Fighting for Dear Life (33 page)

These documents were written as if you'd know what you want, kind of like ordering a salami and cheese: you want provolone, mayo, no mustard, lettuce but no tomato. You have the ability to be that specific in your document, but in reality [the living will] has very little connection with what you'll be facing.
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Here's an added concern. From my vantage point as a Christian, the living will completely removes God from the process. I don't believe in signing anything that would accelerate my death. I don't fear death, mind you. I know that to be absent from the body is to be present with the Lord (2 Corinthians 5:8). To be pro-life does not mean that I refuse to acknowledge death. Our bodies will fail; nobody gets out of here alive. But unlike the atheist who has no hope, my conviction as a believer is that death is not the end—it's the beginning.

I readily acknowledge that there is ‘‘a time to be born and a time to die.'' I also agree with the saying: Not everything that can be done should be done to prolong a life. But since my life as a Christian is not my own (1 Corinthians 6:19–20), at no point should I embrace a backdoor suicide by taking steps to hasten death. The living will is almost like putting such an intention in writing. Considering the goals of those who invented it, I'd say that shouldn't come as a surprise. As you'll see, there is a better alternative.

In case you are tempted to say, ‘‘If I'm ever incapacitated like this, please let me go,'' I'd like for you to consider the story of Pat Rummer-field. Here's a remarkable young man who, when faced with a near-death experience, clung to the ‘‘will to live'' rather than a living will.

You just never know what God might want to do with your life.

NEVER GIVE UP

In 1974 Pat Rummerfield hopped in the passenger seat of his sleek Corvette and handed the keys to his best friend. The two buddies had been drinking, and under the influence of alcohol, they rocketed down the highway at 135 mph. Losing control, the car crashed and rolled, causing a near-fatal accident. Pat broke his neck in four places, fractured all his ribs, shattered his collarbone, and almost lost an eyeball, which had popped out of its socket and had to be reinserted.

With massive head injuries, four crushed cervical vertebrae, and unable to move from the neck down, Pat's doctors gave him seventy-two hours to live. Although he was mentally alert, his physicians wanted to put the brakes on any additional treatment. Instead, they recommended that this twenty-one-year-old receive convalescent care to live out whatever remaining time he had in peace. Unlike Terri Schiavo, however, Pat could speak for himself. Lying flat on his back, unable to move or feed himself, he refused to accept such a dire prognosis. Instead, he insisted on giving rehabilitation his best shot—just in case.

At that point I imagine his family, friends, and doctors felt he wasn't being realistic. Privately, they may have fretted about the ‘‘quality of life'' he'd have if he survived. He was, after all, a total quadriplegic— unlike Terri, who could sit in a reclining chair, clutch stuffed animals, and turn her body to face her mother or a guest.

In a day and age where insurance companies and hospitals desire to cut costs when such care appears ‘‘futile,'' Pat's life would be at the top of the list of a life ‘‘not worth living.'' And if our courts continue to make judgments from the bench as to which lives are of value, and if medical ethics committees determine what is futile care in any given situation, I wouldn't be surprised if one day soon a judge didn't step in and deprive a person like Pat of having the chance to improve—even though he could speak for himself.

As Pat tells the story, he was lying in his bed just dreaming of playing basketball once again. He even pictured himself becoming a NASCAR driver. He told God that he'd use his life to help those less fortunate if he was given a second chance. The last thing he wanted was to surrender to the hopelessness that others projected on his situation. In the stillness of night while entertaining these thoughts, something amazing happened.

He moved his big toe.

Three years later, through sheer determination and daily physical therapy, Pat relearned how to walk. He also regained the strength and use of his hands. His doctors were astonished and were completely without a medical explanation for his recovery. But Pat didn't stop there. After seventeen years of maintaining a grueling workout regimen, Pat regained almost complete functionality of his body and decided to enter a number of triathlons.

In 1992 Pat entered the world famous Ironman triathlon in Hawaii.

Only the fittest of the fit will attempt this annual Herculean event. To compete, contestants must first swim 2.4 miles, then complete a 112-mile bike race, followed by running a 26.2-mile marathon. In what was a phenomenal feat bordering on the miraculous, Pat finished the race—not bad for a guy who was told he'd never walk again.

Five years later Pat went on to complete the 1997 Antarctica Marathon— a course so difficult, only eighty-two participants have ever managed to run its 26.2 miles of glaciers and frozen streams. You have to wonder what Pat was thinking as he battled the 45-mph winds and subzero temperatures to go the distance. After all, there was a time when just wiggling his big toe was big news.

As if overcoming these challenges wasn't enough, Pat set the world land speed record at the Bonneville Salt Flats for electric cars and has raced in two NASCAR competitions. His accomplishments have been recorded by Ripley's Believe It or Not, ESPN, the History Channel, Discovery, and a host of publications including
GQ, Runner's World,
and
Popular Science
. He now travels widely sharing his inspirational testimony. Admittedly, Pat's story is an unusual display of healing. Nevertheless, I'd like for you to ponder something. Imagine if he had been denied the rehabilitation and physical therapy that he desired. Imagine if he had bought into the notion that there was no chance his quality of life would ever improve. Imagine if he couldn't speak and couldn't articulate his will to live. And imagine the mistake he would have made had he signed a living will that limited or prevented his care and rehab. Clearly, the world would have been deprived of an unbelievable story of faith, hope, and healing.

LAST WILL

At the outset I touched on the importance of executing a last will and testament. So before offering an alternative to the living will, let me explain why I'd encourage you to put a last will in place and how you might use this document to advance your personal convictions.

Simply put, the last will and testament is a legally binding device that properly disperses your assets to your heirs upon your death. In it you spell out who gets the house, the car, the stocks and bonds, the dog—in short, all of your ‘‘stuff.''

Of particular importance are the provisions for your minor children, including naming who their guardians will be. I also view the last will as a wonderful tool to share your heart one final time after you are gone from this earth. When crafting their wills, I encourage Christians to think of ministry opportunities in addition to spelling out the distribution of their assets. There's no reason this has to be just a legal document. For example, you might want to include a statement of what you believe—a statement of faith or a personal creed. Sharing a favorite passage of Scripture or insight into the Christian life are great opportunities for you to witness to your loved ones. These declarations don't change the legal weight or meaning of the document. Mentioning several personal aspirations for your kids if you have youngsters in your care is also a good idea.

You might consider saying: ‘‘I'd like for my kids to attend church,'' ‘‘I'd like for my children to receive a Christian education,'' or ‘‘I'd like for them to be raised to follow the Lord.'' Of course, the expression of these desires is not legally binding. No judge is going to order the children to go to church. No guardian can force them to attend a Christian school or college.

Nevertheless, there's something special when children have a piece of paper from their dad or mom that clearly lays out where their parents stood and what their hopes were for them. There's something comforting when a young person knows ‘‘This is what my dad believed,'' or ‘‘These are the people my mom wanted to look after us.''

A very common last will for the married father of young children might read: ‘‘I leave everything to my wife. My kids will be under the control of their mother. If we both die, then [name grandparents or aunts or uncles or friends who would be willing to look after the kids].'' Whatever meager assets there might be in a young couple's life can be placed in a trust. If you are older and have amassed a great deal of wealth, this document can help you minimize inheritance taxes while maximizing your resources for the use of your heirs or for the charities you desire to support.

Without a last will and testament, the state will step in and make these decisions for you; I'm sure you can imagine the nightmare scenario that can present for those left behind. Without question, a properly executed will is a must for everyone. Now, you might be thinking, ‘‘David, if a last will is a good thing because it protects our assets, and the living will is a bad thing because it more often than not fails to protect our well-being in health-related situations, what am I to do? How do I avoid what happened to Terri Schiavo?'' Read on.

WISDOM IN MANY COUNSELORS

Soaring health insurance coverage, the trend to manage care by managing costs, and limited hospital space places incredible pressure to terminate a life that doesn't meet some arbitrarily determined standard of value. Likewise, there are those for whom a conflict of interest— such as an heir to your estate—impairs an objective assessment of your condition.

The very best way to protect yourself from these forces is the
Designation
of a Health Care Surrogate
. This individual or team of individuals will speak on your behalf when you are unable to speak for yourself, especially if that decision knowingly ends your life. I fully realize that any surgery could result in your death. That's not what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about a crisis situation where there's a question about the removal of life support (taking you off of a ventilator) or the decision whether to initiate a life-saving surgery (a heart or lung transplant) or, as in Terri's case, an attempt to remove food and water.

While you could choose one trusted individual such as your spouse to serve as your proxy, we saw in the Schiavo case that people change. A husband who swore under oath that he wanted to provide medical care for his wife did a complete U-turn. That's why I prefer a team approach; three people seems like a good number because it places the decisions about your life ‘‘in the multitude of counselors,'' where, as Scripture says, ‘‘there is safety.''

Could there be five? Sure. Could there be just two? Yes. Again, it's your decision. Whether there are two, three, or more surrogates, your safety valve is to require them to unanimously agree on the medical course of action in cases where that decision was intended to result in your death. If one of your surrogates, for instance, thinks your feeding tube should be removed but two disagree, the tube stays in. Even if two agree the tube should be removed and one disagrees, the tube still stays in if your document requires unanimity. The spirit of this document is the presumption of life or at least the presumption that one of your surrogates will not want to kill you if other options exist.

Thankfully, the vast majority of Americans will never need to worry about being so incapacitated that they require someone to step into their shoes and make medical decisions for them. But if, God forbid, a situation were to arise where you were unable to make your own decisions, at that moment this team of loved ones—your spouse, your parents, a family member, a close friend and/or pastor—can speak with the doctors, gather information, seek the Lord, and then jointly decide.

Several benefits over the living will immediately emerge. This approach takes the burden of the decision-making process off your spouse. He or she will be surrounded by loving, caring friends and family who will share the load. It clarifies from a legal standpoint who the decision makers are. Likewise, you don't have to be fearful. You don't have to be concerned about whether or not someone might try to hurry you along to heaven to get you out of the way. And if, at some point, one of the individuals you selected were to betray your trust by acting irresponsibly, the others provide a corrective measure of accountability.

For a Designation of Health Care Surrogate sample form, please see Appendix B.

Terri's passing has prompted the nation to wrestle with these and a host of other critical issues. I believe that's a good thing. Yet her death has exposed something lethal lurking in the dark corners of our souls: America has become far too calloused toward the sacredness of life. In our arrogance, we play God. In our foolishness, even as believers we often ignore His claim upon our lives and, in so doing, provoke His judgment. Now is the time when we must call upon the Great Physician to lance this festering wound and heal our land—and our souls.

CHAPTER TWENTY - FOUR

LIFE SUPPORT
IN VIEW OF ETERNITY

Every Day's a Gift

—
PLACARD AFFIXED TO WALL OUTSIDE
W
OODSIDE
H
OSPICE

W
hen faced with the decision whether or not to remove the life support of a loved one, there's one perspective few take into view: Eternity. Let me ask you this question: If you knew a person who had not yet made their peace with God, meaning they would go to hell if you removed them from their life support, would you still pull the plug? Does that question at least cause you to pause and weigh the eternal finality of such a decision?