Hide Yer Kids..Hide Yer Wife…Aarrggh, My bones ache. No, I say..aaacchhe. My gums hurt, I can’t think because there are thousands of little tiny frankensteins hammering my meninges. I’m stuffy, swollen.. Sounds hurt. Please don’t touch me. I produce strong, loud expectorating coughs at inopportune times. My eyes are puffy and red, my throat is scratchy and raspy. Get out the National Guard, screen for me at all the airports. Git yer pitchforks and your lighted sticks and chase me yelling “Go back to…” um, “Alabama”. Woops, I am pretty much exactly like you, and I’ve got it…the (dum dum dum..) FLU !!!! Horrible, painful, contagious!
Or, you could maybe be a bit rational. Get a flu shot, exercise, wash your hands like a mad-person – including under your fingernails. Avoid sick contacts. Don’t play around in my personal blood and body fluids. And I, considerate mush that I am, will stay out of public places for a minute, wallow about in bed, take cold meds, drink plenty of warm fluids, cough into my sleeve and not shake your hand, wash MY hands like a mad woman and draft my Last Will and Testament. How about that? A little sanity, please.
Um, seems like those in the know are saying Ebola is spread about the same way..blood and body fluids. Direct contact with the same. As a nurse or healthcare worker, I would necessarily come in contact with these things, but I have been taught – diligently – about the use of contact precautions. Gown and glove when I deal with people with infectious diseases, as do those who visit them, wash my hands diligently, treat the cause and the symptoms. Do not refer to those affected as “the Ebola nurse”, or “the Flu nurse”, etc. What about HIPPA laws, people? How about “Mr. Joe” or “Ms. Joe”.
Back to my Advance Directive/Living Will. You know, that form I fill out while in my sort of right mind that tells my loved ones how I wish my health care to be handled should I not be able to express these wishes at the time. I have already spoken with my son about the necessity to pluck any stray chin hairs that show up if I can’t handle it (hormones). If, for some reason, I have to be placed on a ventilator (some refer to it as breathing machine, life support, #@!*), I must continuously, at all times, no matter what, be completely knocked out with Propofol – Propofol only, please (Michael Js’ drug of choice). Not Versed, Not Precedex, PROPOFOL! – triglycerides be darned. Under no circumstances am I to be awakened from my peaceful, ventilated slumber !!! . I am a proud control freak and if I am unable to speak to you and tell you what to do, I will go nuts! I do NOT wish to write notes, please don’t ask me a myriad of questions. If I am trying to talk to you while intubated, I am cussing, I promise! Yank that sucker out post-haste.
My personal Living Will does not say “if I will improve, If there is hope, etc”. What the??? No one knows that but God. I don’t think it is fair to place that burden on my loved ones or the medical staff. I have seen what it actually looks like for a person to be on bedrest, ventilated, tube fed, etc for a long period of time. No thank you. For me personally, this is definitely living. No, no, no. Not for me.
I shall be laid on a beautiful bed of roses, liposuction has been provided prophylactically, me in the most beautiful gown, my toes are painted, flowing hair arranged attractively across the pillow, my IV infusion of dark chocolate running, Andrea Bocelli is playing at bedside (hey, this is my dream ), my Beloved is with me here on my cloud out of the hospital pledging undying love, my children are here also, happy, employed, telling me how they are going to travel the world in honor of me and find inner peace. I slip quietly in to the sweet bye and bye. Jesus is right there waiting for me and we walk to Wonka Land (my personal view of Heaven).
The body that I no longer inhabit – having had any usable parts donated to those in need – will then be cremated and the ashes thrown onto..TBD (was Brad Pitt at one time, then Javier Bardem,, but my Beloved is soo much better than both of them) PETA-like. Okay? Am I clear on this? Hope so. Oh, and could I please have one of those New Orleans-style funerals where folks wear cool clothes, strut through the streets playing drums and horns and celebrate my life? Just asking:>
Images from Google Images