2005-04-01 - 11:24 a.m.

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Finally, my useless thought on Terri Schiavo:

I hoe that when they crack open her head during the autopsy, Jell-O and Cerebrospinal Fluid pour out. That will make me feel better about all of this. As I see it, if you don�t have a cortex left, you�re not a person anymore.

What, you say? Not a person?

Let me explain: If you don�t have a brain and are not conscious or aware of anything, I don�t think you�re a person anymore. Sure, you�re human; you have 46 chromosomes, all the appropriate appendages, and a favorite Survivor. But, I don�t think you�re a person. You need to be aware and able to think in order to be a person. If you�re in that state, you�re just using up oxygen and electricity.

So, Mr. NoGoodDaddy, back 2 � years ago when Shmuppie was an infant, was she a real person? All she did was cry, shit and sleep. Hmmm�tough guy�hmmm?

Thanks for asking. She was a person. Anyone who�s a parent knows that what happened yesterday is less than today and today is less than tomorrow. She may have been only a crying, eating, poop machine, but she was a little more of one each and every day. Now, she�s a little blond haired monster who knows more Spanish than I do.

Someone with no brain activity is never going to learn Spanish in 2 � years. They�re just there. They�re breathing and swallowing because that�s what your brain stem tells you to do. If this poor woman in Florida was just there, a breathing, swallowing hunk of human, she did �deserve� to die. What did she have? She couldn�t think. She couldn�t experience life. What is there? You can�t even imagine it�s like to not �be�. There�s just nothing. Is it like being dead or does some teeny tiny little amber still glow somewhere? I guess if you believe in an afterlife, you�re not there yet. You�re stuck in some sort of limbo I guess.

Whatever it�s like, I don�t want to be there. Hence, my living will.

So, this could ask questions about how I may feel about profoundly retarded people. And I don�t mean people who change lanes without a turn signal. I mean people who have serious brain damage, but still show brain activity. I have no idea. You can�t kill them off. That�s not cool. I think anyone who compares the Schiavo case is reaching. If that Jell-O and CSF pours out, she was not profoundly retarded. She was gone.

Reminds me of a story. Indulge me please.

It�s late December, 2001. JewelrySlut is knocked up. A few weeks earlier, she�d had a test done, either a pee test or blood, I don�t remember, called an AFP Test . It either looks for the presence of or the absence of some protein. One result is good, the other is bad. You can see how much I remember about it. Anyway, we go see the Doctor for a routine check and are told that the results were abnormal. Abnormal results, as we�re told, mean one of two things: you�re not as pregnant as we thought (the test needs to be conducted within a certain widow of time or it doesn�t work) or the baby stands a chance of having Down�s Syndrome.

GULP

Side note on the two of us and who we are
I majored in Physiology with a minor in Psychology, with a focus on the more scientific aspect of Psychology, the brain in particular. JewelrySlut majored in Biology and works as a chemist. So, we�re scientific-types. I tend to see problems as black. They have white solutions. I don�t see a lot of gray. I�m getting better about that, but tend towards black and white.
back to the story
Where were we? Oh yea,
GULP

So, I�ve been told what the results are and how they can be skewed. I also know that JewelrySlut, when not on the pill, is about as regular as the VITRAN Bus . So, we had no idea how pregnant she was. We figured, by tracking backwards, that Shmuppie was conceived with JewelrySlut bent over our friends parents downstairs bathroom sink in a fit of rum-induced horniness. (Great story to tell the kid, eh?). So, the obvious answer to the problem was: She wasn�t ready for the test. Right, like that worked. We were terrified. All we heard was �Down�s Syndrome�. All I could think was �Shit, God really is getting revenge on me for all the bad shit I�ve done and said. The nuns were right�. We needed to get an ultrasound right away to determine the baby�s age. We went home and I managed to book one the following afternoon. Want to know what sucks? Going to work the day after you�re told that your first child may have Down�s. I spent a good portion of the morning locked in the bathroom, sitting on the floor, knees to chest, crying like a baby. That was fun. So, we had the test done and, lo and behold, they were off by a few weeks on the pregnancy. They adjusted the test score for the date and we were fine. We also learned that we had a Shmuppie and not a NoGoodSon. I couldn�t have cared less. Merry Christmas, folks, we�re all healthy.

Why�d I tell you all that story? Well, what would have happened if? What if? That�s the question that JewelrySlut and I ,NEVER asked each other. For starters, it was a non-question until we knew for certain. Secondarily, it�s not a good question to have to ask. Would you think me a horrible person if we�d taken an option afforded to us by the law? Am I terrible to think that I could not handle raising a disabled child? Honestly, I have no idea if I could have done it. And, once you become a parent, you learn that you just do things. You spend your time reacting and acting. You learn from what happened and use that to do better next time. Still, I don�t know if I could have done it.

So, while that has nothing to do with what just happened in Florida, I can almost relate. Once, a few years ago, we almost had to make that same type of decision. I wish that feeling upon nobody. It�s not good at all.


So, ha ha�let�s talk about something fun.

I got my DangerMix the other day. If anyone thought for one nanosecond hat I had a chance of naming the songs, they were on drugs. Let me sum up my musical knowledge: you need to have a first name of Jimmy, James, Billy or Barenaked and a last name of Buffett, Taylor, Joel or Ladies for me to know anything about you. If it�s not them, I�m an idiot. I got the CD because I wanted to pay him back.

On Wednesday I did.

Did I ever. I paid a man who has not only entertained me immensely with his diary, but I also repaid my favorite traffic reporter. I forgot to take a picture of what I sent him, but he promises to take one once his lovely and hopefully understanding wife returns from a vacation.
He got:
5 or 6 VHS tapes filled with porn. No movies, just scenes and money shots
1 packets of strawberry-flavored lube. He claims it�s good on Cream of Wheat
A handful of un-lubricated, brightly colored rubbers.
Some sort of latex vagina-thing.

I think that was it. I think I may have made the �spouse cry. That or bone the hell out of his poor dog.

I may have made a friend for life.

And, lastly, work is F-U-N. They just announced the layoffs for our location. I�m not on the list, but nothing�s ever a sure thing. I�ve been told that I�ve made a name for myself in the company, that the work I do is very appreciated, and that I�m a part of the future of this organization and to expect a new type of workload in the coming weeks and months. I�ll take it. If I have to sell my soul to the man until I find a new job or house, I�m OK. I have a price. I can be bought.

Time passes
Time passes

Well�it�s like an hour later right now. I never thought in my time at this company that I�d go anywhere. Looks like I was wrong. It�s always nice to know that if you work hard and do a good job that you can be rewarded. That, even though your boss is an ass who doesn�t care about anything if you continue to work at it and continue to do well, you will be rewarded. Interesting how a few days can change your outlook on things. I�m not so sure I want to move to Raleigh anymore.

We shall see.

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