6 April 2005

Sympathy Pain

--by Mike Murray

(The following relates personal experience. It is not recommend that anyone imitate any of the actions described. Readers are encouraged to alter their diets only under proper medical supervision.)

When I heard that Terri Schiavo's feeding / hydration tube was to be removed, I was appalled.

Forget for a moment many of the heated arguments made at the time by observers of opposing political stripes: specifically, set aside for now arguments that dealt with Terri's "right to die" or her "right to live." Also please let go, just for now, the even more critical debate over who would have been the best steward of her interests. (That is, about who should have appointed as her legal guardian given the extraordinary facts of the case, prime among them the fact that Terri's "spouse" -- the court's presumed first-choice -- was living a new life with a new woman and the children he sired with her.)

Those are valid concerns, to be sure. And we would certainly do well to carefully consider and debate them in the coming months ...and to subsequently take measures to ensure that a debacle like this one isn't repeated.

What I want to share with you at this moment, however, is a personal experience. As I indicated, I was upset by many aspects of the Shiavo matter. But I was especially disturbed by the court-approved manner in which her life was extinguished. Arranging for death by dehydration and starvation seemed to me to be unbelievably inhumane.

We wouldn't execute a convicted murderer that way. We would surely deem it "cruel and unusual punishment." (Don't think so? Propose a change in your state's law to require it for death-row inmates and see what happens.) Why would states such as Florida deem it reasonable to terminate innocent people's lives that way, then, I wondered.

Terri's tube was removed on March 18^th. Four days later, on the 22^nd, I was feeling distraught. I was fighting instincts that urged me to go to Florida and do something. To do something that might stop the madness. I felt certain that the assorted talking heads on television were feeding their viewers a load of bull when they asserted that the manner in which Terri was to meet end was pleasant, comfortable, "euphoric" even.

Now I'm no expert on neurology, but I wasn't buying it. Sure, I'd read enough over the years to know that the brain sometimes takes steps to protect its owner from extreme pain. But it does so, it seems to me, for only short periods of time. When a drowning person is near the end, for example, it is said that he or she enters the aforementioned state of euphoria. Hormones, endorphins and the like are released in sufficient quantities to produce a feeling of well-being -- and with it an accompanying relief from physical and emotional suffering.

From a personal standpoint, I experienced a different (but related) phenomenon. When I was 18 years old I was working a summer job in a machine shop, operating a multi-ton punch press. I had pulled a stamped piece of metal out of the machine and was inserting the next one when the press "double punched." The upper section of the machine slammed down on the lower one with my hand still in the way.

I wasn't immediately aware of the accident, however. It was only when I noticed the deep red of gushing blood that I realized that my right index finger had been crushed into hamburger. The mangled tip was hanging by a slim piece of skin to the rest of the finger.

I didn't experience euphoria. But neither did I feel pain. My brain had temporarily shut off the lines of communication (the connecting nerves) to temporarily protect me from severe discomfort. But the protection from physical discomfort was brief. It wasn't too long before the pain arrived.

And that's my point. I was doubtful that Terri would be "euphoric" for the length of her ordeal. An ordeal that was projected by doctors to last approximately two weeks. That she could be suffering terribly over so long a period disturbed me greatly.

My instinct was to rush to Florida and attempt to rescue her "by any means necessary." The urge was powerful. But more powerful (I'm somewhat ashamed to admit) was my degree of domestication. I have been conditioned to accept that I should be lawful. That I should obey laws even when I think they are wrong.

Normally, that's not much of an accommodation; but when being lawful requires me to sit on my hands as an innocent person dies slowly -- perhaps painfully -- it stretches my willingness to remain a civilized member of this society of ours to its limit. Many practices in America's history have been clearly "legal," but just as surely wrong. (Remember slavery?)

But civility won out. I stayed home.

Still, I couldn't simply do nothing at all. So I decided to fast. Four days into Terri's denial of food and water, I entered a sympathy fast that permitted no solid food. I resolved to continue it so long as she was alive and being denied nourishment and hydration of her own.

I allowed myself only things that I could drink. Still, that permitted milk-based diet drinks, juice, coffee, and even a glass or two of wine each evening (which did much to dull the pangs of hunger). My intent was not to mimic Terri's suffering; even if so inclined, that would have done nothing to help her. It's just that I could not in good conscience enjoy normal meals while she was suffering so.

Then too, doing at least something kept me from hopping a plane to Florida.

Allowing that my ordeal (if it can be called that) was as nothing compared to Terri's, it was still unpleasant. I was hungry most of the time. I dropped nearly a pound of weight per day. Further complicating matters was that I wasn't too smart about the whole thing: juice and water were fine, but the diet drinks, the coffee, and the alcohol were poor choices. All of them are diuretics. That means I lost a lot of water through urination. The specific significance of that will become apparent in a moment.

When Terri expired on the 31^st, I was released from my commitment. I had maintained the fast for 10 days. It was finally okay to eat. But I still couldn't. It didn't seem right that Terri's passing should be cause for pleasure.

So I resolved to continue. To continue to until I reached 13 days, the full period of her denial. And I decided to test the contentions of those who spoke of the "pleasantness" of such of a method of extermination. On days 11 and 12 (from the evening of Friday, April 1^st until the same time Sunday night on the 3^rd), I refrained from intake of any kind. No food. No water. No anything.

I was somewhat dehydrated already. My intake of diuretics during the first ten days -- without sufficient water replenishment -- had left me in a distinct hydration deficit. (The pound-per-day weight loss during the first ten days should have been a clue: even though I doubtless burned fat during that period, much of the loss was surely water.)

Let me be clear: Going without water and food is not pleasant. As the hours ticked by, the discomfort escalated. First came the leg cramps. Then my joints began to ache. Next I experienced sharp pain in my lower back -- in the area of my kidneys. Although I had confined myself to bed rest at this point (to slow water loss and to minimize calorie consumption), it was impossible to find relief from the intense pain.

The hunger pangs to which I'd grown accustomed grew worse. Eventually, I had the sensation that my lower stomach (and / or intestinal) muscles were in a state of tonic spasm. That is, that they were in a constant state of contraction.

But the worst was the drying up. My nose lost its mucus. My mouth first went pasty, the saliva becoming thick. Then it began to dry out. Even the fluid in my eyes seemed reduced. My lips became chapped, as if I'd been out in the Sun too long. My tongue didn't swell, but I imagine that was waiting down the road.

I was only two days without water. Granted, I was probably in an advanced state of dehydration because of my poor fluid choices during the previous ten days. Still, I can positively testify to the awfulness of the sensations that accompany the complete denial of food and -- most especially -- of water.

At the completion of the 12^th day, I was supremely grateful for anything liquid. The second the clock struck the beginning of day 13, I made a bee line for the kitchen, heading straight for the water and the fruit juice. When day 14 finally arrived, I resumed eating.

Now, I'm no doctor. And I don't know for sure what Terri's capacity to feel pain was during her 13-day ordeal. But I think that we, as a society, were diminished by permitting her to meet her end in such a manner. It was at best unseemly. And it was at worst torturous.

I'm going on record here and now: no matter what preferences I may express regarding extraordinary care for myself down the road, under NO circumstance is anyone to remove my feeding / hydration tube. If I ever were to desire a premature end to my life, it wouldn't be via a fatal level of thirst or hunger.

If only Terri could have revealed as much.