After attending four funerals in as many months, Polly is thinking about her own death. How will it happen? How much longer does she have? Polly doesn't believe that there's an afterlife. She's not afraid of being dead. But she is afraid of suffering before she gets there.
Will she be lucky, like her grandfather, and have a quick and painless death? Or will her death be prolonged and painful, like her sister Emily's had been? After reassuring herself that she would not allow her death to be either prolonged or painful, Polly decided to tackle the issue as if it were a project in the journalism class she took in university. She would answer the questions where, why, when, who, what, and how, in as much detail as possible. She knew that answering the who question would involve remembering, and writing about, things she hadn't thought of for years, and that not all of those memories would be happy ones. But a project was a project, and anyone who knew Polly would know that she'd give it everything she had.
After attending four funerals in as many months, Polly is thinking about her own death. How will it happen? How much longer does she have? Polly doesn't believe that there's an afterlife. She's not afraid of being dead. But she is afraid of suffering before she gets there.
Will she be lucky, like her grandfather, and have a quick and painless death? Or will her death be prolonged and painful, like her sister Emily's had been? After reassuring herself that she would not allow her death to be either prolonged or painful, Polly decided to tackle the issue as if it were a project in the journalism class she took in university. She would answer the questions where, why, when, who, what, and how, in as much detail as possible. She knew that answering the who question would involve remembering, and writing about, things she hadn't thought of for years, and that not all of those memories would be happy ones. But a project was a project, and anyone who knew Polly would know that she'd give it everything she had.
My sister, Emily, died a week ago. Her funeral was my fourth in as many months. So, itās not surprising that Iāve been thinking a lot about death lately. But thatās not terribly unusual. Most of us in the āagedā bracket (over seventy-five) think about death. We wonder how much longer weāll be here. We wonder if weāll go quickly and easily, or slowly and painfully. Emilyās todayās medical assistance in dying law.Ā She was only one example of the many people whose request for assisted suicide, after being approved while they were judged to be mentally competent, was denied because of a deterioration in their thought processes caused, mostly, by the drugs they needed to block their pain.Ā Critics of the law, including a number of legal scholars, argued that some of the restrictions in Bill C-14 would inevitably be challenged in court. They were right, and those restrictions will be lifted. Itās only a matter of time. Iāve never been able to understand how a decision made when a person is āof sound mindā can be deemed invalid should that person suddenly be declared ānot of sound mind.ā Why our Parliament threw that particular āspanner in the works,ā (to use an expression Emily often used) is something I think every one of them should have to answer for. A lot of people have suffered, needlessly, because of their poor decisions. Sadly, Emily put things off for a little too long. By the time she decided that sheād had enough, her mind wasnāt up to par. She lasted another two bedridden weeks, floating in and out of painful consciousness, and pain-free oblivion. That is not going to happen to me. One of the things I thought about, when I first realized that I might have to take matters into my own hands, was the ancient (to my eighteen-year-old eyes) professor who taught my Journalism 101 class. It was an interesting elective that required minimal effort and suited my schedule that year. The too-skinny man had thick, receding, salt and pepper hair, a loud, croaky voice, and (to my seventy-eight-year-old eyes) would have been many years away from retirement. All I really remember from that course (I got a B.) is The Five Ws and one H rule. Itās the list of questions needing answers when information gathering or problem solving. I needed to know about, and be prepared for, any and all eventualities. I needed to know how to prevent unnecessary suffering, but at the same time not miss out on any joy. The questions are who, what, where, when, why, and how.Ā So, it looks like Iām going to be spending a lot more time in front of my laptop. Iām going to write down every thought that comes to my mind on every one of those questions. Even if they donāt seem relevant. Even if they donāt even seem important.Ā Writing things down makes you think more slowly, and more deeply. You can end up realizing that something you didnāt think was important was actually crucial, when you see it in writing. It becomes more than just an idea. Ideas can be chased around by new, and not necessarily better, ideas, and driven right out of one of the windows in your brain; windows that seem to magically appear along with wrinkles and stiff joints. But if youāve written them down, theyāll never disappear. It occurred to me that the answer to the who question was going to be an autobiography, which meant that answering it was going to take much more time and effort than answering the other questions. It was going to tell the story of the outer me, how Iāve lived, what Iāve done, and the people Iāve loved and lost. I decided to include entries from my journal in the answer to the who question because they would tell the story of the inner me. They would show how I think, and what I think about. Many of my middle-of-the-night thoughts are common ones. What I didnāt do that I should have done. What I have to do the next day. Should I tell a friend what another friend said? If I do, will it upset her? Is it any of my business? I have to remember to call about the furnace. How did that joke about sex end? What was on that funny sign about children? Is that vitamin my friend talked about really helpful? How did that Einstein quote about riding a bicycle go?Ā (I actually remember that one after thinking about it for a few minutes. Itās, āLife is like riding a bicycle. To keep your balance, you must keep moving.ā) I used to keep a pen and paper on my bedside table. Iād jot thoughts down so that I could relax and fall asleep, knowing that I wouldnāt forget about them, and that Iād deal with them in the morning. When I discovered the audio memo app on my iPhone, I started dictating my thoughts instead of writing them down. My written memos were always clear and easy to understand. Even half asleep, my early training is still in control. But there were a few audio memos that I couldnāt make sense of, when I first started using the memo app. If I have to set my alarm, which I only have to do twice a week, thankfully, I decrease the volume on my phone before I go to bed, so that the alarm wonāt be irritating. It took a few nights to adjust the volume so that I could understand the memo and not be irritated by the alarm. Before I found the right setting there was a memo that told me to ādye thin silk.ā That afternoon, in the dairy aisle, at the grocery store, I realized that what Iād said was, ābuy skim milk.ā I also heard āclosed window,ā and āred hat,ā but Iāve never been able to figure either of them out. (An interesting thing about the audio memo app is that it tells you the time the memo was dictated. Reviewing them made me realize just how irregular my sleep patterns are.) I used to just satisfy my curiosity about my disjointed, middle-of-the-night thoughts. Iād put items on my shopping list, or on my to-do list, look up the author of a particular quote, the symptoms of a disease, or the meaning of a word, and then get on with my day.Ā But one morning, after looking something up with Google, and seeing that Iād looked that issue up only a few weeks before, I had a brainstorm. I decided to start keeping a journal of my thoughts about the issues that had kept me awake the night before. I was pretty sure Iād enjoy it, and it would be a good brain exercise as well, because I also decided that along with delving deeply into my personal thoughts, Iād copy and paste information from Google searches and Wikipedia. And Iād put everything I cut and pasted in italics. If whatever message Iād left myself was still of interest to me after Iād finished the daily crossword and my coffee, Iād open my laptop, type the audio memo Iād left myself, and let my daytime mind wander, guided a bit by online information. Some entries would be deep thoughts, and some just bits of silliness, but theyād all be me.Ā As an aside, I find that finishing a crossword without a single mistake gets my day off to a slightly better than average start. I read that people who use pens are confident risk-takers, but that certainly doesnāt apply to me. I use a pen, partially because itās easier to see, partly because erasing pencil marks smudges the paper, but mostly because I like grading myself when the puzzle is finished. The neater the page, the better Iāve done. On bad days, when Iāve had to make several messy corrections, I put the newspaper in the recycling box under the sink right away. Neat looking puzzles usually stay on the table with the rest of the paper until Iāve finished reading everything I want to read, which is often around dinner time. The word journal implies a daily activity, but my entries have always been erratic. Iād enter something three days in a row, and then thereād be nothing to write about for weeks. To be honest, it often depended not only on my mood, but on what else I had going on that day. The journal does cover a lot of ground, though, and I knew Iād enjoy going through it again as I imported it into this project. It didnāt take me long to realize that the answers to the what, where, why, when, and how questions would be collections of thoughts, some familiar, and, hopefully, some not, about medically assisted suicide, and about death itself.Ā So, Iām going to go back and forth as the mood hits me. Iāll start off with the easy, enjoyable parts, and Iāll tackle the difficult ones when I feel up to it. To be very clear, this is an academic exercise. Itās a theoretical exploration of possibilities. Iām nowhere near actually planning my death. I have, at least I hope I have, a lot more life to enjoy. The only problems I have are the standard ones that come with being alive for so many decades. Iāve received no terminal diagnosis. My joint pain and stiffness are manageable, my memory lapses are irritating, but normal from what Iāve read, Iām completely independent in my self-care, and I live a fairly active life.Ā But anyone who knows me would agree that I donāt like surprises, and that Iām a little obsessive about planning everything well in advance. āYouāre OC light,ā one of my friends once told me, with a big grin on her face. āYou have only half the obsessiveness and a third the compulsiveness of regular OCs.ā I was a little insulted, at first. But when I thought about it, I realized that she was right, and that it wasnāt a bad thing at all. Being organized, and planning ahead make life easier. Putting things away neatly, and where they belong, means that you donāt have to waste time looking for them. Knowing where youāre going, when you have to be there, and having what you have to take with you ready in advance, means no, or at least fewer, bouts of last-minute anxiety.
By all rights, this should be the most boring book I have ever read - but it wasn't. It was delightful. "Musings" is a fictional combination memoir and commentary on right to personal choice in end-of-life care that is touching, humorous, and strikingly human. Written from the point of view of "Polly, not Pollyanna," the book's journal "musings," personal anecdotes, and reflections on everyday life resonated and were compellingly readable.
The work is often joyous, sometimes sad (but never gloomy), and frequently funny (sometimes laugh out loud funny). There are occasional editorial failings that might merit another look by an editor, but taken together, it's a thoughtful, enjoyable read. Honestly, if not for the editorial issues, I'd have given the book a five-star rating.
Polly wrote the book in segments of "Five W's and One H" - the Who, What, When, Where, Why, and How of her life, and more specifically, of her death. She spoke of the loves of her life, politics, and the joys of the bridge club and after-bridge coffee, and she doled out wisdom in vignettes that are just right for nightly reading episodes. I particularly enjoyed the friend who chose "alternate swears" such as "coitus," and her thoughtful approach to the value of life in the elderly.
Readers will certainly identify with either Polly or one of her many friends, as Polly's age has given her the ability to be completely honest without making it uncomfortable. I thoroughly enjoyed "The Musings of an Old Lady," and expect that other readers will love Polly as much as I did.