Month: April 2023

One of my patients posted an article about Lewy Body dementia today.  The article stated that Robin Williams committed suicide after being diagnosed with Lewy Body dementia.  Suicide is defined as “the action of killing oneself intentionally” and leaves a negative legacy.

Robin was a gifted actor who continues to bring laughter and joy into my life.  He did not kill himself.  The disease killed him a little at a time.  Rather than suffer the indignity of slowly becoming a lower form of life, I presume that Robin simply accelerated his disease process bringing his life to an end while part of him still existed.

While I did not know Robin, I do know what he went through.  I have been dying a little at a time.  My new neighbors and friends really don’t know me.  They only see a shadow of who I used to be.  Playing Bridge the other night, I dropped my cards on the floor.  They simply fell from my hands, the same hands that could not hold 13 cards used to catch newborn babies covered in slippery amniotic fluid residue.  I lost track of how many trumps had been played and how many points were in my hand.  (I was a math whiz!).  Memorizing new rules is difficult; yet I got my doctorate in medicine by learning the most complicated rules of all times, those that govern life.   

The brain that could diagnose and treat countless people over 35 years is having trouble playing a game of cards.  The body that carries that brain is unrecognizable.  It has forgotent how to walk.  It no longer can participate in household chores.  More importantly, it can’t play with the grandchildren. Getting my 250 pound, obese body on and off the floor is an  impossible task. My running joke is that if I have to wear a diaper, I should be allowed to breast feed.

Life is demeaning, embarrassing, and depressing.  While I am going through the dismantling of Stewart, my loved ones get to go through the pain of losing me one piece at a time. I counselled spouses of individuals who had slow deaths warning them that, in the end, they would feel relieved that their loved one finally passed and that the feeling of relief would be followed by guilt.  Yes, they would feel guilty that they were relieved that their loved one was dead. 

If I let my disease kill me ever so slowly, I prolong my families suffering as well as my own.  If I end my life while there is still some part of me left, it’s called suicide.  It’s the ultimate Catch 22 (no win situation).  We need new terminology and new laws.  Doctors need to be allowed to assist terminally ill patients, allowing them to die with dignity.

About now, some of my readers are freaking.  Relax!  I’m not ready to end it yet.  I still have two refrigerators and two freezers full of food to be eaten.  and, of course, there is still sex!  i still have 3 coupons each good for a night of sex (quarterly).

Here is todays joke:

3 Stages of Sex: 1. House Sex – When you are newly married and have sex all over the house, in every room. 2. Bedroom Sex – After you’ve been married for a while, and you just have sex in the bedroom. 3. Hall Sex – After you’ve been married for many years, and you just pass each other in the hall and say, “F**k you!”

I wish I could say that I created the phrase, “Bellies and butts,” but my brother gets the credit.  My brother had a stroke and, as a result of his stroke, spends most of his time in a wheelchair.  Unfortunately, I’ve joined the wheelchair brigade; and, as my brother says, the view from the wheelchair is, in fact, bellies and butts.  Unfortunately, ambulatory humans don’t get it and, as a consequence, talk down to the handicapped rather than sitting down to carry on the conversation eye to eye.

No place is the belly and butt phenomenon more prevalent than in the airport which brings me to my topic of the day/year.  As my readers know, the treatment of the handicapped in the airport is atrocious!  My two latest visits to airports were so bad that I won’t fly again. Both United Airlines and American airlines took the brunt of my anger after I was dumped in the handicapped scrap yard awaiting service.

The gentleman who eventually became my pusher (pushing me through the airport) worked for Prospect (company contracted to provide services to handicapped) and educated my wife and I about how the system works. The night I arrived in Dallas, my pusher was responsible for 4 handicapped passengers on my flight.  He had 3 working wheelchairs for 4 individuals and had us sit and wait while he found a fourth.  He had to get all four of us through customs, baggage and, in my case, to a connecting flight.

He pushed my chair with his right hand and pulled another chair with his left. He changed lanes frequently once while we were waiting for the customs agent. The customs agent was right out of a Saturday Night skit.  His disposition was nasty.  He shouted, “get behind the line” frequently.  It was the first time I’d ever seen someone snarl.  Once out of customs, we needed to go back through security.  Since I can’t be scanned due to the generator in my chest wall, I now get a massage from a male TSA agent.  If he had taken a few more minutes checking my groin, I might have surprised him.

All told, it was horrible.  In talking to other handicapped individuals, I’ve learned that my experience was common.  Something has to be done. The airlines blame the airport and Prospect. Prospect blames the airport and airlines. I’ll tell you it’s all three.  By blaming a third party, they all avoid taking responsibility. I can’t take them on alone.  I need you to to make this blog go viral.  We need the producers of 60 Minutes or 20/20 to take an interest in the plight of the handicapped when traveling by air. Consider sending a letter outlining your experience to them as well.  Let me know your story and I’ll publish it.

Watch 20/20 TV Show – ABC.com