I Want To Be On A Death Panel



Photo by artist Richard Heeks

Because after all, we're all going to die anyway.

I know, that thought makes most of us uncomfortable.  We don't know, after all, what's on The Other Side, and that's kinda scary.  Some people believe in Heaven (and Hell), some people who believe in reincarnation, some people believe in nirvana, some people believe in being gods on other planets or any number of intriguing possibilities.  And some believe that one is just gone, the consciousness dissolved into nothingness.

But despite any number of fascinating stories from people who were clinically pronounced dead and "came back"  (but were they really, truly dead?) we don't know.

What we do know, for a fact, is we're not getting out of this place alive.

Many of us live like there's an actual, physical Reaper, and if we keep running/busy/active enough, we'll be able to avoid death.  Like he's a bill collector or something.  ("Pull down the shades, turn off the light and the TV, we'll pretend we're not home.")


OCPDrs carry it to extremes, but many people are so worried about what could happen in the future, what terrible thing is lurking around the corner, about protecting against every possible calamity, they fail to enjoy any of the wonderful things that are all around them, every minute of every day.  They're too busy finding green baby galoshes - because it might rain, sometime, in Southern California, and the baby's feet might get wet, and then he might get sick, and then he might die.

They're not so much Pro-Life, as they are Anti-Death.

We have to accept that we are going to die, and we have to accept that people we love are going to die.  That pain and loss are part of the admission price to this crazy Carnival called Life.  We can deny it, we can act like martyrs, and refuse to enjoy the Carnival - as if not enjoying life will entitle us to get more of it.  Hunh?

We can fight to be Cleopatra (Queen of Denial), and live like we have all the time in the world, but we don't.  We need to think about what's on our personal Bucket Lists, our dreams, and work on making them happen.  Is your dream to see the Grand Canyon?  Eat a hot dog on Coney Island?  Watch a taping of The Price Is Right?

Like Captain Picard would say on Star Trek: TNG, "Make it so."

And as far as the death panel thing, yep, there's a whooooole bunch of people I'd pull the plug on.  I don't believe, if one is extremely ill and/or 90+ years old, or in a persistent vegetative state, that it benefits anyone to take extreme measures to keep that person "alive."  (Okay, maybe the hospitals which are making a buck benefit from the care of said "person.") 

I believe that the soul has departed long before, but let's say, just for the point of argument, that it hasn't.  Let's say that the soul and spirit is still in that poor battered shell of a human body, unable to move, wipe itself, or communicate.

Could there be any worse torture than to be trapped there helplessly for weeks, months, years, not able to get out or let people know you're still in there?  To have to watch and listen to hours on end of daytime television programming?  (Whether your preference is Fox or MSN, you know they're gonna have it tuned to the other channel.)  To perhaps be in constant pain, either severe or low-grade, but nobody does anything about it because they don't know about it, and they think there is no pain?

I truly wouldn't wish such a fate on my worst enemy, and I have promised to come back and haunt anyone who does that to me.  (And not in a nice, Casper-the-Friendly-Ghost way.)  If we want to be kind and loving, we should let the person go, allow him or her to move on to...  whatever happens next.  Unless, of course, we know for a fact that the person we are "saving" would want us to fight for every breath.  I know some people in that horrible situation, knowing it's not a kind choice, but it's what their loved one wanted, so they are reluctantly carrying out those wishes.  (I'm so sorry!)

We've come a long way, in terms of preserving the physical bodies of those who would have died, 150, even 50 years ago, but that isn't always a good thing.  As a society, I think we need to reconsider what we often do to people in the last months of their lives, all in the name of "saving" them.  Saving them for what?  More torture? 

Just because we can hook somebody up to any number of modern gizmos and keep the heart beating and the lungs artificially pumped full of air and run a tube down somebody's throat to drip nutrients, doesn't mean we should.  Is an all-out battle to "buy" someone an extra two months of extreme pain, in a hospital, away from the comfort of family and pets and loved ones, always worth it?  (One friend recounted to me at her father's death, she counted - and then recounted, because she was sure she must have made a mistake - 187 tubes and wires running into his body.  187!!)

Newsweek had an interesting article recently on The Myth of Aging Gracefully.  Because of denial, we think we'll be one of the ones who's hardy, running marathons and making love into our nineties, and then drop instantly dead of a convenient heart attack or stroke, but it doesn't always work that way.

There is a 50–50 chance that anyone who survives to blow out 85 candles will endure years of significant mental or physical disability. The risk of Alzheimer’s disease doubles in every five-year period over 65. Furthermore, two thirds of Americans older than 85 are women, who usually become poorer as they age. Many won’t die at home, with the best care money can buy, as Sargent Shriver did in January, but in a Medicaid-funded nursing facility after their life savings have been exhausted.

What about living with gusto and passion?  What about accepting that death comes one to a customer, sooner or later, and making peace with that concept?  Telling loved ones every time you talk to them, that you love them, and treating them with love and kindness now? 


Image via Karen's Whimsy

For myself, I have my own Advance Medical Directive all filled out - copies with my sisters, doctor, and one in the glove compartment of my car.  Not to mention my threat to haunt people.  Your choices may be different from mine, but if you don't already have your AMD filled out, do it now.  No more excuses, no more waiting, no more "I'll do it when I have time," as if you know for sure you''ll have that time.

Cleopatra, Queen of Denial, didn't come to a very nice end, after all.

What are your thoughts on life, and death? 
What are you doing to live your life fully now?

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Sick of It

I've been battling a cold this past week or so.  I think I have it licked, but you never know.

This is sick in a good way, by kamshots at Flickr

I don't get sick often, but when I do, I tend to get really sick.  In fact, the last time I got sick was over Memorial Day weekend, almost a year ago.  Which spurred the anxiety that caused my ex b-f to blow up, which caused me to reach my "Get Help or I'm outta here" point.

I understand better now, that with OCPD (which as one friend half-jokes, stands for Only Contemplates Potential Disasters) a cold is never just a cold.  It's always a Possibly Fatal Infection, for everyone in the household.

Mind you, I suspect that me getting sicker than "normal" the last few times I got sick - colds progressing to sinus infections or bronchitis - probably had a great deal to do with living with a cigarette smoker, even though he religiously used ashtrays designed to trap much of the smoke.  Not good for the lungs, and on a few occasions, I brought up the idea that him stopping smoking would be good for both of us.  He agreed, even said a few times he wished he could, but that he knew he was too deeply addicted to even try to stop.  Well, we all know, if you think you can't do something, you can't, end of story.  I know the stress of living with him wore down my stamina and immune system, too. 

But I never dreamed of scolding him for me getting sick, as he would me. 

I've now heard stories from other partners of untreated OCPDrs that they can behave extremely badly when illness or injury occurs to someone they love (not every person with OCPD does this, but many do.)  Broken arms, appendicitis, or a head cold, all could (potentially) lead to The Worst Possible Outcome, which means since their head is already speeding ahead to imaging this, the Perfectionist Personality may totally lose whatever emotional equilibrium they have, and be on their worst behavior.

In a normal relationship, being hurt or under the weather generally elicits sympathy from a partner.  In some cases, the Perfectionist Personality will resist or actually refuse to drive their partner to the emergency room, or help with a temporary bandage for a cut.  They may even berate their partners for being so careless and inconsiderate to get sick or injured in the first place.


We may be able to cope to a certain extent, with an OCPD loved one when we feel well.  Setting boundaries, not taking things personally, remembering not to JADE...  But when we're hurt or feeling crappy, the OCPD  lack of expressed empathy, and fussing over their own worries can be especially hard to take. 

Sound effects, too!  Available via Amazon

My ex-boyfriend actually would be quite solicitous of me when I was sick, make me homemade chicken soup (which I loathed.) I know he was expressing his love and concern the best way he could.  The problem was, he couldn't express it in the way I needed.  Even when I specifically said, I would like to eat or drink this, I would like to do X, I would like to nap now - or not nap now, he couldn't hear it.  He expected me to be sick the way he had it scripted in his mind.

What a sad, torturous messy way to think, to live.  I am so glad I can just get sick now.  If I truly need help, I can ask family or friends to make a Kleenex or ginger ale run for me, as necessary.  Without getting bitched at because I wouldn't have gotten sick if I'd been more careful, or being micromanaged as to what I should eat or drink or when I should nap.

What were your experiences with OCPD sickness & health?  

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Death of an Assclown

In case you're wondering, assclown is a marvelous word coined by the marvelous Natalie Lue who writes Baggage Reclaim.  Because calling a certain type of man a "player" or a "ladies' man" or a "Don Juan" is giving a sleazeball entirely too much undeserved respect and dignity.


Photo by :mrMark: at Flickr
(just a regular, not an AssClown)

"You know he’s an assclown when he liberally presses The Reset Button – He possesses a ‘special’ ability to reset the relationship to whatever point that he feels most comfortable with, which is effectively like erasing the past. This is how he breezes his way back into various exes lives, disappearing for long enough and then bamboozling his way back in and trying to force out the memory of his misdemeanours. You’ll either remember them but be so fricking relieved to have him back and feel like you’ve ‘won’ that you go along with his ‘brainwash’ or you’ll try to reason with him and explain your point of view about past events and he reacts negatively, effectively teaching you (see below with passive aggression) that if you ‘remember’, he’ll be offski or difficult to deal with." (from "How to Spot An Assclown")

So, I have this cousin who belongs in the Assclown Hall of Fame.

Well, had this cousin.  Because I just got the news he died of cancer, and I'm not sure how I feel about it.

Cancer is an ugly way to die for anybody.  I've been given to understand that Cousin D had reconciled with his estranged children, and had actually remarried Wife #1 (more on that, below) last February.  My aunt, his mother, is understandably grieving, as any mother would.

I did not hear if his two brothers or his sister, my cousins, are planning to attend the funeral, or if they were even on speaking terms in recent years.

Photo by NickPiggott at Flickr

So why is Cousin D an assclown?  Marriage #1 - I'm slightly unclear on the details, whether his wife was still pregnant with offspring #3, or whether offspring #3 was an infant.  What I do know, according to family legend, is Cousin D went out one day to pick up some milk for the family... and never came home.  Dead?  Wandering somewhere with amnesia?  Abducted by aliens?

Nope, as his worried family found out some years later, Cousin D was perfectly safe and healthy.  He had to get back in touch in order to get a divorce from Wife #1, in order to marry Wife #2, with whom he'd run away while playing milkman.

At such time, Aunt and Uncle were relieved to find their Baby Boy was alive... Wife #1 was, understandably, more than a trifle miffed; his offspring were angry (and hurt,) and his brothers, Cousins A & B were furious.  Declared Cousin D a total assclown, and demanded Aunt & Uncle choose whether to have contact with them, or with dishonorable Cousin D.  His sister, Cousin C, played neutral party as much as possible.

Eventually, for whatever reason, Cousin D's marriage #2 did not work out (could it have been him?)  But he married again, a lovely woman with two children of her own.  I met them all, briefly, when he brought them to our old hometown for a semi-family reunion.  Cousins A & B did not attend, but Cousin D's oldest son came to the house and everybody made nice.

Cut to: several years later.  Cousin D abandons Wife #3, but this time, no divorce, because, Surprise!  He's still married to Wife #2, he was never legally married to Wife #3 at all.  (See why he belongs in the Assclown Hall of Fame?)  Why they didn't put him in jail as a bigamist, I truly don't know.

Now, this guy was my cousin by blood, but we'd never been emotionally close.  He was about 15 years older than me, and we probably never exchanged more than 100 words during our entire lives. 

Apparently he exerted some magical, seductive power over women which I never saw, because despite the absolutely abominable way he treated her, Not-Quite-Wife #3 continued to pine after him for quite some time, asking me and others in the family how he was doing, if we could explain his thought processes (uh, no!) and so on. 


Photo from Willy D on Flickr


We're still FaceBook friends, and I wonder how she's taking the news, which my oldest sis, who'd gotten The Call from our Aunt, thus had all the info, was planning to break to her over the phone.  Sis and I agreed that, legal wife or not, #3 deserved to be informed, via an old-fashioned phone call.  Having lived as his wife for 10+ years, sending her a message on FB seemed... wrong.

And, as mentioned above, he and Wife #1 remarried last year (presumably after he did secure a legal divorce from Wife #2)

The mind boggles, truly it does.  I don't get it, why Cousin D (he wasn't bad looking, but he was no George Clooney)  had all these women ready to lay their lives at his feet, how he could treat them all so horribly and still sleep at night. 

I don't get them.  As badly as he behaved, as much as he cheated and lied and they watched him screw other women over, Cousin D's wives could still accept it and tell themselves, "Yes, but he's different with me," or, "It's different this time, he's changed."

And then, I look back at so many of my own romantic relationships, including the last one, and realize I've done the same kind of thing, accepted the intolerable, made excuses, told myself a man wouldn't treat me the way he treated the other women in his past. Or that he wouldn't treat me again the way he just had.  I, too, was a Queen of Doublethink and Denial.  <rolling my eyes and sighing at my younger self.>

Hopefully, this time I've changed.

And I don't get how I'm supposed to feel about Cousin D's death.  I'm kind of sad for those who loved him, I guess.  I know that in his later years, Cousin D did do quite a bit for his elderly parents, especially caring for his mother after his father died.  I know that cancer is a cruel beast (don't know what kind he had, but none of them are pretty) and the suffering he must have gone through may have been a bit of karmic payback.

And, if his children and (some of) his wives can forgive him, who am I to hold a grudge on their behalf?

Still, there's a piece of me that simply isn't sorry at all he's dead.  That thinks the planet would be a much better place if all Assclowns were gone from it, like, yesterday. 

Have you ever experienced a death, either of a former lover or family member, that left you with very mixed feelings?  Please click a Reaction or share in the comments (as much as you feel comfortable doing.)