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Just play: don't look at your hands! |
I'm still trying to win a flash fiction contest to no avail. Sometimes I read the other entries and know they're better. Sometimes not. Today's prompt was one I didn't want to deal with: a mother asking her daughter to help her die. But I did, because I've thought about the issues so many times in my career, and in my life some too. My story today was "The Best I Could" ![]() At one point, the doctor discovered she had very severe arterial stenosis which could have been 100% fixed with a new heart valve. If she'd been asked, "Do you want to keep living?" by then, thinking she was 17 yrs old again, she would probably have said yes. Instead, the wise doctor who know her thoughts on the matter from years before, asked, "Do you want to have surgery on your heart?" She had no interest in having surgery at all. Eventually she died because the heart valve got too bad. She couldn't breathe easily, got tired, and just plain gave up. She didn't want to eat, or talk, or anything. She was 89, chose not to have friends, and except for Bill and me, was pretty much alone. If she'd been lucid, and if I'd had a bad cold and thought that pneumonia would have been an easier death, I might well have gone to see her as always. I don't know. I thought about it a lot. They used to call pneumonia "the old man's friend." I think that's probably not far from wrong. I don't believe it's our duty to prevent death on all counts. Extending life is one thing. Prolonging death is another. Her soul had used out its useful life. |