I did it my way — 17 Comments

  1. St Paul- 19 What? know ye not that your body is the temple of the Holy Ghost which is in you, which ye have of God, and ye are not your own?
    20 For ye are bought with a price: therefore glorify God in your body, and in your spirit, which are God’s.

    Hunter S. Thompson said ”  “Life should not be a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside in a cloud of smoke, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming “Wow!”

    Anthony Bourdain — ‘your body is not a temple, it’s an amusement park. Enjoy the ride.’ .

    “Yer body h’int nah Temple, itss an ashtvay, alweady” -The Blocked Dwarf (in his cups and slipping into the accent of his yuff).

    • BD, my body is indeed a temple: unfortunately, it’s like one of those ruined Ancient Greek ones.

      Doesn’t anyone remember what the very first miracle was?  Its place as the very first one must be significant. ;-)…….and don’t ever fall for any of the crap the ‘born again’ tossers say about the wine being non-alcoholic!!

  2. indeed; but, how do they know when a person is supposed to die?

    Do they have God speaking in their heads?

    • Don’t know about god speaking in their heads, if he is perhaps he is pissed as a fart and doesn’t give a shit (an attitude I admire in gods, people and cats) sure as hell know all about taxpayer cash jangling into their bloody bank accounts.

  3. I had the misfortune to have to be admitted to hospital at 12.30 in morning last month and the only bed they had was in the geriatric ward. No they were not drooling in a corner, they (3 of them in that room) were all bed ridden – and had been for some time,

    Liquefied food was administered through a syringe to a tube that went through their nose. They deficated into adult nappies and were wiped down every day by a couple of nurses. All had bed sores and all were pitifully thin with wasted muscles.

    There was no dignity, no quality of life and not the slightest possibility they’d ever leave the hospital. The only thing they had going for them was they either had some form Alzheimers, or were so medicated they had no real grasp of reality.

    On my second night a junior doctor told me all 3 would be dead within a week and that the guy on the other side of the room to myself probably wouldn’t make it to morning.

    He told me this at 2 in the morning because said guy was making an irritating clicking noise when he breathed. I had no idea it was in fact a death rattle – and sure enough it stopped without fuss or fanfare at about 3.15 that morning.

    I woke at 6.30 to see his middle aged daughter weeping, wiping his forehead and tidying his hair. She was of course remembering what he used to be. After a good hour of this the staff got her out to do the form filling,  then she came back for another 20 minutes of weeping, then her husband cleared his personal effects, like bottles of juice and water and tissues.

    Half an hour later a man came with a metal trolley, disconnected all tubes, stripped the body of all clothing, then slid the body on the trolley and covered that with a blanket and took it away to their morgue.

    Shortly after, staff stripped the bed, wiped the plastic covered mattress,  then made it ready for the next geriatric.

    He was 82 and just another dead old person. It goes with the territory for staff in geriatric wards.

    Later that day I was moved to a 2 person room. Next day I was out.

    This is not made up or exaggerated in any way. To my mind what I saw is repeated in virtually every hospital. We may be living longer,  but if that represents the final months or years then I want no part of it

    • There is nothing dignified about that type of existence.   They are not alive, merely existing and to me, that is a form of cruelty.  Somehow we consider it right, moral and proper to put an animal to sleep if it is in pain with no hope of recovery.  I have been down that road where I held a beloved dog as she finally went to sleep – a very painful process [for me], yet a human is expected to suffer until nature takes its course.

      I do have some problems with human euthanasia but I am all in favour of assisted suicide.  The dignity and care we show for animals is somehow denied to humans, and if someone else refuses me that dignity I see no reason why I shoudn’t take matters into my own hands.  As I said – my body: my rules.

      • But those folk featured in Smoking Scot’s piece would be too far gone for assisted suicide anyway, so that brings us back to euthanasia.

        In past times, wise doctors would actively help the gravely ill to exit peacefully (including King George V apparently) but now, under the glare of scrutiny and the fear of no-win-no-fee lawyers, it is regrettably safer to let the patient suffer an uncomfortable and undignified death rather than risk the personal consequences of humane kindness.

        The same is true at the start of life when modern medics strive to sustain unfeasible babies, creating lifelong burdens for families and authorities, with little if any life-pleasure for the patient – in the past, these too would have been allowed peacefully to fade away in the delivery phase.

        We need to grow up about both birth and death, treating both with more appropriate care and judgement.

        Pleased to know that Smoking Scot emerged from his own close encounter.

      • “a very painful process (for me)”

        Yes, very. Lost my best (canine) friend four months ago. Still suffering and missing him each and every single day.

        And for the rest: pretty exactly my thoughts too.

  4. I would opt for the bottle of vodka and a revolver, should I start to decay as described, but with our stupid gun laws that will not be the case. As you say, enjoy life to the full, Grandad. We only have one.

    • Well if they haven’t banned vodka (for the sake of the childrenz) by the time your time comes, then you don’t actually need the revolver. Drink 3 bottles of vodka straight down, maybe add in some of those nice pills the doctors give away like smarties, and the chances are you’ll wake up dead either from alcohol poisoning (yeah alcohol can be toxic- who knew?) , suppression of lung function or choking on your own vomit (show some class and spread out a plastic sheet- one should always think of the cleaning staff).

      For all those worried about such things; doctors in the UK (and I suspect elsewhere) ‘advise’ terminal patients that , say , taking too much of one medication or coming off another, carries the risk of unwanted death..

      • The cleaning staff wouldn’t like the revolver method either. There is the shotgun but that’s a right pain to blow your head clean off as they are rather long guns.  I might take up sky diving after I reach 70.

    Oh, dear.  Looks like things aren’t exactly going to plan here.  How, precisely, are they going to square this circle:  
    “ … smoking has declined for those aged 50-64 …” 
    “There was an increase in the prevalence of high blood pressures, diabetes, heart attack and stroke since the previous survey of the same group” 
    Aren’t those all the things which are supposed to decrease pretty much immediately after giving up smoking?  No wonder they made sure to put a somewhat unrelated short paragraph about housing in between the two!  Can’t have the great unwashed making any inconvenient connections, now, can we?

  6. From the article: “Nearly one in two is walking less than the recommended 150 minutes a week with over-75s particularly inactive.”

    Really? Who would have thunk? Especially the over-75s being particularly inactive. Could it be that the over-75s are…(wait for it)…over 75? So one of the shocking conclusions of this new study are old people are less active? As compared to what exactly? Non-old people?

    These idiots and their “studies” always fail to amaze me.

  7. I gave up the booze over a year ago and took up cycling, eventually the muscles grew back in my legs, now i,m as fit as an old butchers dog!

    • The antithesis of that is to be like a robber’s dog: all dick and ribs.

      (Australian expression, as far as I know)

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