Part 3
MANILA, Philippines ? Adam died at 930 years old. Seth, his third son, died at 912. Seth?s son, Enoch, died at 905, and Enoch?s son departed the earth at 910.
Down the line was Methusalah who lived longest of all, passing on at 969 years old. Noah, Methusalah?s son, lived through the Great Flood and all and died at 840.
No one, it seems, craves for such a long life anymore. Only for a swift death. Not a lingering illness, please, that goes on and on, draining energies and resources.
When does one die? Seniors comment wryly that they die when money to pay the hospital runs out.
How, on the other hand, does one die in a wink? Without an illness! By an accident? Heaven forbid!
But, of course, swift, ideal deaths do happen. ?He just went to bed and no one could rouse him in the morning.? ?She was on the dance floor doing her favorite waltz. Then she sat down, dozed off and was gone.?
How does one deserve such grace?
Final measures
Our house is divided down the line (him and me) on what kind of final measures to follow. I have unwavering faith in natural foods (and vegetables and juices), herbal cures, acupuncture, electronic zapping of microbes, detoxification (physical and spiritual), though I go to a young handsome medical doctor for my heart.
My partner just as staunchly believes in allopathic medicine, religiously consults five physicians and has a nurse check on him regularly (she?s cute, too). I shudder when I see him accept all those capsules and pills, injections and transfusions and undergo every invasive procedure.
The red meat patients take (encouraged by doctors to boost the production of hemoglobin) makes me blanch.
But how can I knock those aggressive treatments when they have helped him survive five years of a deadly disease? Though my holistic friends can also tote out just-as-long-time survivors!
When we debate, he always reminds me of a friend?s mother who, at the same time and stage as my husband, began holistic treatment (from which he defected). If I continued on that alternative treatment, he crows, I?d be dead by now! (My friend?s mother died on her second year of homeopathic treatment).
In turn, I point out the poor quality of life of people I know undergoing chemotherapies, dialysis, and other depressing cures who, after two years, have died as well.
So, which is the better choice?alternative or mainstream? Evidence and counter-evidence show equal chances of survival in both modalities. It depends on one?s experiences and temperament. It?s God who decides ultimately whether it?s the chemo or the colonics.
Favorite clause
A favorite clause that enlightened oldies want to include in their will these days is ?no extreme measures to prolong my life.? But what really are extreme measures?
It all begins very simply. Mama has a hard time breathing. Oxygen, please! The nose. Is that an extreme measure? However, she gets weaker and weaker. She can?t eat. No problem. Dextrose!
Prolonged intravenous feeding has collapsed her veins. What about a little cut on her stomach to accommodate a feeding tube? It will make the patient so much more comfortable. We can?t let her starve to death, can we?
Next, mama can?t pee. Her face seems to be turning darker from keeping in so many toxins. Dialysis! Just for a few days. Temporary.
One day mama is struggling. Her heart! Is she having a heart attack? How to prevent it? The relatives panic. One or two injections will relieve her. They are very potent (which you realize only from their price) but they seem so harmless in that little syringe. The patient does calm down. Sleeps through the night.
Without anyone realizing it and in spite of her request, the patient is now hooked to so many machines. The tubes snake all over her body, courtesy of concerned onlookers. She lives on. One week, one month.
If the decision were left to the doctors, they will try everything. It is their mission to save lives, and, of course, they know all the medicines.
When I outlined this scenario to my (like me), aging husband, all he said was ?Okay, Mama, but please don?t pull out the plug too fast!?
Year of grace
When a chapter in one?s life closes?like the husband dies or a change just as cataclysmic occurs?one has to learn how to close the door. The widow (you if you?re female) is granted a year of grace when you may bawl whenever you see his picture, bring flowers to his grave every week (or every day), talk incessantly about him to friends.
But one day, before you get to be everybody?s pain in the ass, you must say goodbye.
Is the mourning more painful because of guilt about things one wasn?t able to do? Some even get distraught over things that couldn?t be helped.
?I just went to the supermarket for an hour! When I got back, the nurse was elsewhere and he had slipped in the bathroom. I didn?t even need those groceries.?
Or more hurtful, ?We were not on speaking terms when he died suddenly.? Or ?I feel I did not serve him enough.? ?Why wasn?t I more patient with him during his illness??
Since that was the best one could do at that stage of life, can?t you forgive yourself as you have forgiven so many other people?
Know how to end things. Don?t be an extension of the husband?s (or anybody else?s) life. Bury the dead, the good memories and the hatchet, too. It?s time to re-invent yourself.
Some new widows begin their chapter by rearranging the furniture, or remodeling the house to suit altered needs. One built a gazebo in the garden to become the art studio she never had. Another enlarged her porch and enclosed it in glass for an air-conditioned ballroom dancing area.
New widows are advised to give away their husband?s clothes or sell them as soon as possible. Just keep one or two to smell and cry on when lonely.
(If your husband is alive, just love him the best way you can. Even a cranky living husband is infinitely preferable to a recently canonized departed one.)
