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Essays, Opinion, & Commentary |
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March 26, 2005
by Carol Hoenig
As of this writing, a brain-damaged woman in Florida is the topic of a controversial subject that is making headlines and news stories across the country. It's also become a political issue being used by some for their own agenda. There have also been articles lately about two Dutch doctors who defend euthanasia for infants whose survival will mean continuous unbearable suffering. These doctors, Eduard Verhagen and Pieter J. J. Sauer, have written guidelines known as the Groningen protocol. However, Stephen Drake, a research analyst at Not Dead Yet says that these guidelines are "singling out infants based on somebody else's assessment of their quality of life." Almost a year ago, Huntington Williams made the difficult decision to help his dying friend, John T. Wellese, end the inevitable. Now, this friend is facing jail time for offering advice on where to aim the gun and then walking out of the house and down the driveway, only to hear the single shot as his friend pulled the trigger. Finally, until I began reading the articles and commentaries by film critic and talk show host Michael Medved and other conservative folks, I had little interest in seeing Clint Eastwood's Million Dollar Baby. I must agree with Medved that before his revelations about what transpires in this movie, I believed it had the same theme as Rocky or some such movie with the predictable triumphant ending. But once I found out that the story was more than what was shown in previews, thanks to Medved, I made a date with myself and caught a Sunday matinee, even though I've never been a fan of boxing and don't understand the thrill of watching two people beat each other up until one falls lifelessly to the mat. Million Dollar Baby has some of that, but it also has the topic, one which has been in the news quite a lot lately, that I find more fascinating. I don't believe that Eastwood was trying to trick anyone into thinking that this movie was about something other than the life of a female prize fighter and her hardened trainer, as was suggested in an article by correspondent for Family News In Focus, Steve Jordahl. Nor do I believe that it had some hidden agenda or was the handiwork of Satan as Joni Eareckson Tada believes. A quadriplegic and disability-rights activist, Joni is quoted in Jordahl's article as saying: "Our adversary, the devil, is a liar and a murderer and a deceiver. And with this movie, Million Dollar Baby, he's attempting to deceive us even further." I'm not quite sure what the deception is, and now that the movie has been out for quite awhile and has received several nods from the Academy, I don't feel what I'm about to share will ruin the ending for many. Thanks to these articles of protest, scolding anyone connected with this movie, I was intrigued. I appreciate a story that surprises me and forces me to confront complicated issues. What I don't like is watching a fighter work his or her way through several rounds of jabbing, cutting and profuse bleeding while the scene builds to the climactic outcome that is favorable for the protagonist--you know, the warm and fuzzy, if not unrealistic, ending. So, for a good hour and a half, the movie is about a trainer whose career is winding down juxtaposed with a woman's struggle to become a better person while refusing to give up her dream. Then, in one instant, her life spirals downward. It is then that Medved, Tada and others take issue with the direction the storyline takes. Let me go on record and say that at this point in my life I doubt that I could ever help anyone permanently check out. Not because I have any religious or moral fiber that would keep me from doing so, but more that I am a coward. I am not envious of Terri Schiavo's family and the nightmare they are facing and, if anything, it's a reminder that we should all write up our living wills so that our fate isn't placed in the hands of those who have no business deciding the outcome. Either way, for now I cannot imagine helping someone with his or her final act since it is just too weighty. Then again, if I were dependent on someone to help me check out, I'd be pissed if they chose to turn their back on me. At this stage in my life, though, I'm healthy, active and comparatively young, but there have been bouts of depression that have brought me face to face with confronting, "what if?" The only thing that keeps me buoyed from sinking too low is knowing what my act would do to my children, even if they are no longer children, but young adults. They, so to speak, are often my lifeline when I'm briefly contemplating bottles of pills and razor blades. Imagining them finding their mom in some unresponsive state is enough to force me to face another day, another night and another year. Each person mentioned at the beginning of this piece had their own reason for wanting to precipitate the inevitable, as did the fictional character in Million Dollar Baby. They weren't dealing with depression that a pill could palliate. No, they were dealing with permanent physical impairments that offer no release, except by death and I'm trying to understand why the route they chose would anger so many. Maybe the very idea of taking death by the reins, whether it's assisted or not, makes certain people uncomfortable; it does appear to leave God out of the equation. I have a friend who thinks that suicide, no matter what the reason, is the ultimate selfish act. I argue with her, tell her that sometimes, oftentimes, its not a choice for those who simply cannot bear another day. Except, when I think of my children, I know that for me it would be a selfish act. Checking out on them would be harder than any other option that I contemplate. I'm still the occasional shoulder they cry on, the voice of reason they listen to. Perhaps, though, when time passes and I've become elderly and dependent on my children, then it could be easier. But for now, it's just an occasional overdramatic notion without any merit. Still, when I think of the so-called healthy people who did end it all, I can't stop wondering what was it that pushed them to an edge where they had no choice but to jump. I often think about the fifteen year old boy who belonged to the church I'd attended and how one afternoon he went home after school and took his father's pistol, put it in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Fifteen. I couldn't understand how this boy's pain had been so well hidden until he decided enough was enough. That was over twenty years ago and I still think about him, about how his mom found him in his bedroom. It's no secret that teenagers' lives are filled with hormonal-inspired drama and sometimes they feel the weight of the world on their shoulders. It's no secret, too, that they usually learn how to deal with the drama. Even though there were no physical ailments, this boy's burden was more than he could bear. Perhaps he claimed the verse from John 12:25: The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life. Perhaps he hated his life so much, he wanted to end it. It was suicide, but unlike the movie, it wasn't assisted -- unless one takes into account that he somehow managed to get a hold of his father's loaded gun. But my questions to those who are angry or moralizing about the traumatic decision so many people make or the content in Million Dollar Baby are these: Why is there such an aversion to what transpires in this movie? Why, if people are trapped in their hell with no way out, except for the obvious way, do we as a society feel a need to interfere? Wouldn't we have been better served to interfere elsewhere? For instance, why is there not the vocal uprising about the reality of genocide depicted in Hotel Rwanda, the genocide that is occurring daily in Darfur? Why not take up the cause for those whose vibrant lives are being cut down because of the color of their skin? Million Dollar Baby was not about some wonderful life where a George Bailey discovers that if he'd checked out, the town would have been in the throes of a money-grubbing thief with one tragedy befalling the next. Nor is it about a thriving overemotional young woman. While movies are made to entertain, if not distract us from reality, some have the ability to push buttons, intentional or not. If open dialogue is what follows, then we may be able to understand each other somewhat better. We may understand why seventy-three year old Andrew James Turner, Jr., to his family at a Mother's Day gathering, "This is my last meal," as was reported in a recent New York Times article. He then asked to have his feeding tube removed, acknowledging that the cancer was winning and he no longer wanted to fight a losing battle. I cannot answer the question, does mere existence override quality of life for anyone else. However, if my child were severely injured and reliant on a life support system and somehow communicated to me that he or she wanted to be released from this world, I selfishly wouldn't want to let them go. It's a conundrum, indeed. But instead of chastising a director for forcing us to ponder these issues, we should take a moment and think about what it is that has us so riled. We should also take a moment to write up our living will. Yes, life is a precious gift, but too often it becomes more important than the one who finds taking the next labored breath to be more painful than not.
Carol Hoenig is a contributor for Raw Story. Woman This Month, a publication based out of Bahrain, has recently acquired her essay, "Old Friends," and will be publishing it for its December '04 issue. Another essay will be published in the Feb. 05 issue of Generation X Journal. Besides writing essays, articles and commentaries, Carol is working on her third novel. You may reach her at Carolhoen@AOL.com. This essay is copyright (c) 2005 by Carol Hoenig. Published here by permission of the author.
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