March 24

 

I've been struggling with a way to write about Terri Schiavo, since she's so much at the forefront of everyone's minds these days. What's happening with her life, such that it is has created a battle that I simply can not wrap my brain around. For those who haven't been reading me since way back when, you might not know what happened to my sister in law, and for you, I'll repeat the story because it fits right now.

Tina was my best friend. When I moved to Connecticut, I didn't drive. I didn't have a job, and I'd said goodbye permanently to the people I knew in New York. I was shitty to them, they were shitty to me, I thought it was best to just start again what with my new husband and my new life and my new everything. Nick comes from a huge family--he's the youngest of 9 brothers and sisters. Tina was the wife to Nick's closest brother, and from the moment I met her, I knew that I'd never know anyone like her again. Tina invited people into her life, she offered them everything she had. She lived to make strangers and family and friends comfortable and welcome. Tina was my wheels when I didn't drive, she was my box of wine and laughter on the porch during the summer. She was an amazing person and I could never, even after all these years of trying, do justice to her life and her impact on me.

She got pregnant for the second time, almost 10 years after her first son was born. Her pregnancy was without incident. She gave birth to Noah via c-section, and he was beautiful. She had some pregnancy induced hypertension, controlled with medication. She was sent home about a week later. About two weeks after that (and forgive me, I don't remember the exact dates now, but at the time, and for a few years following, they were burned into my mind) her friend was giving her a ride to the doctor for Noah's, when she complained of a thunderclap headache and slumped over. The woman driving her--and I never knew who it was--realized that something very bad was happening, and took her to the emergency room.

I'd spoken with her on the phone the previous evening, and we'd made tentative plans to see each other over the next day or two, and I was bored at work so I rang her up. No answer. I called again and again over the course of the day, forgetting about the appointment. At about 2:30, another sister in law called and said, through her tears, "Something happened to Tina, I think she's dying".

I don't remember how I found where she was or honed in on my brother in law, but I remember standing in the hall when the doctor came out to speak with the family, and I'm sure we all nodded like we had some way to comprehend the information we were being given, and I know he spoke at great length and with great detail about what had happened to her and the only words I remember, and can still hear him saying are "Catastrophic brain aneurysm" and "destroyed cerebral cortex".

A cerebral cortex can not heal itself. It can not rewire in the face of injury the way some parts of the brain can. The cerebral cortex is the largest part of the brain, responsible for higher functions, such as language and information processing. Tina didn't medically die there that day, but make no mistake about it, Tina died. The woman I knew, the woman who got tipsy on wine at a family party and dropped a pork roast onto the floor and then just picked it up and stuck it right back on the plate and served it with a smile; she was gone immediately.

At first, you hold out for a miracle. Because they happen, you know? You read about some poor schmuck who wakes up from a coma 20 years later, wondering why hair metal isn't popular anymore and not knowing his 24 year old daughter. It happens. As time passes, you lose hope.

Tina was moved from the hospital to a nursing home after a month or two when it became obvious that she was in a persistent vegetative state. That she reacted to pain only sometimes. That she'd open her eyes if someone was in the room, but never on command. I was reading to her aloud, because you never want to admit that you feel a little stupid carrying on a cheery conversation with the soulless body of a person you're struggling to recognize as someone you loved dearly and who will never--never answer you back, no matter how much you wish it to be and pray for it to be and it will never happen because remember, a cerebral cortex can not fix itself. Anyway, I was reading to her aloud and her eyes flew open--for the first time since the aneurysm--and she fixated on me. I was mortally terrified because you may never see the eyes of a living dead person, you may hear about it in the movies or you may read about it but until you see it in the flesh you will never truly understand what it's like. It was the stare of utter zero. It was the look of someone's lights never going back on.

In the nursing home, we all knew that she wouldn't get better. Sure, she opened her eyes and made noises sometimes, terrible noises that a living, functioning human should and do not make. People came in and prayed over her. They placed her newborn in her tight arms, trying to unpry her fisted hands thinking that a mother's love would surely be just the thing to snap her out of it.

She was being fed through a tube and breathing on her own and one day, after saying simply "It's time", my brother in law decided that she should be moved to hospice. They disconnected the tube and one night about two weeks later, hospice called when I was over at the house. I drove him to hospice while Nick watched the kids and we got there moments before she died-gently, painlessly, and with as much dignity as a wasted life would allow.

It's ironic really, that after all the years Terri Schiavo has been in the news that I chose to write about it today, since today is the anniversary of Tina's death, which I must confess I'd all but forgotten until I really thought about it. As I see the terribly edited images Terri's family allow us to see I wonder how it would be to have to live in a forever state of limbo, without ever having closure or ever being able to mourne and I wonder how they can believe that letting the body of their daughter go could be anything but a good idea. I think what my brother in law chose to do as a last deed for his wife took unspeakable courage, respect and love for her. He gave us the power and the ability to celebrate the life of a woman who touched everyone she met.

Funny, when I set out to write what I thought, I started off very angry with the Schindler family and how they're handling everything and I ended up being sad. To be sure, I believe they're doing the wrong things for the wrong reason, but I don't believe they're evil people. I simply believe that we have a different outlook on what being alive really means. In their hearts, behind closed doors, they must know that a cerebral cortex can not heal and that their daughter was lost to them 15 years ago, the same way I knew with Tina the moment her eyes locked with mine, and I'm thankful it didn't take my family 15 years to figure it out.

 

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