How absorbing I am to me. Looking at my last post about dying, I see it's not nearly as morbid as I would have had myself beleive, convinced in part by the concern of friends that I was at the time deeply depressed.
I must admit that the coming of longer days has helped my mood, also the dropping of magneisum from my daily pill regimen. It seems to have driven my tiny chemical mind into a frenzy of anxiety about everything. Something the local GP confirms can happen. They don't tell you that on the bottle.
I am squandering money on magazines and books today ($80), equal to a quarter almost of the weekly pension. What a devil I am in the Spring. Should I worry that I'm entering a phase of unrealistic optimism?
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
What if the Morphine Doesn't Work?
I'm nearly 70 and I keep wondering when I'll die. It's a reasonable thing to wonder at this age, but I would probably do it less if I had paid work to do or it wasn't winter when my mood always takes a downward dip.
I think I would like to die lying with my face down, smelling fresh grass. I've been told by someone who just watched death happen that that is unlikely.Why?
Why can't a doctor administer morphine to me while I hover at the doorstep of the great unknown? I'd be happy to allow my estate to pay extra for the house call.
I'm pinning a lot of faith on morphine taking me out painlessly.
But what if it just makes it easier for the people watching?
Maybe I'm still in there wanting to yell at them, or thrash around the room hitting things, or screaming, or both. What if morphine condemns me to a silent scream? That would be deeply unsatisfying. To scream is a great release because it gets everyone around you upset too. Every two year old knows that.
A screaming death that is shared with the living might be an improvement on just lying around making horrible breathing noises that nobody wants to join in with.
My doctor told me this morning she expects me to live a long time yet. I'll believe her if I make it to spring when the sun shines brighter, the days get warmer, the sky blue-er and my mood better.
I think I would like to die lying with my face down, smelling fresh grass. I've been told by someone who just watched death happen that that is unlikely.Why?
Why can't a doctor administer morphine to me while I hover at the doorstep of the great unknown? I'd be happy to allow my estate to pay extra for the house call.
I'm pinning a lot of faith on morphine taking me out painlessly.
But what if it just makes it easier for the people watching?
Maybe I'm still in there wanting to yell at them, or thrash around the room hitting things, or screaming, or both. What if morphine condemns me to a silent scream? That would be deeply unsatisfying. To scream is a great release because it gets everyone around you upset too. Every two year old knows that.
A screaming death that is shared with the living might be an improvement on just lying around making horrible breathing noises that nobody wants to join in with.
My doctor told me this morning she expects me to live a long time yet. I'll believe her if I make it to spring when the sun shines brighter, the days get warmer, the sky blue-er and my mood better.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)