People with disabilities often fear they’re a burden. That’s why legal assisted suicide scares me.

https://goo.gl/Am3Ean

It's been nearly 10 years since I was rushed to the hospital at 4 am, but you don't forget something like that.

Internal bleeding. "It's gone septic," my wife recalls hearing, understanding only that that meant something serious. Something dangerous. Rough translation: blood poisoning.

All I remember is passing out in a hospital bed. My wife says I called out for my mother, who died in 1981. It looked like I was going to join her.

The bleeding was set off a few days earlier by a surgeon's blunder, in another hospital, during an unrelated gastroenterological procedure. In context, I was lucky: I was in a well-equipped, big-city medical center. I was quickly surrounded by medical staff.

But there was a delay. "Is he full code?" someone needed to know.

Again, a rough translation: Should the hospital proceed with lifesaving surgery, or was I DNR? Meaning: Do not resuscitate.

Fortunately, my wife was clear about my desire to live. We'd discussed this possibility before. And, in time, I made a full recovery. But not everyone has a significant other like mine. What happens to them? Does everybody in such dire straits get asked this question?

This is why, a year after the so-called right to die became legal in our nation's most populous state, California, I'm still profoundly uncomfortable with it. The value of my life has been discounted by medical professionals, and others, more often than I care to remember. That's because even at my healthiest, I am what some would consider terminally ill.



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Did we have the same dr? I had the same thing happen to me. They gave me less then 2% chance of living and because of that they did almost nothing to save me... Luckily my wife, mother, son, father and brother all showed up and pushed for better care.