In the state of Washington it is legal to end your life if you have a terminal illness and if you are able to self administer. You tell your doctor, who refers you to a panel of professionals who ask you a bunch of questions. In a few weeks you go back and do it again. If you pass the hurdles, you get the appropriate prescriptions to have filled. The prescriptions are for anti-emetics and phenobarbitol. Yes, I've asked a few questions of my own. I've been considering taking this route as of late. My progress is ramping up. I'm essentially a quadrapalegic but have full mental faculties and I'm being cared for by people who don't really know me or care about me. Additionally, my husband is here less and less. While I need him more and more. My family visits infrequently. I spend an inordinate amount of time alone and I'm coherent enough to know it. I see the road ahead. I live here. I may as well be dead sooner than later.
I remember catching fireflies, putting them in a jar, as a girl of five. I picked pears off a tree that overhung an alleyway on my route home from school, then enjoyed the forbidden fruit. .I had a golden cat who chased a gray mouse through our living room sending my mother, 3-year old sister, and me screaming atop the sofa and chairs. We lived in a farmhouse and I watched Romper Room. A daddy longlegs skittered across my dirty kid legs as I teeter-tottered on a broken kitchen chair back. I played grocery store and laid out a bedroll for group nap time in preschool. We lived in an apartment attached to a bakery. My maternal grandparents visited and a photo was snapped. Grandma held Dawn and Grandpa held me. I held Grandpa's chin. Walking through the back of the flour-caked kitchen, I saw scrumptious pastries and colorful toys stuck in the cupcakes with my hungry kids eyes. We lived in a two-story apartment building next door to a large farmer's field. That field was my...
Comments
Post a Comment