Like death and taxes
Writing by treason on Tuesday, 31 of October , 2006 at 2:17 pm
“Everybody was talking. ‘Marion?’ called Louise. Everybody quieted. ‘Marion, answer me, are you afraid?’ Marion didn’t answer. The husband stood there, at the bottom of the cellar steps. Louise called ‘Marion, are you there?’ No answer. The room was silent.
‘Where’s Marion?’ called Louise.
‘She was here’, said a boy.
‘Maybe she’s upstairs.’
‘Marion!’
No answer. It was quiet. Louise cried out, ‘Marion, Marion!’
‘Turn on the lights,’ said one of the adults.
The items stopped passing. The children and adults sat with the witch’s items in their hands.
‘No.’ Louise gasped. There was a scraping of her chair, wildly, in the dark. ‘No. Don’t turn on the lights, oh, God, God, God, don’t turn them on, please, don’t turn on the lights, don’t!’ Louise was shrieking now. The entire cellar froze with the scream.
Nobody moved.
Everyone sat in the dark cellar, suspended in the suddenly frozen task of this October game; the wind blew outside, banging the house, the smell of pumpkins and apples filled the room with the smell of the objects in their fingers while one boy cried, ‘I’ll go upstairs and look!’ and he ran upstairs hopefully and out around the house, four times around the house, calling, ‘Marion, Marion, Marion!’ over and over and at last coming slowly down the stairs into the waiting breathing cellar and saying to the darkness, ‘I can’t find her.’
Then…some idiot turned on the lights.”
– The October Game, Ray Bradbury
It’s Halloween and I’m trying to decide which is scarier: this classic Bradbury tale or the prospect of John Kerry being Commander-in-Chief. I’m furious that he has been handed, by the networks, and on a silver platter, the opportunity to stump for his ‘08 campaign. I know he’s both nuanced and humorless, so the “joke” last night was neither amusing nor “crystal clear.” What was clear in his news conference today was that he is taking advantage of a situation a week before midterms and making it “crystal clear” that he’s running for president…still.
The horror…the horror.
But, on a lighter note, I’d like to take an opportunity today to discuss disease, death, and what happens afterwards. All this talk lately about stem cell research has me somewhat irritated that we’re still unable to have an intelligent debate on the subject. Michael J. Fox, campaigner for Democrats on behalf of this issue, had been invited to appear on The Factor but declined. Bill O’Reilly was gracious, explaining that Fox was unable to appear and suggesting that Mr. Fox simply isn’t able to. His health, understandably, is an issue. But then Fox appeared on CBS with Katie and on ABC with George. There he admitted he hasn’t actually read the amendment that apparently only five or six people have.
I’m not going to criticize Michael J. Fox because, frankly, I’ve always liked the guy. His position is understandable. Based on my family history I should be in favor of any research whatsoever to cure the types of illnesses that, because of genetics, I will probably face in my lifetime. Several of those diseases are often mentioned in any discussion of adult and embryonic stem cell research. Alzheimer’s, for one. Oh, and then there was my aunt Ida who was diagnosed with a form of what John “The Elephant Man” Merrick suffered from. And whether that was a form of elephantiasis, neurofibromatosis, or Proteus Syndrome, I don’t know, but it wasn’t a pretty sight. Every time I find a new skin tag on my body I wonder if, like my aunt, I’ll one day be completely covered with them.
I do support adult stem cell research. Embryonic? Not so much. I just don’t trust humanity to do the right thing. Harvesting embryos, cloning, selling body parts…give people an inch and they’ll take a mile. It sounds like this is another “follow the money” issue. Who really benefits here?
Now, harvesting organs - er, rather, donating them - is an entirely different matter. I’m always surprised at the reaction I get when I explain that on my license it clearly states that I will happily donate my organs. (I used to donate blood on a regular basis and I admit I’m long overdue on giving. I need to get off the stick and get back on a schedule. Jeez, I suck.)
Regarding my organs: Gut me like a fish! Filet me! Help yourselves - take seconds! Just make sure you incinerate the leftovers.
My only hope is that when I die they’re usable and can be harvested. I’m a big believer in recycling. Why toss it when someone might be able to use it? Yet when I tell people about wanting to have my body sliced and diced, then incinerated, it’s almost as if I’ve said, “I love Dick Cheney!” The looks on people’s faces - you can’t imagine.
I realize some are squeamish about these things or have religious or cultural beliefs about keeping the body intact, then placing it in the ground. Nope. I want to donate as much of me as possible, then be reduced to a small pile of ash. I don’t even care if I don’t end up in a tasteful urn. Fertilize a tree with my remains - who cares? Frankly, I don’t care what condition I’m in or in how many pieces when I’m incinerated. I’d just like the donation and incineration to occur after my death.
I fully expect to deal with illness, and if I’m diagnosed with a terminal one I’d be happy to be a guinea pig for science. Sure, I’ll try that pill or procedure - what the hell. Animals are brutalized in labs every day without consent - I’ll let myself be experimented on if I can spare a rat, monkey, or dog.
After all, the end result is always the same. I need to move on to make room for someone else. We all do. As “Dear Leader” would say: “It’s inevit…inevitabre.”
Dear Leader? Now that’s reeeeeaaaaally scary! (Happy Halloween and double-decker MoonPies for all!)
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