Rational adults should be able to end their suffering
Image courtesy of Jernej Furman.
—
Two 84-year-olds were found dead in Destin not long ago.
They were a couple. The woman was under hospice care. The man called lawmen and said something about suicides. Both were found with gunshot wounds. That’s all I know right now. I’m sure more details will come to light.
Likely they were married for years, possibly for decades, because a man does not kill himself because his wife is dying unless he’s been in love with her a long time. There’s a kind of tragic romance to that, the stuff of songs. But there’s another aspect that is not so song-worthy. In fact, it’s pitiable.
The suffering.
Hospice does not become involved until the end is near. Its arrival, depending on the disease, is sometimes preceded by suffering – unbelievable suffering.
I watched my dad take that route. He went from a robust hulk of a man who could build anything to a frail shell who could barely walk, and in the end couldn’t even do that. This happened in the space of seven months after he was diagnosed with terminal cancer. It was sickening to watch. For him, it was much worse – the terrible pain, of course, but also the knowledge this would end only one way.
We never talked about it, but I imagine at one point he wished he could take a pill and go to sleep forever. Had I been in his position, I would. I know others in his situation wished they could take a pill. Had they not, folks like Jack Kevorkian would never have become so influential in our culture.
Yet we continue to barbarically insist our loved ones remain alive until that last excruciating breath is drawn. Why? Why would we impose such pain and suffering on the people we most care about?
I looked around for reasons to oppose euthanasia. I am still shaking my head.
“Voluntary euthanasia is unnecessary because alternative treatments exist,” according to the Christian Medical Fellowship. “Voluntary euthanasia denies patients the final stage of growth. Voluntary euthanasia undermines medical research. Voluntary euthanasia leads to euthanasia tourism.”
Are these people out of their minds?
Alternative treatments exist? To terminal cancer? I and the rest of the world would like to know what these ‘alternative treatments’ are.
Euthanasia denies patients the final stage of growth? Growth of what? If you’re talking about some lofty ideal involving one’s spirituality or maturity, count me out. That experience does me and everybody else zero good at all.
As for medical research and euthanasia tourism, please forgive my selfishness when I say those two items will not be high on my priority list when a doctor tells me I’ve got six months to live.
I find it odd we grant more humanity to our pets than we do our family members. Here, let me tell you another story from my personal experience:
Back in 2005 my cat was dying of renal failure. Ironically, it was an experience that mirrored my father’s ordeal. The cat slowly lost weight and became weaker, despite the IVs, special foods, vitamins and medicines she had received. Finally it became obvious to me her quality of life had descended below a level even I couldn’t bear. My vet assured me I would know when it was time, and it was time.
So, I let her walk in the grass a final time, then bundled her into the cat carrier and took her to the vet’s office. As she lay in my lap, the vet gave her a shot of Valium, which put her to sleep immediately. Another shot followed, the one that put her to sleep forever. I took her home and buried her in the back yard.
I’m glad I was able to do that for her, because she was suffering. The poor cat couldn’t even lie down, she hurt so bad.
I think if a person is rational, and they want to end their life, they should be allowed to. Seems to me the same safeguards built into probate could be extended to end-of-life issues. The patient, not the doctor, would be making the determination.
Instead, we cling to an outmoded view that people can’t be trusted to make such decisions for themselves.
Sometimes they do it anyway, with a bottle of pills, or a gun.
How very, very sad.
(This column was previously published in the June 5, 2016 Northwest Florida Daily News.)
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, Ello and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
While the nose art indicates the name of this Collings Foundation B-24 is "Golden Girl," the plane was known as the "All American." Journalist Bruce Brewer stands atop the fuselage prior to the flight from Panama City to Crestview in March 1998. Image courtesy of Del Stone Jr.
The afternoon was cold, and Jeff Newell was trembling.
“We get to go flying!” he enthused, rubbing his hands together, his voice rising and falling in a little boy’s sing-song. The freezing wind mattered little. More important was the aging World War II bomber “All American,” a B-24 Liberator of the type that had brought ruin to Hitler’s Third Reich.
The last of its kind, “All American” is maintained by the Collings Foundation a warbirds preservation group in Massachusetts. Mr. Newell was one of three Daily News journalists invited to fly the short hop between Panama City and Crestview.
Later he would write about this flight, and through his story the American wartime experience – and many other things that cannot be put to words – would be passed along to a new generation of Daily News readers.
Which was Mr. Newell’s talent as a journalist: bringing to life the arcane, from matters of history to the complexities of city government to court cases dense as hundred-year-old fruitcake.
In our Fourth Estate world of deadlines and fact-checking, Mr. Newell was a reporter’s reporter – relentless digger who knew what questions to ask and where the answers were hidden. He performed this duty at newspapers across Northwest Florida, from Pensacola to Panama City.
He was honest and fair and dedicated to the relating of facts, a simple ethic that endeared him to readers and sources alike. If you read it in a Jeff Newell story, you knew it was true.
His job never darkened his enthusiasm for life, be it flying on an airplane, playing trumpet in the community band or hamming it up with shortwave radio operators around the world.
This same enthusiasm carried Mr. Newell through the emotional and physical roller coaster of cancer. During the years he waged war with that disease, he displayed a dignity, patience and strength that inspired everyone around him.
Jeff Newell died on July 15, 2001.
Of the World War II veterans who came to see the B-24 “All American” on that 1998 visit to Panama City and Crestview, he wrote”
“They show up for just one more glimpse, searching in the polished aluminum for a reflection of the best days of their lives.”
Mr. Newell was very much like that old airplane: a rugged, reliable classic who got the job done.
Search the pages of this newspaper and we hope you will see a reflection of his character – his hard work, his honesty, his dedication to the craft of journalism. He will not be the last of his kind, but he will always be the best.
In the days when stories were filed by telegraph, it was the practice of reporters to end each transmission with a “30,” indicating the story had come to an end.
It is with fondess, and sadness, that we call an end to Jeff Newell’s time with us. He will be missed.
– 30 –
This editorial was published in the Northwest Florida Daily News in July 2001 and is used with permission.
Julie Coble (in purple shirt) is serenaded by a gorilla during a birthday celebration at Lucky Strike Lanes in 1996. Image by Del Stone Jr.
In September 1991, I joined the Friday Nite Early Mixers, a bowling league headquartered at Lucky Strike Lanes in Fort Walton Beach.
That first night was a lesson in humility for me. My brand-new ball wouldn’t hit the big side of a barn, I couldn’t keep score fast enough. And there was this woman who kept laughing. …
She laughed all night long – a trail of unconstrained mirth that caused everyone around her to laugh, too. I went home with the certainty that whoever she was, she was having a darned good time.
Later, I would learn her name.
Julie Coble.
Later still we’d bowl on the same team. We’d bowl in tournaments. We’d hang out, talk on the phone, and do all the tings good friends do.
I’m one of hundreds of people who can say that about Julie. She was everybody’s friend, and that’s why she laughed. Her heart held that much.
She was a terrific bowler. She threw a backup ball that would slide into the 1-2 pocket and produce a lethal scattering of pins. But you wouldn’t ask her to pick up the 7 pin. Her ball would either drop into the gutter or slide to the right.
The pin she made sure to get was the 5 pin, the one right in the middle. The “sex” pin. Pick up the 5 pin, and romance was in your immediate future. Miss it, and you’d be sleeping on the couch. She rarely missed it.
We teased her about that, a subject that elicited embarrassed peals of laughter and a blushing, unspoken acknowledgement that there were some things she wouldn’t share, not even with her very good friends. And being her very good friends, we teased her even more.
But Julie was more than our bowling friend.
She was a wife and a mother. She was an award-winning newspaper carrier. She had an uncanny knack for winning games of chance, like bingo, raffles and cards.
She could pick up at 4-10 split, or take on a lame tournament partner and roll a 600 series.
Best of all, give her a bowling alley full of grouchy people, and she’d have ’em laughing till they cried. She knew, and loved, everybody. And everybody knew, and loved, her.
About two years ago, Julie discovered she had inoperable cancer. The news cast a pall over the bowling alley.
But Julie simply carried on. This would not stop her, and indeed, it did not. Until a short while ago, she appeared at the bowling alley every Friday night, laughing and bowling. When the chemo took her hair, she got a wig and kept right on going. When she could no longer heft her 14-pound ball, she bought a lighter ball.
Through the worst of everything, she laughed. It was a humbling thing to see. Her heart was larger than any of us could imagine.
Julie died Saturday night. She would have been 46 on March 18.
It is impossible to remember Julie without remembering how much she loved this world and her life. We are all sad, but somehow, as I think about her, I find myself trying to smile.
Whenever Julie told somebody goodbye, she’d sign off with, “See ya, Sweetie.”
So for all of us, I say:
We’ll see ya.
Sweetie.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .
Recently I wrote about cats and received this letter from my friends Scott and Ann of Pensacola, who said:
“Everybody has a cat story, so here’s ours.
“Our cat is a master thief!”
A partial list of what their cat has brought home includes: “a complete set of switch plate covers … including covers for phone jacks and cable TV plugs; several sets of chains for hanging fluorescent light fixtures; a complete set of Allen wrenches; two paint rollers covers; an unopened bag of potato chips; half a bag of mini-Snickers bars (my wife’s personal favorite heist); countless packs of cigarettes; a set of gaskets for a ’67 Mustang (I’m not making this up); two large bags of decorative wood fittings; somebody’s paycheck stub; a bag of stainless deck clips like you hold a roof deck together with. … We’ve started a collection in an Easter basket and it’s overflowing. I know I’m forgetting some really great stuff.”
No sooner did I ask Scott if he’d mind my writing about his sticky-pawed feline when I received the following message:
“Alas, the prince of cat thieves died suddenly very early this morning. We found him last night in one of the bedrooms feeling very sick and acting like he was really hurting. After a midnight trip to the cat ER he was admitted to the hospital and succumbed around 5:00 this morning. The doctor said it was his heart. That’s tough. He was only 5. We thought we’d have him for years. You never know.
“Incidentally, I woke out of sound sleep at 5:13 with the full knowledge and acceptance that he was gone. I mentioned it to Ann before we called the vet so people wouldn’t think I was crazy if we talked about it. I digress.
“The world of animal lovers lost a wonderful example of why cats and people bond. I told you the other day of all the things (the cat) brought home. His final present was the sweetest. About 10 p.m. the other night he was hollering at the door as usual. I opened the door to let him in and he laid one of those oatmeal-cookie-with-cream-in-the-middle right at the doorstep. I opened the door and he just looked at me and waited for me to pick it up. When I did he just turned around and walked off as if his job was done and now he was on his own time.
“I shall miss him terribly. However, once again God’s grace is evident in the merciful way I was allowed to become aware of his death. I came awake out of a sound sleep knowing he just left within minutes of the actual time he died. With that knowledge came acceptance as fact that it was the way it was supposed to be. Not many other people talk of receiving such a gift so I assume it wasn’t ordinary.
“The acceptance of God’s will as an elemental force like wind, water, fire and earth is an incredible gift. With my parents, and all my relatives, aging I have many occasions forthcoming for which I can only pray I will be given similar comfort.”
I can think of nothing to add to Scott’s message. Except thank you.
Jeff Newell, our reporter emeritus who has been waging war against a pernicious for of cancer the past two years, got some really good news on Monday.
His CAT scan was totally clear.
Jeff has another round of chemo and then he’s through with eh hospital stuff. He vows to get back into shape, lose weight – all the things a guy in his mid-40s vows to do.
Way to go, Jeff. Lose 5 pounds for me.
This column was originally published in the Wednesday, January 8, 1997 edition of the Northwest Florida Daily News and is used with permission.
About the author:
Del Stone Jr. is a professional fiction writer. He is known primarily for his work in the contemporary dark fiction field, but has also published science fiction and contemporary fantasy. Stone’s stories, poetry and scripts have appeared in publications such as Amazing Stories, Eldritch Tales, and Bantam-Spectra’s Full Spectrum. His short fiction has been published in The Year’s Best Horror Stories XXII; Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine; the Pocket Books anthology More Phobias; the Barnes & Noble anthologies 100 Wicked Little Witch Stories, Horrors! 365 Scary Stories, and 100 Astounding Little Alien Stories; the HWA anthology Psychos; and other short fiction venues, like Blood Muse, Live Without a Net, Zombiesque and Sex Macabre. Stone’s comic book debut was in the Clive Barker series of books, Hellraiser, published by Marvel/Epic and reprinted in The Best of Hellraiser anthology. He has also published stories in Penthouse Comix, and worked with artist Dave Dorman on many projects, including the illustrated novella “Roadkill,” a short story for the Andrew Vachss anthology Underground from Dark Horse, an ashcan titled “December” for Hero Illustrated, and several of Dorman’s Wasted Lands novellas and comics, such as Rail from Image and “The Uninvited.” Stone’s novel, Dead Heat, won the 1996 International Horror Guild’s award for best first novel and was a runner-up for the Bram Stoker Award. Stone has also been a finalist for the IHG award for short fiction, the British Fantasy Award for best novella, and a semifinalist for the Nebula and Writers of the Future awards. His stories have appeared in anthologies that have won the Bram Stoker Award and the World Fantasy Award. Two of his works were optioned for film, the novella “Black Tide” and short story “Crisis Line.”
Stone recently retired after a 41-year career in journalism. He won numerous awards for his work, and in 1986 was named Florida’s best columnist in his circulation division by the Florida Society of Newspaper Editors. In 2001 he received an honorable mention from the National Lesbian and Gay Journalists Association for his essay “When Freedom of Speech Ends” and in 2003 he was voted Best of the Best in the category of columnists by Emerald Coast Magazine. He participated in book signings and awareness campaigns, and was a guest on local television and radio programs.
As an addendum, Stone is single, kills tomatoes and morning glories with ruthless efficiency, once tied the stem of a cocktail cherry in a knot with his tongue, and carries a permanent scar on his chest after having been shot with a paintball gun. He’s in his 60s as of this writing but doesn’t look a day over 94.
Contact Del at [email protected]. He is also on Facebook, twitter, Pinterest, tumblr, TikTok, and Instagram. Visit his website at delstonejr.com .