On Life & Death

Interesting piece over at The Atlantic from a guy saying that after he hits 75 he's perfectly fine dying and don't nobody try nothing to save him after that:

After 75, if I develop cancer, I will refuse treatment. Similarly, no cardiac stress test. No pacemaker and certainly no implantable defibrillator. No heart-valve replacement or bypass surgery. If I develop emphysema or some similar disease that involves frequent exacerbations that would, normally, land me in the hospital, I will accept treatment to ameliorate the discomfort caused by the feeling of suffocation, but will refuse to be hauled off. Obviously, a do-not-resuscitate order and a complete advance directive indicating no ventilators, dialysis, surgery, antibiotics, or any other medication—nothing except palliative care even if I am conscious but not mentally competent—have been written and recorded. In short, no life-sustaining interventions. I will die when whatever comes first takes me.

"But Xmastime", you say in the voice of Craig “Ironhead” Heyward from those soap commercials (RIP), “didn't you first suggest the same thing here over a dozen years ago?"

Sigh. Yes I did, faithful readers, YES I did - well yeah, but kind of the opposite, I reckon:

I don't care if it goes on for decades and drains the finances of each and every one of my children (and my children's children), don't you dare let some asshole claim "Xmastime wouldn't wanna be a burden on us, he'd want us to pull the plug!", for you will know it's all in black & white here: keep me plugged in!

He's also got some funny ideas about his memorial service:

And I don’t want any crying or wailing, but a warm gathering filled with fun reminiscences, stories of my awkwardness, and celebrations of a good life. 

Not QUITE the Xmastime way of doing things:

I’m putting it in black and white right here: not now, nor will I ever proclaim that I want people having a good time at my funeral. Therefore the first fuckwad that says “Hey, Xmastime would want us to have fun” gets a boot heel to the throat. This I promise.), including jobs like making sure all my past lovers are seated together so that they can try to out-grieve each other and scoring the “What Xmastime Meant to Me” essays. So be on the lookout for this site in the near future. Also, I’m putting this down in black & white too: not now, nor will I ever proclaim that I want my wife to get remarried. If she starts throwing out that garbage “Oh Xmastime would want me to move on and be happy” SHE’S LYING!! DON’T BELIEVE HER!!! I’m looking to assign someone the job of making sure she visits the cemetery at least once a week and hurls herself on my grave wailing uncontrollably for an hour or so. Let me know who’s up for that one.

Hey, it's just Xmastime being Xmastime!!!