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When/Would You Check Out?
When would you pull the plug and release the Exit Bag? Or would you hang on until the bitter end?

I would hit the Exit Bag in the following cases:

Late terminal illness, when quality of life turned into negative, and before incapacitation.

Colostomy bag. If I'm having to shit into a bag and then empty it, that's a step too far for me and I'd save the operation and take the helium.

Diagnosis of dementia. As soon as it became obvious, I'd be pulling the plug. Dementia patients are a huge, unnecessary drain on society, and worse, the idea of having mush for brain is more repulsive than all the pain and deprivation I could think of.
Love is... that one person whose freshly-warm toilet seat you don't find disgusting.
Ya' kinda get used to it.


Tell him.

Ya' kinda get used to it.


Tell him.

[Image: lol-032.gif]

Thank you so much dearest.  Prepare to pay for that one.

I'd have pulled the plug a couple of years ago if I'd had one to pull. 
I pretty much came to terms with being better off dead.   I wasn't (obviously) terminal, just busted.  4 crushed vertebrae, bent double, couldn't walk 5 steps without a walker and a rest, couldn't feed myself properly, or wash properly, or put my hair up,  or even take a crap safely.
 Every move was excruciating and I only got out of bed at all because I felt I owed Belle better than being abandoned to starve along with me.  
We rescued each other that dog and I.  I saved her from being shot, and she saved me from throwing in the towel.  Fair trade off.

The cuz and wife took it in turns to give me a hand a few days a week when they realized how bad things were,  and I did get to feeling better emotionally, if not physically, once I wasn't alone with it.

But hard to say in advance what specific line would be drawn from here and now.  
When food doesn't taste good?  When the smokes run out?  When I'm totally helpless, and controlled by someone else?   ... I've set up the paperwork for that, or as near as legally possible to give permission for plug pulling.

Something terminal and painful of course.
Alzheimers is a tricky one.  Often the person affected is also the least affected, but I think I would be. 
I got cranky with myself for posting that earlier comment on the wrong forum!  How cranky would I get if I lost the car or something?    I'm a bit of a control freak, little mistakes aren't a big worry, as I'm also 'absent minded' and have been since I was a kid, but 'losing track of things'  and losing interest in things, would be a big thing to me. 
I think I could easily die of boredom.

But I wouldn't commit myself to a definite situation. I'll know when the time comes.

I keep recalling my mother's attitude.  Her favourite 2 sayings were "I've been here too long." and "I'd be better off dead."  But that old bugger fought with every fibre of her being to stay alive 2 weeks past what medical science believed was possible. 

I think it's risky to make future calls like that, it all depends on how well we know ourselves, and most us really don't.
As a boy, me and the mates made sacred vows of this sort:

"If I'm ever like granny, put one in my brain!"

bastards are all dead now. We forgot to deal with this awkward possibility.

If quality of life gets shitty enough, sure, get me out of here...or leave me the means to do it nicely.
Problem is, quality of life is something we constantly down-grade as it craps out.
I'm not as bummed-out as I should be that I can't do a one-hand hand-stand anymore.
The 'double reverse cow-girl' just sounds like too much trouble to arrange...or even google.

I find it curious that something adjusts within.
I often ask myself:
"stank, ol' buddy, why aren't we depressed as hell about this mess?"

not sure.

Mary's mom (92 and immobile) will out-live us, almost certainly. She's immobile, yet blissed-out.
I think extreme pain is morphine. That is the hospice way in the U.S. They don't call it euthanasia, but that's what it is.

I'm all in favor of it.
What he said!

(Except the vows to mates bit.)

The cuz did a lot of talking to the palliative care crew while his Mum was checking out, and I was 'besties' with the carers where my Mum was and all made much the same points.
Seems people can operate, adapt, and cope with losing around 90% of their 'best bits' of life. It's that last 10% that lands us in bed and wanting to buy a ticket.
Our 'needs' and expectations shrink along with our capabilities. Our priorities adapt to them.
What appears to be a hellish existence to a fit young person, is actually being lived by an oldie who is quite reasonably content just to wake up and care what day it is.

Young people overestimate the degree of effort required to appreciate life.

And here's what the dying codgers often miss:
Your longevity is literally eating the remaining decent years your children might have had.

In the olden days, when fussy Americans died at 72, shit worked out ok.
With luck, they leave you some $, or a house...and you're only 40-something...and you get a huge boost in life.

Adding 20 years to that biological math is a devastating aspect of the wonders of up-beat human advancement.

If not by the individual off-spring, which hopefully are also the care-givers (less usual these days) than, certainly by society at large.

T.A. knows of how incredibly unpopular my more detailed excursions into bio-math can be.

This is part of scientific superstition.
(Decent debate on this at ASF; quarky against the universe.)

Here's another jag in the deal:

Certain (almost all) religions have an anti-suicide clause. You aren't allowed to do that. It could land you in a non-heavenly after-life.

For that matter, you could still get to heaven if a decent friend kills you before it gets radically shitty...but then that friend wont go to heaven, and it's all on your head.

It's a fairly iron-clad trap, for the religious sort. It's also tough on family that is religious, even if the dying codger isn't.

One thing often lost in these translations is that the dying old fart is in the least-likely mind-set ever, to create bad feelings and memories with family left behind.

How to leave it clean?

Tricky shit, really.

I'm thinking, drown in your pudding, on purpose, but make it look like an accident.
Try not to get any nurses's aides in trouble; try to avoid any investigations or autopsy; take pains to disguise the sinful, suicidal nature of the pudding inhalation; go with the butterscotch, imho; leave no stupid notes or conversations behind; pretend to prefer chocolate pudding, and so on.
Funny, now i wan't some pudding.

Who doesn't like pudding, when you think about it?

Not sure why, but we forget to have pudding.

(Of course, in the context of these posts, any action toward making pudding will be seen in a suicidal light.)

Christ...I just wrecked pudding for me.
(02-09-2016, 02:07 AM)Di Wundrin Wrote:  I think it's risky to make future calls like that, it all depends on how well we know ourselves, and most us really don't.

Good point.

I'm a lot more pragmatic than most people. My kids hate that I'm such a goddamned realist.
Love is... that one person whose freshly-warm toilet seat you don't find disgusting.
Copious brownie points awarded to Stanky for the pudding option.  Can't say I've ever seen that one before.

Suffocating in a gooey chocolate pudding sounds a pretty tempting deal.  Well done!

Being free of the complications of both offspring's well being, and religious strictures considerations when pondering exit strategies I have to go with either purely logical, or selfish.   Ethics for once really don't hold weight.

Logically I should have walked off a high place the day I retired from work.
That would have solved 2 problems, because basically, the only purpose I was serving to pay for the oxygen I was using was to be sole carer for my mother,  who also, logically, should have dropped off some decades earlier.

Selfishly, I feel somewhat entitled to use the 'fuck em all' defence as I have produced no kids.  
None of mine are either wasting their lives and resources caring for me, nor waiting like vultures to rip into the inheritance.  And I don't feel I owe other peoples' kids a bloody thing.

I draw no government pension, hell, I haven't even yet applied for a Senior Health Card which would give me a discount on the few meds I need.

I figure while I'm paying my way, and my taxes, and not draining any of 'their' taxes due to age or health related issues,  then  'they' can all put up with my continued presence among them as long as the current status quo holds up.

I don't find any fault in your reasoning, logically, Stanky. But I do reserve the right not to volunteer to make room for more people who are probably even more worthless than I am.  
You allow me to pick out and judge the value of who moves into the space I leave and I'll have another think about it.  [Image: lol-029.png]
Taking the scenarios one by one then: Brain intact but body vegetating--Well, Stephen Hawking does this every day and if he can, so can I. It sucks royal ass, but it is endurable. Then there's the reverse: Body intact and brain vegetating--Brain vegetates, you don't care one way or the other, yes? (Lights are on, but no one is home) Terminal disease--No worries, it'll be over soon enough...what's your hurry? Painful? Take drugs.

While I agree to a certain extent with the 'burden on society' argument that TA put forward, I'd have to say, 'fuck society'. I've paid taxes my entire goddamned working life (i.e. most all of my life) and have, therefore, done more than my share of carrying others when they needed it. If I should ever need it, well, I won't enjoy it, but again, fuck 'em. It's my turn now and I'm just getting back some of what I've already put in. Not my fault the economics don't work out due to fiscal mismanagement on account of some buttheaded bureaucrats. Let me be clear on this: If I had kids, (and I do not) I would not allow them, under any circumstances, to lessen their own circumstances trying to take care of me.

Seems to me what this really comes down to is quality of life under horrific circumstances and quality of life, regardless of the scenario, is directly equatable to money. You can be a quadriplegic and still have one hell of a good life provided you've got lots of money to throw at it. (I don't and most likely never will, but this is something to consider here) The question then becomes--What (lack of) quality of life would cause you to want to pull the trigger?

No. The times I've wanted to pull the trigger on myself have almost always been because of an emotional low point. And those can be treated or simply waited out. What I like to call 'Tropical Environment Therapy' (Full on sunshine and 78 degrees F--25 C to you guys) usually snaps my sorry ass right out of any blue funk that is plaguing me. Smile
You can lead 'em to knowledge, but you can't make 'em think.

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