SUICIDE

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!”