feeding tube inserted in your belly, and with no chance of truly enjoying the life you once had?
I'm not going to say Terry's husband handled the situation well. He could have gone about things in a better manner, but I do believe he ultimately knew what was best for Terry in the end. I believe her parents were wrong just as I believe it's wrong to want Grandma to hold on for one more day simply because I don't want to see Grandma die and I'll do whatever it takes, including keeping her so doped up she don't know what year it is, to keep her alive. When you work with such people for eight hours a day, five days a week, you tend to see the world a little differently. Does it make my views right or wrong? No. They're just my opinions based on my experiences in working with the elderly and a woman who grew no bigger than a toddler and retained the mental awareness of a five-month-old child. The way I see it, we've become cruel in our efforts to be kind and merciful, and that is a very sad thing.
I received an email today from the local hospital. They've filled the position I applied for. Rejected once again. So not cool. Ah well. You win some, you lose some. That's just the way things in life go.
Today, I sat my fat behind at my computer, and I worked on my book. Of course, I think what loosened up my inhibitions was this writing exercise from Breathing Life Into Your Characters by Rachel Ballon. I just started to read the book, and the writing exercise came along and I did it, and I cried and it was just very cathartic for me. I realized I want to base one of my characters on my grandfather who passed away when I was fifteen. Of course, most of the writing was done in the second chapter instead of working on the second chapter, but I've already realized I need to add more to the existing chapters already typed up. I've left out a lot of details that are going to be very important in this world that I've created. I want to take my cues from my favourite authors (Tolkien, King, and Poe, of course) so I know I need to improve upon what I've already done before I can continue with the rest of the story, especially since so many things are changing. I'm hoping that, once everything is typed and polished so prettily, the publisher I send it to for possible publication will love it. I'm already proud of this story and it isn't anywhere near where I need it to be. Crazy, huh?
Word count for today: 3679. I've never gotten that many words done in one day! Hooray for me! There's still hope for my hopelessness yet! LOL
I am going to go back in time to, oh, about the time they pulled the plug on Terry Schiavo (spelling?) and allowed her to die. That's been, what, six years now since she's passed away? I don't know. Anyway, there are many things about that situation that, to this day, do not sit right with me, and it never will, not with the things I have seen in my life. What I'm about to say next will quite possibly offend some due to religious beliefs and whatnot. For those people I ask that either you read this fully before you start to persecute me for my personal opinions and feelings or that you don't read what I'm about to say. Period.
I think the whole situation with Terry got blown way out of proportion. I really, truly do, and I, for one, am glad the woman is now knowing peace and is free of the agony. She should not have lived on life support as long as she did. Her parents were incredibly stupid and selfish. They should not have done that to their daughter. They should have seen beyond their own wants and desires to what their daughter truly wanted.
Just so some on my friends' list know, I am not a mother. I am a daughter, a granddaughter, a sister, a neice, a cousin, a friend, and a human being. I'm also certified to work as a nurse's assistant in most healthcare settings that require a nurses' aide. This entry is my outrage over the things I've seen, and Terry happens to be the one situation most everyone knows about.
We talk about the right to live, and we fight so hard so people can live a decent life or even the right to a life. We never talk about the right nor the need to die. Terry, as much as I hate to say this about anyone, needed to die. She was no longer the same vibrant woman after her stroke. Her brain activity ceased and never resumed, even after fifteen years.They should have let her go with dignity.
Around the time this was happening, I know I made some remarks to my grandmother and my Aunt Paula how it wasn't fair that Terry was kept alive for as long as she was. Or something to that effect. I do not remember my exact words. I know I commented on how that was no kind of life. I know I commented on how I'd seen a person in a similar situation to Terry, and I wondered why someone would do that to another person. I know what I've seen and I know how selfish people can be. My aunt even proved me right when she told me that I wasn't a mother, that I don't understand that I would do whatever it takes to keep a child alive.
To keep a child alive . . . no. I don't know those feelings. I'm not a mother. I keep bouncing back and forth between the idea of becoming a mother and not becoming a mother. I kept my mouth shut after that because what I had seen working at Lakeview Lutheran Manor counted for nothing. Seeing people confined to a bed, drooling, messing themselves, and relying solely on someone to provide them food and nourishment counted for NOTHING. My experiences meant I had no voice whatsoever in a controversy like Terry's. All that counted was that someone should have saved Terry's life, someone should have saved a child's life when all quality of living had ceased a long time ago.
What I do not understand is this. Why is it when we see a dog or a cat or a horse that's grown so old, can no longer move on its own, and is in a great deal of pain, it's merciful to give that animal an injection to ease its suffering permanently? It's better that way. Yet, when Grandma is stuck in a nursing home, bound to a wheelchair because a stroke has left her permently disabled, reliant on others, and possibly in as much pain as that suffering dog, we make Grandma suffer? It's murder to give Grandma something to end her pain forever. Where is the difference? The dog can't tell us it's hurting? Yes, it can. A dog can be just as vocal about pain as a human. Grandma can tell us she's hurting? What if she can't. Has anyone ever considered that? This dog we love just as much as Grandma is considered a member of the family yet we'll make Grandma suffer but not the dog. Yes, there are pain medications, but they wear off. They stop working. I've seen people be given morphine supplemented with either Tylenol or Motrin to keep the pain levels at bay, and that, too, eventually ceases to work.
This will sound cold to many people, but I have always felt relieved when a resident has passed away. Not because I hated the resident and was glad to be rid of the person, but because I saw the pain and the suffering this person endured. Because this person felt (s)he was a burden to me when I washed that person's butt to get the urine and fecal matter from their private areas, and they needed to rely on me to feed them their food or to even get out of bed or the wheelchair. For most of these people, it's worse than death. It's living without life. These were vibrant, lively, hard-working people, and they feel like they've been reduced to nothing because they can't take care of themselves and ease their pain anymore. I would not want to spend the last years of my life living like that. It's cruel, and there isn't anything an aide can do to prevent that cruelty. We can give hugs and kisses to the cheek and forehead. We can reassure the person (s)he's not a burden, but it isn't always enough. We cannot take away their pain. The best we can do is tell the nurse and hope that person has a pain pill coming soon so the pain can stop. So this person can breathe easier. Yes, nursing homes (and AFC homes and assisted living homes) provide religious comfort and activities, but is it really the same for these people? I don't think that it is, not when some of them were able to sew beautiful clothes for their children and grandchildren or to knit hats and scarves as Christmas gifts.
I remember watching the news around the time they decided to remove the feeding tube from Terry Schiavo. It was one of the few times I was able to catch the news or was even remotely interested in what was going on. I think they had said George W. was not going to intervene since the Florida Supreme Court had already ruled in Terry's husband's favour. Anyway, I saw this guy, a pro-lifer, trying to get into the place where Terry was housed and he had a bottle of water. The police stopped him, and I was thinking, they should have let the man in. Then he could have given Terry a drink, she could have choked on the water, and he could have his ass arrested for attempted murder. (Have I mentioned before how bitchy and opinionated I can get?) I think that's what sparked the conversation with my grandmother and my aunt that Thanksgiving. I thought those people were stupid to even attempt such a thing, especially since Terry could not even swallow something as thick as pudding without it nearly choking her to death.
For those of you who don't know, a feeding tube is often inserted, usually through the belly, when a person can no longer swallow any kind of food, be it thickened to the consistency of pudding or pureed beyond recognition. The body is now refusing to function in a proper manner anymore. The nutritional stuff used for tube feeding . . . is not the most pleasant of substances to deal with, either. You can make a mess worse before you can make it better with that stuff!
And not everyone who has a feeding tube inserted stays on the feeding tube forever. I mean, there is always some kind of hope that a person can recover from a stroke or to come out of a coma. It does happen, if whoever you believe in allows for the chance of that recovery. The question now becomes how long do you want someone to hold onto that hope for you should you end up in a vegetative state like Terry Schiavo? One year? Two? Ten? Twenty? Even if you could recover from such a state, would you have the same life as you did before? Or will you be stuck in a bed, a feeding tube inserted in your belly, and with no chance of truly enjoying the life you once had?
I'm not going to say Terry's husband handled the situation well. He could have gone about things in a better manner, but I do believe he ultimately knew what was best for Terry in the end. I believe her parents were wrong just as I believe it's wrong to want Grandma to hold on for one more day simply because I don't want to see Grandma die and I'll do whatever it takes, including keeping her so doped up she don't know what year it is, to keep her alive. When you work with such people for eight hours a day, five days a week, you tend to see the world a little differently. Does it make my views right or wrong? No. They're just my opinions based on my experiences in working with the elderly and a woman who grew no bigger than a toddler and retained the mental awareness of a five-month-old child. The way I see it, we've become cruel in our efforts to be kind and merciful, and that is a very sad thing.
I received an email today from the local hospital. They've filled the position I applied for. Rejected once again. So not cool. Ah well. You win some, you lose some. That's just the way things in life go.
Today, I sat my fat behind at my computer, and I worked on my book. Of course, I think what loosened up my inhibitions was this writing exercise from Breathing Life Into Your Characters by Rachel Ballon. I just started to read the book, and the writing exercise came along and I did it, and I cried and it was just very cathartic for me. I realized I want to base one of my characters on my grandfather who passed away when I was fifteen. Of course, most of the writing was done in the second chapter instead of working on the second chapter, but I've already realized I need to add more to the existing chapters already typed up. I've left out a lot of details that are going to be very important in this world that I've created. I want to take my cues from my favourite authors (Tolkien, King, and Poe, of course) so I know I need to improve upon what I've already done before I can continue with the rest of the story, especially since so many things are changing. I'm hoping that, once everything is typed and polished so prettily, the publisher I send it to for possible publication will love it. I'm already proud of this story and it isn't anywhere near where I need it to be. Crazy, huh?
Word count for today: 3679. I've never gotten that many words done in one day! Hooray for me! There's still hope for my hopelessness yet! LOL