"Death with dignity" Parties

[Chestertonian]

now that assisted suicide is legal in California, people are literally throwing parties to celebrate the suicide of their loved ones.  the "ritual" at the end with the "altar" and the "primal scream" and the "ohm chanting" sound very Californian and also very demonic.   

Peeople with neurodegenerative disorders deserve better than this

"I arrived at my friend's party. A few hours later she died, exactly as planned."



http://www.vox.com/2016/8/22/12552940/assisted-suicide-california
Updated by Kestrin Pantera on August 22, 2016, 8:10 a.m. ET



I've never known exactly when a friend is going to die — until today. It's a Sunday morning in late July, and I'm struggling to put on my friend Betsy's red Donna Karan wrap dress. I'm definitely doing it wrong. I can tell because Betsy groans with frustration.

She's unable to talk because she's in the final stages of ALS, a neurodegenerative disease that is slowly depriving her of the power to move, speak, eat, and breathe. She tries to explain how to wear this fabulous, complex frock by nodding out the letters of the alphabet, literally spelling it out for me. I guess, in a game of involuntary charades.

"A...B."

"B! Bow? You want me to tie a bow right here?"

No.

"A... B."

"Backward? Oh. It's on backward."

After 10 minutes of trial and error, I get her approval. I'm wearing the dress properly. I'm ready for the party. A few hours later, she will die, exactly as planned.

Betsy had ALS — and she decided to put California's new End of Life Options Act to use

Let me explain.

On June 9, 2016, the End of Life Options Act, a law that allows terminally ill adults to take an aid-in-dying medication, went into effect in California. Three weeks later I got an email from Betsy, an artist at the end of a three-year battle with ALS. The subject line read, "Planet Earth." She wrote that she was "preparing her departure," which she called "yet another great adventure." She'd met with doctors, filed paperwork, and picked the date when she could self-administer the drug. It would be July 24. Sunset. She called it her "Rebirth Ceremony."

Her phrasing made it sound as if I'd been invited to a swinging shindig.

A number of thoughts flew through my mind, "I'm not worthy," chief among them. But if your name makes that list, there is only one answer. I RSVP'd as if it were Sunday brunch. "I'm in!"

We soon received rules of conduct, subject line, "The Party": 1) No crying in front of Betsy, 2) only joyful and light interactions, and 3) Betsy may cry in front of us. There was a schedule, much like a wedding itinerary, which included happy hour cocktails leading up to Sunday's Rebirth Ceremony. There was even a rehearsal dinner (well, pizza and a Jodorowsky movie) the night before. I locked in for a mind-bending weekend in Ojai.

A cursory internet search did not give me any answers as to whether this was the first assisted suicide in California — but it certainly gave many vehement arguments against what I was about to do.

The arguments against assisted suicide

It hadn't occurred to me that assisted suicide could be wrong, because it was clearly what Betsy wanted. I knew what it was like to watch someone slowly and painfully expire. When my father-in-law died of cancer, we clung to his precious last moments of consciousness, fearful the palliative drugs would take him away too soon. In retrospect, his suffering could have been avoided if he'd taken the drugs sooner.

But now I was reading this was a "slippery slope." Poor people may be socially pressured into death, to spare their family resources. Insurance companies might withhold treatment from someone with low odds of survival because it's cheaper to simply let them die.

I already had nerves, but now they were amplified. According to one blog, I should "protest what she was attempting, in order to give her strength to live on." Maybe if her friends refused to let her die, she would write a book, become the next Stephen Hawking? Were we making a huge mistake?

My friends and I rented a house in Ojai, close to Betsy's, for the weekend. We understood our job was to have as much fun as possible, so she experienced authentic joy in her final hours. All jokes must be actually funny, all laughter legit. We would not eff this up.

Our combined anxiety vibrated as we numbly ate breakfast before heading to Betsy's house.

As we ate, a quiet man named Mat whom I'd known for years but never really talked to, spoke up. He told us, shy at first, that his dad died of ALS when he was 16. Of course, there was no End of Life Option Act then. The "natural way" to go from ALS is suffocation or choking. Mat's father did not want either. One day, Mat's father said goodbye to his kids. They told him they loved him and weren't allowed to see him again. He stopped eating. The "most painless and swiftest" way to go took six days.

Mat was grateful Betsy could depart painlessly and surrounded by loved ones. During a visit earlier in the year, he asked Betsy if it was hard to plan her own death. She smiled and responded, "Dying is easy. Try living in this body. That's hard." After that, I didn't look back.

Betsy's ALS diagnosis was the least interesting thing about her: She was a brilliant, motorcycle-driving, world-traveling pioneer of laser-cutting sculpture — who just happened to be a statuesque beauty with a keen sense of style.

We dressed to the nines for her Rebirth Ceremony. On a scale of "natural" to "drag queen," I was a solid Liza Minnelli.

I reviewed what I knew would happen: At 4 pm, we would have tamales. From 5 to 7 pm we would drink cocktails while picking out Betsy souvenirs from her remaining belongings — "everything must go." Around 7, Betsy would don a ceremonial Japanese robe and go up the hill by her house. There we would gather as she took a Jell-O-based concoction of pentobarbital and morphine, a barbiturate similar to what Marilyn Monroe and Judy Garland took at the time of their accidental deaths. Old Hollywood style.

The drug had to be self-administered, and there was a lot of it. She had to stay strong enough to move her hand to her mouth and swallow the entire dose. She would go into a coma in five minutes, and then it would take one to 48 hours to reach her final destination. Would she get it all down? Would it stay down?

"I am so ready to leave this body"

When we arrived at Betsy's house she was laughing, surrounded by friends who hugged her and took photos. Her relatives, a Catholic nurse among them, were curious how we "young people" felt about the whole thing. Girded by Mat's story, we focused on the positives. One friend brought balloons altered to read, "Happy Re-Birthday." Betsy's photographer friend documented everything like a wedding.

When we arrived at Betsy's house she was laughing, surrounded by friends who hugged her and took photos. Her relatives, a Catholic nurse among them, were curious how we "young people" felt about the whole thing. Girded by Mat's story, we focused on the positives. One friend brought balloons altered to read, "Happy Re-Birthday." Betsy's photographer friend documented everything like a wedding.

Betsy wanted her things to "live on through us," so a fashion show emerged as we tried on her clothes. I found a red dress from her performance art piece at the Getty Museum, a stunning number so complicated I asked her professional stylist friend Amanda for help. Amanda was stumped too, and we realized if we didn't ask Betsy how it worked before 7 pm, we'd never figure it out.

Gandalf said, "It doesn't matter how much time you have, it's what you do with it." When Betsy had exactly two hours left, she spent 10 minutes explaining out how the hell to put on a wrap dress.

Betsy's suffering was palpable beneath the joy. Layers of fatigue and disappointment hid behind her eyes as she tried to communicate. Days earlier she'd texted a friend, "I am so ready to leave this body."

What happens at an assisted suicide party

An hour before the ceremony, she answered some questions I'd emailed her earlier. We sat together as she spoke and spelled out answers, with the help of a translator. To someone with a terminal illness who is considering suicide, she advised, "know yourself and your strengths" and "leverage your resources to create a positive experience."

How did she curate a guest list for "the most exclusive party of the century"? She originally only wanted five people. But once her caregiver typed up the email, it expanded to 30 loved ones who inspired her — she didn't think we'd come. It was only after being flooded with RSVPs she thought, "Well, I guess we'll get tamales." As we spoke, Mat, who was an architect, periodically checked in to clarify the "floor plan" of the ceremony site, ensuring that everything was just so. He wore a kimono top she'd bought on a trip to Japan. She loved it.

Around 6 pm we were asked to step outside so Betsy's family could have some alone time. It was golden hour, the sun low in the sky. A Tesla Model X with "Falcon wing" doors was at the ready to transport her to the ceremony site. Betsy's father stepped outside and thanked us for coming. Nothing will ever prepare you for the face of a man about to lose his daughter. His strength and love, as he was relentlessly tested by his artist daughter, until the very end. It was heartbreaking.

We were instructed to walk up the hill to a vista where white shade tents, a massage table, and an altar stood before white folding chairs — once again, like a wedding. We hiked up a perilously steep snakehole-filled hill, decked out in glorious Betsy attire, and prevented one another from "stealing the show" by falling off the cliff.

She was lifted into the Tesla X, laughing with joy as the Falcon doors closed, radiant in her blue and white robe. Despite our collective uncertainty, we cheered her on as she was wheeled into the ceremony site. Lots of hooting and hollering, as if she'd just kissed the bride.

She lay on the massage table as soothing chime music played. Caretakers futzed over her hair but kept getting it wrong until she mumbled, "Amanda!" Her stylist friend came and lovingly finger-combed her hair until it was perfect and tied her kimono sash into a pristine bow. She looked like the famous Millais "Ophelia" painting.

There was an awkward pause in which we heard the medicine was delayed due to "technical issues." In this extended silence, sniffles from the crowd betrayed us – we had broken the first rule of the day: No crying in front of Betsy. I looked around at the tear-streaked cheeks of 30 friends trying to keep it together. The sun glowed gently on Betsy's face. Her caregiver arrived with the medicine, and we were instructed to leave so she could consume the entire dose without distraction. I walked past Betsy, smiled, and said, "You're beautiful. See you later." Her face was full of tears.

We walked down the hill and heard a primal scream.

My first thought was that Betsy was mad at us for crying and making her sad. Another friend thought she was unleashing her rage and frustration at this disease that robbed her of everything she had. A third said there was no way she was physically capable of making the sound — it was someone else. Regardless of what it meant, it was a reflection. Death has no answers, it just holds up a mirror and asks who you are and who you want to be.

Back at the house, we sat on the porch in the twilight. Most cried. A few chanted ohms, in hopes it might "energetically" help her take the medicine.

After about 15 minutes, we got an update: She'd successfully taken all the medicine and was in a coma. The doctor said her heart was strong. It would be many hours, possibly a day, before she passed. Guests dispersed, and she was moved into the house. Per her request — and only after the doctor assured us we couldn't possibly wake her — her friend and I rubbed frankincense and various oils on her hands and feet. As I touched her, she made a joyful sigh and smiled from another dimension.

It was time to leave her family in peace. We walked outside and gazed at the stars. Before we made it to the car, her brother-in-law came out and told us she had passed. It was 10:35 pm.

We were there for her, but also for ourselves.

I got to be there for a friend. Mat got to see ALS end better for Betsy than it did for his father. Others were there out of love, curiosity, a fascination with mortality, a sense of being part of history. All of the above.

I can't help but wonder what could have been if my father-in-law had an end-of-life option. It's not for everyone, but for Betsy it was the best path. Does the law change the way we die? Maybe. While it provides the opportunity to spare horrific suffering, others must be protected from the "slippery slope." It's an option that must never be offered, only demanded as a last resort.

Surrounded by devoted family, friends, and former lovers adorned in her fabulous clothes, Betsy gave a carefully art-directed glimpse into life's most mystifying and inevitable moment. I'm glad I got to be there.

[Patriarch]

That is disturbing and rubbish.

[martin88nyc]

Lord Have Mercy. This is worse than ever in the written history of the world. A voluntary suicide, party and friends, smiles and laughs and seemingly no remorse...The lunatics form a nuthouse comfortably run away and nobody is chasing them because the Lunatic Asylum is running the show.

[Chestertonian]

what i still dont understand is why you need a special prescription and a special law just to die.  If youre going to kll yourself before your disease progresses to the pointwhereyou are suffering to an intolerable degree,why not just go to duane reade (or whatever they have in california) and overdose, ahem, self administer  any number of drugs at your disposal onceyou get home.  but there's no ritual in that--no "dignity"  even secular people who "dont believe in organized religion" stilll crave ritual and some sort of way to mark the passage from one plane of reality to the next.  unfortunately for this woman, it might not be the reality she expected. 

also the "no crying" thing is pretty disrespectful to your loved ones.  they have to watch you kill yourself AND they're expected to smile and be "positive" the whole time?? 

it reminds me of the "celebration of life" funerals that Baby Boomers are throwing for their parents (and themselves) where they have a party at a fancy banquet hall with drinking and dancing and the urn is present with a big blown up picture of the deceased.  as someone who grew up Jewish the idea of "celebrating" during or after a person's death is culturally very foreign to me although the Italian American funerals i have attended usually involve some sort of party.  growing up we were not allowed to attend parties or other "joyous occasions" 30 days after the person's death for a relative, and 12 months after the death of one of your parents

[Lambda Phage]

I saw this in the news a few days ago. As if it wasn't already the most disturbing thing I've heard in a while, the pictures that they showed... ooh the pictures. All of those people, ordinary regular looking people wearing ordinary clothes, looking so ordinary, participating in something so extraordinarily evil. How in the world can they partake in that? I tried going over in my head what my reaction would be if anyone I ever met invited me to such a thing. I cannot even comprehend it. This is so dark it is almost unreal. Have you any idea what it is like to watch somebody die? That alone is not something most people should see. But to watch somebody commit suicide? Nobody should ever have to witness that, but the fact that they did so in such an ordinary fashion... I wonder if anybody there felt the slightest tug at their heart to stop her. So twisted. And they all went home and resumed their lives.

[Akavit]

also the "no crying" thing is pretty disrespectful to your loved ones.  they have to watch you kill yourself AND they're expected to smile and be "positive" the whole time?? 

It helps a lot if the deceased leaves behind a nice, tidy sum of money for the "bereaved".

I suspect the "cheer" those people were putting on was of the hysterical nature.  Even people who are engaged in their favorite hobbies and in a good mood don't run about with a goofy grin while laughing constantly.  Perhaps that was why alcohol was a necessary commodity for the party.

My friends and I rented a house in Ojai, close to Betsy's, for the weekend. We understood our job was to have as much fun as possible, so she experienced authentic joy in her final hours. All jokes must be actually funny, all laughter legit. We would not eff this up.

Just another way for people to cover up reality by plastering fake cheer veneer over the mess.  Considering the party ended in tears anyway, it obviously didn't work.

Her caregiver arrived with the medicine

Orwellian speech.  You have to love it.

[Carleendiane]

Soon this will be made into a reality TV show. Really? This may be what will usher in the Great Chastisement! I am appalled! I've always said that the only thing that limits evil is the imagination. And here is proof. It's not enough to have legal assisted suicide. Now there are suicide parties! Oh these poor people. Their lives are not dignified to others, or even to themselves. How much more can our precious Lord tolerate? It's time to turn over the tables. Time to scare the evil out of these ignorant narcisists. Pleasure, pleasure, dark pleasures. I can only equate this with being entertained by lions tearing apart humans for the sake of entertainment. This is actually much worse. There is no victim. This is a one man show. A docudrama, dark comedy. And you know what? There is a niche for this. Soon, coming to TV for your viewing pleasure. People will schedule their deaths to fill the seasons weekly slots. It's time for rupture. This is so painful. God help us!

[foenixie]

It's very disturbing and odd. What kind of thought process goes into something like that? What is one's outlook on life that one may see such a thing as acceptable? It's not entirely secular; there's several elements of the story that definitely imply a general belief in an afterlife. It's all... very vague and relative, somehow. "Death has no answers..." "another dimension..." I think the most chilling aspect of it is just that, the uncertainty and confusion necessary to make it seem okay.

[Elizabeth]

That's right out of Lord of the Worldbut terrifying!!!

[JubilateDeo]

I could see almost all of my relatives doing this if one of them were to be diagnosed with a terrible disease.  I could see my extended family doing something along the lines of what is in this article.  They just don't see any reason to go through something difficult if you can just take a pill, go to sleep, and die peacefully. 

[martin88nyc]

Carleendiane is right, the chastisement is at hand or maybe a few years away. Eaither way it is coming regardless of the prophecies. Children changing their genders at the age of 4. Homosexual marriage....black is white and white is black just like in the Bible. As to your question Chestertonian,

why you need a special prescription and a special law just to die

, the devil will do anything to establish his reign in this world by overthrowing every God given precept. In place of life he proposes death, instead of chastity - pornography etc.

[Prayerful]

This is insane.

[abc123]

I fear that in another couple of decades these kinds of "parties" won't be voluntary.

Arise, O God, judge the earth.... Ps 82:8

[MilesChristi]

Well, reminds me of that scene from The Godfather: you throw a party, then slit your wrists in the bathtub.

[clau clau]

I fear that in another couple of decades these kinds of "parties" won't be voluntary.

Arise, O God, judge the earth.... Ps 82:8