More lessons from Schiavo
Death is the veil that those who live call life- Linda GlennBy Linda MacDonald Glenn
End-of-life issues brought me into the field of bioethics. I lost my first husband, Jack MacDonald, to cancer in 1984. He died after a long struggle that led ultimately to the question of whether to insert a feeding tube to prolong his life. Jack's chemotherapy had caused nausea, mouth sores, and esophageal ulcers and his oncologist had ordered a feeding tube. As I sat by Jack's bedside while the surgeon discussed the procedure, my husband start to cry. "Please no more . . . let me go," he pleaded.
Stunned, I didn't know what to say. Jack took my hand, grasped it and repeatedly said, "Please no feeding tubes, no more tubes . . . no more." He paused, rested a moment, then smiled (as if he knew what I was thinking) and said, "And if you wait until I'm unconscious to put one in, I swear I will come back after I've died and haunt you for doing that." I cried and laughed at the same time and promised I would never do that to him.
I loved Jack and I did not want to let him go, but I did not want to see him suffer any more. Jack had realized the fight was over long before I did; he tried to reassure me that he wasn't frightened and that he wasn't in any pain, and I shouldn't worry. Ultimately, I honoured his wishes; but it was, without a doubt, one of the most difficult decisions of my life. A few weeks later, Jack slipped into unconsciousness and died quietly, peacefully, on Feb. 8, 1984, at 6:33 p.m.
Of course, I sympathize with Michael Schiavo and his decision to remove the feeding tube of his wife Terri, who has been in a persistent vegetative state for 15 years. Maybe, because I'm approaching the half-century mark, I seem be to facing increasingly more end-of-life issues.
At my age, I know that no one escapes this life alive. But that does not ease the grief of losing so many loved ones. What brings me comfort is the belief that the people I have loved and lost are still with us, if not in body, then in spirit. These individuals have been my teachers and have helped me learn that what we experience on Earth is part of a natural and continual evolution of our individual souls.
I believe we are born so that we can learn life's lessons and help one another to grow. When we have learned all we can on this Earth, and served our purpose, we return to God (or, if you prefer, to the Cosmos, Eternity, the Universe, the Multi-verse, Everything-ness). One of my favourite authors, Buddhist monk Thich Nhat Hanh, writes that we are afraid to die because we are afraid we will become nothing when we die. But rather than seeing death as an end to life, we should see our lives as a temporary manifestation, like a parentheses in a sentence that is eternity, or a wave that's part of the larger ocean. Death can teach us valuable lessons about impermanence and the interconnectedness of all things.
This may not provide a lot of comfort to Terri Schiavo's parents, Bob and Mary Schindler, who this week appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court to have their daughter's feeding tube reinserted. This life-and-death case has gripped us and prompted debate about end-of-life care and what the "sanctity of life" means. It has created schisms in religious communities and been the topic of heated conversation at many a dinner table. Watching the Schindlers publicly plead for intervention is heart-wrenching. I have no doubt that they love Terri, and are doing this for her sake. I am reminded, though, that in the bestseller The Road Less Traveled, M. Scott Peck defines love as "the will or willingness to extend one's self for the purpose of nurturing one's own or another's spiritual growth."
The question now is: Whose spiritual growth is being nurtured here? Traditionally, the Catholic Church, of which Terri Schiavo is a member, employs a burden-versus-benefit analysis in determining whether or not to use extraordinary measures to sustain life. Part of the reasoning behind this is the recognition that death is not the ultimate evil, but eternal damnation is. And that our purpose here on Earth is to serve God, and once we have done that, we no longer need to cling to these earthly bonds.
It is ironic that all of this is taking place during Holy Week, a time when the Christian community celebrates the triumph of eternal life over death, through the resurrection of Christ. To the devout Christian, to allow Terri to die would be to allow her to return to God. Her death does not diminish the fact the she and all of her loved ones were created as gifts from God and should be cherished as such. Regardless of her fate, the debate over whether or not Terri's wishes should be honoured has helped us realize that it is our responsibility to exercise our free will to make choices to nurture our own or another's spiritual growth. In searching for meaning and purpose in our lives, we reconnect with others and remind ourselves that ultimately, we are not alone.
Terri's case is heart-wrenching because it touches everyone, and its outcome further shapes our relationship with others and the governments to which we delegate authority.
The fundamental lesson seems clear: Decide for yourself how to manage the end of your life, and make it clear to others. Without this guidance, you are the victim or beneficiary of conflicting interests and beliefs -- or of an ad hoc consensus that may, or may not, coincide with your own wishes.
