Attaboy

The Attaboy Living Will^*

Preamble: In an effort to prevent any reenactment of the Terri Schiavo death in the case I fall into a coma or vegetative state (permanent or temporary), or require the use of other-than-ordinary means to keep me alive, I hereby provide my living will. I’m going to add things to this as I think of them, so I may wind up creating an individual category for it so my wife and daughter can search it easier in case I fall over. Here we go…

Request #1: If I am not suffering from a fatal or terminal illness that in and of itself will end my life and I can talk, don’t pull any plugs or tubes. In fact, if I can make any vocal sounds at all, especially in response to any stimuli, please don’t stop feeding me or providing me with hydration. I don’t care if some doctor tries to tell you that my brain is slowly regressing to an oatmeal-like state and that, according to their best diagnoses guesses, I am not a “real person.” Screw them. Unless they find a way to physically climb into my brain and use it, I’m not willing to take that chance. For all they know, my lack of response doesn’t mean that, inside my head, I’m not screaming WTF? Get your frickin’ hands off that tube, Kevorkian! I don’t care if I’m honking like a goose or snorting like Arnold the Pig on Green Acres. You never know what I’m trying to say. Don’t risk it.

Request #2: The cessation of extraordinary efforts to keep me alive by any artificial means should occur when I have been diagnosed with a fatal or terminal illness from which I have no chance of survival. No chance. That means if there is no way to cure me medically or through the transplant of some organ. Absolutely, positively no way. If there’s a hint of a chance, even the sniff of a possibility that I can be cured from my ultimate demise, do it. No delays, no thinking about it, no going to court, no waiting until I wake up. Just do it. However, if I’m terminal with no possibility of a cure, make me comfortable. There’s no point in dragging me along if my body is riddled with cancer or my heart is barely beating and I’m too feeble for a transplant. However, be absolutely certain, or I will visit you from the afterlife.

Request #3: If I have another heart attack and my body can withstand the electrical jolts from a defibrillator, use the damn thing. I’ve already been through it (four or five shots with the paddles, in fact, just a couple of month ago) and I didn’t feel anything, so it’s not like I’m going to complain. However, if my body has deteriorated (e.g., due to advanced age) to a point where jolting me will probably kill me anyway, don’t bother wasting the electricity. See Request #2.

*This digital living will may or not be a legal document. Please check the laws of my state of residence at the time of my illness, coma or demise. I respectfully request that if I’m living in Pinellas County, Florida or under the jurisdiction of the Eleventh Circuit Court of Appeals at the time during which I enter any medical state, I wish to be moved immediately (I may be hanging around Tampa for Yankee spring training in March after I retire). Specifically, I wish to be moved as far away from Judge George Greer and attorney George Felos as is physically possible without leaving the United States.