Becki Snow: The Schiavo Chronicles |
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TERRI SCHIAVO TO DIE IN ATTORNEY'S DEATH FACTORY ?
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Undercover Investigation reveals the truth - hubby's attorney was Chairman of the Board for "Hospice", and Terri WILL die while in the hospice's "care"...
Author's note: new items posted daily, below lead story
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Saturday, March 25, 2006
And so this blog must close as it began - with the story of Terri Schiavo. Much will be written about her; she is important, not because she died, but because she lived. Her legacy is being written even now, as people around the world discuss the nature of life and death. Are there those who abhore her? Certainly. There will always be those who scorn the muted voices of suffering, there will always be those who mock the moaning of those less fortunate. Still, she lives. They could not stand her life, but in her death Terri Schindler Schiavo became what the culture of death most fears: a martyr. This is the measure of God in us - in our weakness, His will becomes known. May God have mercy on us all, even as we have mercy on each other... Monday, May 23, 2005
The Moment I Knew She Was My Bestest Friend It wasn't while we were shopping, or riding in the car telling giggly stories about men. It wasn't even when we shared labor stories. Rather, it was all in one little nod of the head. I managed to find my way into a church this Sunday morning. "O-ho! Miss Becki ain't churched!" some may chortle. Au contraire, mon frere, I have been churched to yonder and back. I am just presently, shall we say, a disillusioned wanderer. But my Beautiful Friend - who just happens to also be a preacher's wife - asked if I'd like to come to her church social. Why sure I would! Just because I happen to currently reside at the corner of Darkness and Isolation does not mean that I don't like to go to church socials, especially when minor league baseball is involved. Going to services prior to said sporting event is not a problem with me - God is not the source of my bitterness, but rather dulled-down religion is my big beef; so I don't mind at all when a genuine attempt at worship takes place. I just can't stand it when religion takes the place of God in church. But I digress... It was all so - so - set up. God's big ol' giant fingerprints were so all completely over this little shindig, it wasn't even funny. I sat through a lovely church service and then meandered into the Sunday School service where Beautiful Friend makes her presence known each Sunday. Being a Preacher's wife, there is a certain amount of expectation of decorum and social conformity required of her. I respect this. Don't let anyone fool you into thinking that left-leaning mainline Churches scrutinize their Leaders and Leaders' Significant Others (LSO's) any less than right-wing Bible-thumping churches do; left-leaning churches just do it with more acceptable terminology. But Beautiful Friend has no such problems in this church. She is consummately graceful, socially adept, politically sensitive and tactful. In short, she is everything I am not. Still, she allows me to hang out in her calming presence even though she knows about all my adventures in activism. In return I try to behave when I visit her church, because she is my Beautiful Friend and I don't want her church to think that she's nearly as looney as I am. Ergo, I do not speak about blogs, or activism, or anything else which may taint her reputation as a young woman of intelligence, moderation and style. All that changed when my husband and I walked into Beautiful Friend's Sunday School Class - and the subject was Advanced Directives. Oh now, surely God set this up. I mean, we didn't even start with a prayer. Instead, Sunday School Class started with an announcement that today's subject would be end-of-life issues "like the Schiavo case" and a Living Will hand-out. I found it a little unsettling that my first apre'-Schiavo visit to church revolved around this particular subject. Oh well. I resolved to hunker down for the sake of Beautiful Friend. However, I did manage to discreetly hiss at her. "You set me up. You knew about this!" "No I didn't - I swear." Beautiful Friend hissed back. My husband gave me a reproachful pat on the shoulder - that sort of "now, now, we don't want to be burned at the stake" sort of pat that let me know he'd really like to go somewhere without a political discussion breaking out. Fine. The race to hide my radical religious nature was on. I was glorious in my temperance. My comrades in activism would have been so stunned to see me nodding sympathetically in tandem with the roomful of upper-middle-class suburban liberals and moderates. Oh, I could tell there were a few reformed evangelicals in there; a few wanly smiling souls clutched Bibles and muttered under their breath: "must...mention...Jesus...during...Sunday school...must...discuss...sanctity of life...naw, too evangelical. Must...mention...golf game..." Still, I did not out myself. I made it through an hour of thoughtful, non-religious discussion of end-of-life issues without once mentioning what I had seen or done in Florida. I was triumphant in my self-confidance that God would require nothing of me during this visit, except perhaps to catch a foul ball during the baseball game afterwards. Wrong. The Sunday School Moderator shifted the subject to denial of food and water. The consensus, the Moderator pitched, was that none of us could really speak of it - "...after all, none of us really knows what it's like to go without food and water for that long. Doctors say..." Suddenly, I stiffened. The words were starting to come out of my mouth, and I was fighting them with everything I had - but I felt that God had other plans in mind. In resignation, I turned to Beautiful Friend. I gaped helplessly, then whispered aside to her: "Is it okay?" She simply smiled and nodded her head. Never have I had a more overwhelming feeling of tolerant acceptance; she knew I could not remain silent in the face of such a blatant spiritual challenge. And yet - and yet - here I was, her publically avowed friend in the midst of intellectuals and moderate liberals, about to become once again the unfathomable firebrand of unpopular causes. She simply smiled and nodded. I would like to say that I was eloquent in speaking from the experience I had during my hunger strike for Terri Schiavo. I would like to say that God used me to change hearts and minds with my powerful words and empathetic imagery. But rather, the most eloquent and moving voice that day was not mine. It was that nod, that amazing, openly accepting nod from my friend which turned out to be the Voice of a Loving God. This day, a Loving God accepted me with open arms through one nod from my bestest, Beautiful Friend... Sunday, May 08, 2005
Yea, Though I Walk ThroughThe Valley of the Shadow of U-Haul... Ahem... I noticed I haven't really posted in a while - if anyone actually missed me, I'm sorry. I've been rather busy with moping about a dead cat. And moving. Neither one particularly excites me; well, the MOVED part excites me. There may be horses in the future, or possibly shetland sheep for spinning wool. But for now, there is only the incessant moaning that accompanies such an endeavor. That moaning is coming from me. I HATE packing. Ack. Did I really need all this stuff? Am I truly able to say that I needed three exquisitely enamelled brass goldfish from Chinatown? Yes. I need it - I just don't know what for yet. But I'm going to find something to need it for, by gor. I'm going to find a reason to need the things I need. About a million pounds of my furniture and clothing has already been donated to the homeless shelter. I could sell it all, but I figured that the homeless could my clothes and furniture more than my neighbors need them. Still, I really really want to keep my most ridiculous gee-gaws and I just can't bear to part with them. Vases, glass unicorns, tiny depression glass plates - they are all essential to life. If we have to get rid of anything, let's get rid of the cookware instead... Thursday, April 21, 2005
Gracie Was Sufficient For Me In the end, love was all I could offer. To hold Gracie's face in my hands, and have her look into my eyes was painful - and yet, I would not have not been there. To whom would she have looked to, had I not been there? For it was my eyes she searched at the last, crying out to stop death from coming. She did not want to die, and I did not want her to die. But she was to die, as is the way of all of us; and if she had to die, I wanted to stay with her until she had passed that ultimate physical gauntlet. I did not want her to wonder why her friend had abandoned her in this, her final moment. Even at the very end, even as her soul was fleeing, she was in full cognizance. As she was entering the gates of death and passing through the pain, it was my face her face sought, my eyes her eyes sought, my soul her soul wanted. She looked to me and called out to me to save her. But I cannot give life, not matter how hard I try. I can only give this beautiful creature back to the God who gave her to me, and pray that I have given even half to her what she gave to me. I could only give love. In the end, it is enough to give love; to go through the pain of knowing we cannot be God, we can only be human, as we were created to be... In the end of all things, I was only able to give love; but love was all Gracie had ever given me. Love was enough; I never expected Gracie to be anything other than Gracie. I only expected her to be the cat God had created her to be. I know in my heart that Gracie never wanted more than my love from me - and the physical manifestations of that love - for it is love that is the greatest gift any human can give. It is what she had always wanted, and it was all I could give in the end. In that end, I pray that my love - God's Love poured out of a human vessel - was sufficient for Gracie. For this I can truly say: God's Gracie was sufficient for me. Wednesday, April 20, 2005
A Cat and Her Boy My son and my cat are both asleep now in my room. My little cat is laboring to breathe now, but with a measure of peace. She is lying stretched out, dog-like, absorbing the warmth of the heating pad in her crate. Last night there was an painful moment for her, unknown in origin; then, as if God himself brought cessation of the pain, she dropped immediately into a deep sleep. I truly feared what I would find when I rose, but this morning Gracie awoke purring once again. Her memory of the pain is mercifully brief, and for that I am grateful. My son, on the other hand, awoke wondering about the new Pope, and was pleased to see a full computer animation of the process on CBS. Of special interest was the explanation of the smoke signals and door-openings. If he could have purred, he would have; he seems to be pleased with the selection of Cardinal Ratzinger, mainly because he likes the New Pope's old name. I just adore the pomp and ceremony; it makes the passing of a person more bearable to have rituals in place, to have a continuity to life. Masses will be said, names retired, new popes put in place. Now, if only we could have such a system in place for kitties. Perhaps the common element of ritual resides mainly in our intense awkwardness following the passing of a beloved pet. We mourn so deeply, and yet we feel we must explain to our friends why it is we mourn... At least with the passing of a Pope, there is closure and a lovely ceremony. With the passing of a pet, there is only the lonely planning, followed by excruciating grief in the backyard. But for now, grief is held in check. I still have my little cat; she is nestled, not too far from her little boy. They are both asleep in my room, at peace. I am praying for a pain-free night for Gracie, and a bright tomorrow for my son. Sometimes life is distilled to it's most simple elements... Thursday, April 14, 2005
FORCEDTODIE.COM Over the last few years, many of us working to save Terri Schindler's (formerly Schiavo) life have met so many people whose elderly or disabled loved ones were forced to die at the hands of unscrupulous institutions or uncaring guardians. For anyone - including me - who has had a good experience with caring hospice workers and thoughtful nurses, this is disturbing. For those of us who have family members who are or were in the medical profession, it is particularly horrific. In response to this outcry, a website is being created as a clearing house for stories and information about this growing tragedy. The hope is to help avert such tragedies in the future. The website, "Forced To Die" is being put together now. Even though the site is not yet up, the Webmistress (Tennessee Tammy) is now seeking submissions and testimonials. As per Tammy's email this morning:
The stories Terri's supporters have heard from you all regarding unwanted euthanasia and forced deaths are compelling. Perhaps through this new website, the whole world will hear what you all have been telling us... Cat - A Blog: Catnip Tea and Tuna It is strange to say the least, but as Gracie's body fades, her purring is growing louder. It is a purr different than any I have heard from her before - rather like a motor missing a valve, and very amiable. Of course, this may be because of the premium-grade organic catnip: bruised, steeped, and mixed with Pedialyte and tuna-water to make a fine tea - for kitties, that is. It seems to be the only thing that entices her - Hill's expensive canned cat food is of course snubbed. But even the catnip and tuna is no longer getting her attention as much as it did... she is dreaming of somewhere else. She has taken up quarters on the window sill, ensconsed in a nest of old towels and throw pillows I have provided. Every cat loves clean laundry. There, in the warm sunlight, she looks as if she were carved from alabaster - all her skin is now completely white, even her once-pink nose. Her ears and the pads of her feet now feel cool, even when the sun is shining directly on her; I will plug in a heating pad and place it under her to provide her with extra warmth. But even as she palely fades, she purrs when petted. The body may be dying, but Gracie's spirit is alive and well... Tuesday, April 12, 2005
Just A Cat I will be very busy for the next few days, caring for the dying - in this case, my darling cat Gracie. This afternoon, I have learned that my beautiful friend, my ball of gray and white fur will die of feline leukemia over the next week or so, slowing fading at the cellular level. Thin already and dehydrated, I thought at first she was just depressed because I had gone on my Florida crusade - but when I saw the white tongue I knew that it was much worse than I had anticipated. So we have visited the vet, and we have learned that their is no help for our little cat. Gracie is one of the unfortunate cats, who having had his disease all her life, suddenly succumbs to it and will die soon from the anemia. Unable to feed herself or drink water, she will die in a most awful and torturous way - unless I help her. She will still die if I take it upon myself to syringe-feed her - but it will be far more comfortable and loving to feed her and hydrate her until she at last passes. She's just a cat. But if you truly love cats, you know that is one of the highest compliments any being can bestow upon another. In all her felinity, Gracie is one of the most humble kitties I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. But above all, she is a Nurse Cat. You may have known a Nurse Cat in your time; they are the ones who may be rather shy, perhaps even capricious in their attention of their humans. In Gracie's case, her propensity for flopping down in the middle of the doorway to cause people to fall all over her is her favored method of demonstrating love. But once someone does fall - or falls sick - it is the Nurse Cat which stays by the patient until all is well or all is done. Gracie is the consummate Nurse Cat, and she frequently knows someone is sick before the patient even knows. It was she and our canine cocker companion, the beautiful red-haired Mercy, who piled upon me in love and warmth throughout nine months of pregnancy confinement; they were the ones who day after day cheered me with their love and warmed my feet until at last my son was born. Mercy has gone home, these two years gone by. Now Gracie is joining her, and I can only watch - and comfort. It is messy and inconvenient to administer Pedialyte and mashed canned food to a cat who only wishes to lie upon my pillow now and sleep. It is also a right and a good thing to do so, to lie beside her in her sickness as she did for me. It is the way of God to hold her in my arms, to give her the warmth she gave to me, and to administer cool water to her parched throat as she sleeps her way back home to the God who made her. I know where she is going. I have no doubt that this creature, just a cat, is beloved of God. When I follow down that Path someday, I expect to trip over a white and gray ball of fur lying across the threshold of heaven - and it will be just a cat. My cat. And, as always, I shall pick Gracie up and we will enter the kingdom of God together... Saturday, April 09, 2005
Terri Schiavo's Legacy: Mae Magouirk Saved from Starvation Mae Magouirk -the 81-yr-old woman who was scheduled to die by starvation in a Georgia hospice - has instead been airlifted out of Hospice Lagrange, and is now receiving IV fluids and nourishment. Her life is a tribute to the power of Terri Schiavo's story... From Ken Mullinax, via HyScience:
READ MORE AT HyScience: In the end, it was Terri Schiavo who saved Mae Magouirk's life. Thanks should be given to God, and also to the Schindlers, who would not let Terri be murdered quietly. Because of their fight for Terri's life, another person has been saved. Congratulations to all those who love Mae Magouirk, and to all who value life. Because of your efforts, an innocent woman will not die this horrible death... Friday, April 08, 2005
GRANNY MUST DIE! Apparently the government - and some families - now believe that women should be put to death when their quality of life impinges on the quality of life of their family. What a stunning revelation; I thought we had women's rights in this country. You remember women's rights, don't you? That elusive state where we all would accept our flaws and wrinkles with grace and dignity? Where, regardless of age or status, women would be valued for more than just their contributions to hearth and home? Where women would be revered as we entered our old age, to be met with respect for our civil rights and our needs? Oh, that. Right... I'm waiting for the feminists to jump at this one. Yessirree BOB, they are going to be all over this one! A woman should only be allowed to live if their children or spouses think they should? A woman is owned by her husband or her progeny? Wooo, thank God that the women's rights put an end to this stupidity! One can almost hear them singing "I am Woman, Hear Me Roar" as thousands upon thousands of screaming dykes on bikes storm Hospice LaGrange, ready to set the oppressed Womyn of the World free from their court-ordered starvations! Oh wait, my bad. That wasn't the Women's Rights groups I heard; that wasn't the Left shrieking for human rights - that was just those right-wing wing-nuts from the Terri Schiavo case. Well then. Must not be that important. Women of the World, untie! As in, your apron strings - take off your workduds, all you worn-out wenches, and march yourselves right into the gas chambers this minute. Women, you are only allowed to live if your families deem you worthy. So says Beth Gaddy, the granddaughter of Mae Magouirk: "I think it’s time she (her grandmother) goes home to Jesus, that’s she’s too sick and would not have a good quality of life." Oh surely this is made up. Oh surely no one would ever say that about their dear granny who cared for them in sickness, who made them cookies and gave them dollies? Why sure they would. What good is the old hag if she can't tie shoes and lick the shoelaces for her family? Die, Granny. Your time is up, B****. According to the LaGrange News: “I think all of Mrs. Magouirk’s family has her genuine best interests at heart, but unfortunately they disagree on what they believe would be best for her,” said Jack Kirby of LaGrange, attorney for the patient’s brother and sister. READ MORE FROM The LaGrange News Well now, this certainly puts things into perspective around here. I better get busy earning some bacon and frying it up in a pan, or else my dearly beloved hubby and kiddos may think I'm not up to the task anymore. If I don't want to be starved to death, I better get my "biscuits in the oven and my buns in the bed" as per Kinky Friedman's song. God only knows what they'll do to me if the floor isn't waxed with my own personal sweat. Then again, I wouldn't have so much to do if my Mother wasn't on that oxygen machine. The old slacker. I don't think she exactly hauling her weight around here like she used to - and God knows her antique Bedroom set would look much better with me in it. What use does an old woman have for nice things like that when her quality of life is suffering so? Perhaps it's time to take Mom down for a little "checkup" at the local hospice... Yes indeed - it is a brave new world. Regarding Mae Magouirk: Doing The Research... Yes, I'm following the Mae Magouirk story, and yes, I'm very interested. I also am trying to find a second source at this time: so far, I have not been able to confirm some key points. I always try to verify names and spellings of persons in my stories. So let me be boring for a minute when I say "Be patient, I'm working on it"... Yeah, I might miss the scoop on a story or two. But others are doing an admirable job of covering World Net Daily's story on this one - I'll just do record searches in the background for any additional information. I'd prefer to be right. In order to be right, I need verification on several key points in this story and so far I'm coming up blank on people who should have a paper trail behind them. I wonder why. Just a cynical thought, but, I wonder why I can't find a trace of some very important people in this story... Wednesday, April 06, 2005
I Thought It Felt A Little Chilly In Here Apparently H*ll froze over, because Tom Delay and Susan Sarandon are on the same side of the Terri Schindler (formerly Schiavo) issue: According to the St. Petersburg Times: Radio talk show host Glenn Beck, who in recent years has supported the Schindlers' fight to keep Schiavo alive, stopped repeatedly to wipe away tears as he spoke to the congregation. Now I'm just waiting for Bill Maher, Mark Morford, and the rest of the critical press to publicly apologize for labeling Susan Sarandon and Jesse Jackson as"right-wing nutcases" when they lumped them in with the rest of Terri Schindler's supporters. Hillary Clinton will not be pleased to find out she is a part of her own Vast Right Wing Conspiracy (TM)... Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Such A Pleasant Homecoming I would have written sooner, but I have been recovering from recovering from my Florida adventure. The trip home was mainly punctuated by the deep desire to just rest and attain spiritual healing. This desire was mitigated by the reality of my husband and me flying out into the yard at 2:30 AM to the tune of someone beating the wahoodie out of someone else's stoned relative passed out in our next-door neighbor's yard. Apparently the relatives in question did not want said stoned relative decorating their front yard with their physical presence; ergo, the hair yanking and kicking which accompanied besotted, befuddled cries during the wee hours. Yes, I try to stop neighborhood beatings in progress, so running a societal intervention in Florida is not really a stretch for me. It was a little tense there for a while. If I'm going to get in the middle of a fight, I like to make sure that edged weapons or lead-flinging apparatuses are not in use. Fortunately, the end result was much more favorable than I originally anticipated - no one died or got shot. Yay for homecomings! I told my whole family thank you so much for not greeting me with a passed-out stoner relative or a beating. I am so profoundly grateful, I think I will go pass out in my front yard... Thursday, March 31, 2005
Breaking Fast, Body and Soul When the end came, it was an achingly poigniant way to break fast. I arrived at Hospice shortly after Terri's death. Do not expect tears from me at a funeral; I never cry at a funeral. I am the one running around in the background, helping people with their wheelchairs, taking water to old folks, making sure that people are greeted at the door. There will always be time for crying later. So I approached this day - not with tears, but with a determination find some job to do. I came upon Catholic Mass in progress, and at the helm was Father Melanowski. This is a man's man, a tall white-haired military Chaplain who served bravely in combat during the Korean War. Hale and fiesty at 82, he has been Terri's Priest, and if I were ever to become Catholic this man would be the reason. He's the kind of man who makes you believe in priests again. He and I have known each other for years, and even though he knows I am not Catholic, he never hesitates to bless me and call me by name. I confessed to him this week that I am truly a sinner, and yet he still seems ever caring, ever understanding. His support and concern for me throughout this hunger strike has been unwavering, so I am profoundly grateful to him. Upon seeing him, I fell to my knees and joined the service, in the grass in front of what used to be Terri's earthly prison. It was lovely, the meditative rhythms of the Aves rising above the reality of passing trucks and strolling passers-by. Then the Bread and the Wine were adored, and it was time to partake of the Eucharist - for everyone but me. I have never minded that; the belief that the Body and Blood of Christ are sacred and not to be taken lightly is more important than my need to feel included. When attending a Catholic mass, I simply cross my hands over my chest and bow my head so that the priest may give me a blessing rather than the Sacrament, thus avoiding any irreverance on my part. I prepared myself as Father Melanowski drew near, making the sign for him to pass even though I knew that he would merely bless me as he had so often before. The sign was merely to let others know I was refusing communion out of respect for their beliefs, not because of any lack of desire on my part. Father Melanowski held up the host, and the sun shone through it. He pointed at me. I whispered to the man beside me "I think he means you". "No", the man whispered back, "he wants you". Had the Father forgotten? Perhaps the stress had caused him to forget; I did truly want the sacrament, and it was plain from my expression that I longed for the comfort of Communion with God. None were there to give me this comfort from any other church, so I had no where else to turn. But I was afraid of making any mistake; I once again bowed my head, crossed my arms and patted visibly, so he might see it clearly. Father Melanowski now stepped directly in front of me, and he bent down from the full six feet two to put himself directly in front of me. He looked into my eyes: we've been through the fire together, haven't we friend? We have been witness and we are changed forever... "I know" he spoke with great tenderness. "This is for you - in memory of Terri". I opened my mouth, speechless, and he place the wafer upon my tongue. It was then I leaned forward in disbelief and gratitude; in a moment of sadness, I had been given a great blessing. Still kneeling, I hid my face in the green grass and finally wept. The fast was ended. Denied Last Visit By Family, Terri Schiavo Dies According to the word of the almighty god Michael Schiavo, the Schindlers will never see Terri again in this world. They did not know that their last visit with Terri was dictated not by the hand of God, but by the will of her husband. I knew that my last words to my father were my last words. His last words to me, whispered over the phone in a haze of morphine, are held in my heart like gold. I was not allowed to be at his side when the end finally came - I was held hostage by a pregnancy gone berserk, and rules I was told I could not break. Had my father even seen my face, I was told, it worry him so I would make him angry with my presence. I was not even to see his funeral; I went into labor that morning, and gave birth as the service for my Father had just started... The empty hole in the heart is never filled. Now the Schindlers grieve, knowing they were denied that last chance to see their daughter before death. Michael Schiavo and Hospice have taken away everything they can from Terri Schiavo; now they have taken away love, however far off and faint that might be. The love that comes from a mother's hand to a child's face, the smell of a father's aftershave, the last kiss of sister and brother... And so Terri dies - surrounded by police, freshly watered flowers at her feet, thirsting to death under the gaze of strangers. Sans food, sans water, sans mercy... may God have mercy on our souls. Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Hunger Strike - THE BLOG: Dispassionate Discharge of Duty  This is what it has come to: the courts dragged Bob and Mary Schindler to Atlanta, then rejected the case based on the idea that it was "time for dispassionate discharge of duty". A duty to what? To kill a bedridden disabled woman? What the **** kind of duty is that? It's so alliterative, so rhythmic, one almost forgets to ask the question at hand: a duty to whom? A duty to courts? A duty to judges? To whom? For what? Why? Suddenly we are told that this is our duty, to kill Terri Schiavo - who left no written directive - purely at the behest of her husband. It is our duty to kill her so her "husband" may now marry the woman he has lived with and fathered children with for almost ten years. It is our duty to starve and dehydrate to death this woman, who cannot speak for herself, so she will no longer haunt our TV screens with her withered and tortured image. This is now our duty - not to defend the weak and protect the innocent, but to kill this woman by the most brutal means possible. This is our duty. It has been a long hard day. I arrived at hospice at 4:30AM, with my sleeping bag in tow. The boredom of not having anything to ingest besides low-calorie Gatorade, Pedialyte and water is starting to really get to me. The fatigue is becoming more insidious, and it must be addressed earlier in the day. Stomach troubles are starting to become more pronounced; people here have made it known that I could quit now and no one would mind. Still, the hunger strike continues, but not because it serves any media purpose any longer... I started this hunger strike because I wanted to find out for myself if the doctors and experts were lying about the "painless nature" of this procedure. I wanted to share my findings with others so that the truth might be known. In the course of this experiment, I found that the "experts" were lying. I have educated myself and others, and I know what is true within my own experience. In all honestly, the experiment has done what it was called to do - I could just as easily start eating tonight, were it not for the fact that I cannot in good conscience do it. I feel as if the hunger strike is something required of me, a promise to hold fast to the end - no matter what the end may be. Let it come, and to **** with all those who feel they must "dispassionately discharge" their "duty" of killing an innocent woman... I have a duty of my own. Federal Court Rules to Consider Petition By Schindlers In the dead of night, we get a ray of hope... a thin one, but we are entering the 13th day without food or water for Terri Schiavo. This in itself is a miracle - the woman who, on the testimony of her husband, wanted to die is fighting to live. It is miraculous in itself that she has survived this long; if she had really wanted to be dead, she would have died days ago. While they are fighting about the feeding tube, they should insert an IV NOW. There is no reason to wait until the court rules for the feeding tube - instead, the should start her immediately on fluids until the petition is heard. No, it DOESN'T hurt to have an IV drip inserted, and it doesn't hurt to receive fluids after days of dehydration. You know what hurts? Starving and thirsting to death. We don't execute criminals while awaiting an appeal, and we should halt the execution of Terri Schiavo until we know the outcome of her hearing. God bless Jesse Jackson - I wonder if he had a hand in this. I'm going back out to the Hospice tonight with my sleeping bag and pillow. I'm camping out with those saying the rosary. It is a good time to pray and reflect in the wee hours, with only the police dogs and the flood lights and the occasional photographer to keep me company. Not that there's anything wrong with that... Tuesday, March 29, 2005
It's Not The Meat, It's the Humidity  Now that Operation Dehydration is officially over, I can say without a doubt in my mind that the lack of water is the key to pain. While I'm still on Hunger Strike, the maladies of the last week have disappeared, leaving only the fatigue and occasional nausea in it's place. Looking back, the dehydration caused terrible headaches, cramps, and pain. Most distressing to me is the change in cognitive ability and personality. I just have to read the posts to see how it made me into a much more submissive, weepy person. Not to mention it really mauled my writing. Ack. Now I know this: dehydration is brutal, it's barbaric, and no one should be forced to die this way, in pain. Oooh, Terri doesn't feel pain, you say. Well, even on the off chance that you are wrong about the pain, let us not forget the thousands of people who have died this way in nursing homes and hospices who have happened to be able to feel pain just fine, thank you. Their only crime was, they were old and in the way of a fat inheritance. My new handler, Marcy, watch her own mother died this way after a relative seized her power of attorney, and her story is gruesome beyond words. Her mom died in her arms after 14 days of Hell on Earth, moaning for water. Even though Marcy wanted to care for her mother, and her mother wanted to live, it made no difference. Once the authorities have determined that you need to die, you will die. Terri's is the test case for going legal with this process, since she left no living will, and no one really knows what she wants. It's not just about her - it's about all of us. But no one will stop the process once it starts, ya know; it's painless, ya know, right? The Doctors say so. I guess Doctors are gods now, they are able to read minds and be all right all the time. Sure. Speaking of which, have you read Felos' comments in his book "Litigation as Spiritual Practice" from Blue Dolphin Publishing? He claims that he can communicate with the souls of disabled women, and they cry out to him for their own deaths. Yeah baby, that's professionalism for you. I had no clue, but my husband called me yesterday to tell me my picture was in the Denver Post. I'm really surprised it didn't get edited out - I have a face for radio, and I've never had any delusions about that. I wish I could say that the camera doesn't like me, but in reality, nope, I really look like that. I'll live. Anyhow, I had gone out by myself about 2:30AM, just leaning against the fence post and praying when I heard a noise next to me. I looked to see the photographer from the St. Petersburg Times. He was very nice to me and asked to take my picture, but it's a little uncomfortable when one is praying. But he said, "Just keep doing what you're doing" and so I closed my eyes and went back to praying as best I could. But it's a little hard when a camera's going click click. It just feels wrong, like one should hide one's face or something. So I turned my head - and that's the pic he chose. I just saw the picture. It's very nice, but for some reason it looks like I'm trying to force my way through the fence. Yeehaw, I'm coming in... Anyhow, it makes me a little uncomfortable. I've been hiding down at the ends now to hide and pray, because I don't want to be a hypocrite and pray for a camera. I'm still praying for Terri, just hidden away where I hope God is the only one who sees me. Yes, I'm still praying. God hears me, and that's what I'll lean on until this terrible process comes to it's conclusion - whatever that may be. We're going down to Hospice as soon as Jesse Jackson gets finished there. He showed up today and I'm grateful for the support; I just don't want to jump into the middle of the media circus. I heard that Ken Melman of the GOP is coming to Florida today, too - not to come and plead for Terri's life, but to plead for money at some fundraiser. Hypocrites. I'd rather be an idiot hoping to save some woman's life, than to be a fat cat eating a solid gold dinner with the GOP... Got Rage? You might want to try this... Netdisaster.com I visited the GOP website, and I have to say: I feel better already. Atheists for Terri, And Other Righteous Souls Some of the nicest people on this planet came to our little vigil today, as they have many days this past week and a half. A little old man and woman, gimme caps and sneakers, all sweet and gray and docile looking. Looking at them, you'd think, "Southern Baptist, Republican, conventional. I think I'll ask them to direct me to the local John Birch Chapter". Proceed at your own risk - you have been warned... The Mitchells are FLAMING liberals, total atheists and rabid Democrats. Not to mention they have wicked ninja skills. Mess with Mom Mitchell, and she will turn you into dog food; Dad Mitchell will just break you with his mind. They are also completely and totally on Terri's side. The juxtaposition of atheist, liberal and pro-Terri crashes journalists' mental harddrives. It literally drives them insane. Watching Mom Mitchell take apart a reporter is fun. They are not expecting her to go crazy-go-nuts all over them when they assume she's part of the "religious right" simply because she supports Terri Schiavo's right to live. I didn't know grannies knew that kind of language, but there it is. The air literally turns blue, and then Dad hauls out a load of literature and pictures and stuff, and by the time they finish with him, the reporter is just a quivering heap of suppositions. Mom and Dad Mitchell are both just awesome in every way. They simply do not give a rat's bohiney about what other people think they should think. I sit back, look at them, and think to myself: "if I ever turn into a flaming liberal atheist democrat, I want to be just like them." But if you want to see some heads explode, you should have seen what happened when the pro-weed, pro-Terri people showed up on day three... What's interesting is, these people get it. The libertarians and true liberals among us remember that this is actually about the kinds of things the left used to rant about all the time. Remember the "we're all special, we're all okay" mantra of the seventies and eighties? No, of course you don't you bunch of babies. Let's recap for all you whippersnappers out there. There was a time, see, when we used to think that everybody was valuable and everybody has rights and everybody should be allowed to live in peace with their own karma, yada yada yip. Everybody preached that, and then suddenly one day it was no longer cool to be handicapped or disabled or whatever the wahoodie you want to call it. Instead, it was hip to try to figure out how to kill oneself or one's friends whenever you wanted. It was an abrupt turnaround, fueled primarily by the ability to make money off of people stored in nice sterile warehouses. Suddenly, the traditional liberal viewpoint of "live and let live" has been drowned out by the corporate mentality designed to enforce the rules of those who will "live and let die". Pardon me if I fight back. What the heck. I now have enough water to fuel my rage, who need freekin' food anymore? I think Andrew (aka "DJ Quick Silver) said it best today. He's the techno-rave DJ who's pretty popular here in Florida; he just also happens to be quadriplegic. I had to fetch his smoothies today right before he tried to storm the police with his wheelchair and a cup of water. His take: "I have a right to live just as much as you people do". He was incredible today, and he spoke well for all of us - the right and the left, the abled and differently-abled alike. It takes all kinds in this campaign for human rights. Too bad nobody notices the normal people out here just doing their thing everyday. The religious right has their merits, true; but the non-religious left deserves just as much press and praise for being here as any of the rest of these people do. I think I'll take the Mitchells out to dinner when this is all over... Monday, March 28, 2005
In Defense of the Hunger Strike: The Art of Living Extremely There are those of you who wonder just what the **** I'm doing. This is for you. While many of us are busy doing nothing more than viewing life through a monitor all day long, there are a few of us who believe that life lived fully is better than life lived conventionally. For instance: If I wonder what it's like to bungee jump, I do it. If I wonder what it's like to hike into the mountains and live there without anything but what I can carry in a backpack, I do it. If I wonder what it's like to have a child without benefit of medications, I do it. (It's not THAT bad. But then again...) However, there are those among us who are timid, shy, unable to overcome their fear of experiencing pain or exhilaration or humiliation. They are the ones who, in their fear of defeat, never experience victory. They would much rather accept the opinions of experts who will tell them how it feels to bungee jump, or how beautiful the mountains are, or how wonderful it is to be fully aware when a child is born of your body. These people are not to be condemned - they help the world to turn upon it's axis in an orderly fashion, unhindered by the curiousity of exploration. I am not one of those people. Likewise, If I wonder what it's like to be starved and dehydrated to death, and if the experts are telling me that it's just such a marvelous experience, why on earth would I take their word for it? I'm all for authority, but these "experts" have none. They have never thirsted, they have hardly ever hungered, and they aren't going to tell me what it's like if they don't even have a clue. Since they seem so intent upon introducing this into our lives, I think it's a good thing to question authority and just try it out for myself, within reason. So to all those who are jumping bikes off mountain ridges and thrashing on their boards, I salute you. You of all people have a better understanding of the need to experience rather than accept other's opinions on matters. And to those who must accept opinions on matters, but are open to others' experiences, I thank you for reading my accounts. And to all those who think it's funny that some woman is trying to find out if the "authorities" are right on this one, I say - get out from behind your keyboards and question authority. Oh, and one other thing... Isn't it ironic that I've gone for 10 days on nothing but water, Pedialyte and propel, and I haven't had a "potassium imbalance" like Michael Schiavo claimed Terri did? Because surely you know by now, the doctors never did diagnose that as the cause of Terri's collapse. They had to make that diagnosis post facto based Michael Schiavo's accusation that Terri was bulemic. Strange. Question authority. Live extremely. Earthquake In Sumatra - 8.5 Just so you know: news coming out of Singapore is an 8.5 earthquake centered just off Sumatra in Indonesia has racked the place. That magnitude may rise, just like the last one did, and once again, this is a shallow quake. http://earthquake.usgs.gov/eqinthenews/2005/usweax/ Do NOT expect me to point to this and laugh as God condemning the world. I hate the suffering of innocents, and I've spent most of my life trying to ease suffering. I'm not going to laugh at anybody or suggest that God would kill people just because it's a fun thing to do after a weekend off. Pray to God these people head for the hills now. Suffering is suffering, whether it's a woman starving to death in a hospice or a child being swept away in India. If you want to see some wackjob dance and rejoice over someone's death, ask Michael Schiavo's supporters outside hospice, or ask the U.N. rep who stated after the last tsunami that the disaster would help bring down the local populations and restore the earth to it's natural ecological balance. And they say I'M a nut... UPDATE: TSUNAMI WARNING ISSUED From USGS: WARNING... THIS EARTHQUAKE HAS THE POTENTIAL TO GENERATE A WIDELY Hunger Strike - THE BLOG: I'm BACK  I'm finally close to rehydrated - it took three days of doing nothing but drinking water - and I'm mad. I'm tired of being a sweet suffering sister in Jesus. Now I'm a peeved-off suffering sister in Jesus who hasn't eaten in 10 days, and now that my brain is finally working again, I'm ready to rock and roll. The time for mourning is over. No, I'm probably not going to get arrested. I promised the man who paid the money to get me here - my husband - that I would not use his hard-earned dough to buy a degree at Our Lady of the Handcuffs University. I'm still waiting on God to act, and what God does is what God does. It's His field, He can play ball like he wants. But I can tell who's a wussy in this game, and it's not me. I'm doing what I was called to do, and if some sappy chick no-name chick like me can go ten days without food then some freekin' suit in a mansion can get on his phone and call his people to swoop in and take Terri out of here just like they did good ol' Elian Gonzales. Don't like it? Talk to Mr. Special Agent's Glock. Terri is in the throes of death, and I'm on the outside looking in - so it's time to say what needs to be said, without diplomacy or niceties. Goodbye, Passion week; let's rock and roll. Pedialyte = Ulp Pedialyte may be God's gift to dehydrated people, but I think perhaps it would be a better gift if it actually tasted good enough to swallow. Stay away from the clear stuff - it is reminiscent of baby spittooey. I just wanted to warn you. Maybe it's just the ten days of foodless wonder talking, but I'm not a fan. No offense to the Pedialyte people - if it weren't for those guys, I'd be lying in a demented heap on the ground. Not that it's really any different than the state I'm in now... When Writing Dies I have just noticed how wretched and purple my writing has become - not to mention unfun. Blame the hunger strike, plus the extraordinary atmosphere generated when an innocent person is gruesomely starved and dehydrated to death right before your eyes. Anyhow, so sorry - especially to all you fine folks from snuff and porn boards. If you've been with me from the beginning, I'll remind you - you were warned. The process has now reducing my writing skills to rubble, and my ability to type is totally whacked. I mean, I never claimed to be a great writer, but 10 days without food has pretty well sealed the deal. I am fried, and I've been honest about it. This is an experiment designed to let the world know that starving and dehydrating to death is not a painless process. I wish it were a little more upbeat, and I especially wish my ironic sarcastic hateful mode was in full play, because that's when my writing is best. Instead, I get some sort of weepy "look at Terri starving to death" mode, which is not "fun to read". Honestly, when one loves someone, how does one make that death "fun to read"? I can't. It's just not funny here. It's weird, and chaotic, and brutal, and sad - but it's just not funny. I can't make it "fun to read". Great - just when my readership is hitting new heights, I'm starving my brain and taking the worst photos of my life (none were ever any good, so that's no real loss). So be it. Welcome to real people mourning the government-ordered murder of a family member. Welcome to your world. Perhaps we'll all look back on this and laugh. Maybe then, when we're dying holed up in some god-forsaken room starving to death, it will finally be "fun to read"... Sunday, March 27, 2005
Jeb Bush: I Have No Powers Jeb has just plunged every state in the union into a constitutional crisis. According to the Associated Press: Bush told CNN on Sunday that he has done all he can in the case, as he has said for several days. Fine. Never again do I want to see this Governor, or any other Governor for that matter, give pardon or a stay of execution to prisoners. Bob Schindler, Terri's father, came out tonight and told a small group of us that Terri was looking surprisingly good, considering her condition. She still managed to smile through her cracked lips, and she responded positively when he told her about all the people that were here to fight for her right to life. This is a woman who has gone without food for 10 days now - and still she fights on. Terri wants to live. My hunger strike continues; My new handler, Marcy, is making sure that I stay hydrated, and is trying to convince me to rest more. I spend most of my day sitting down now - either in a chair to the side, but more likely in the cool grass where I may rub my bare feet against the green stalks and refresh my soul. Now that I am finally getting back to a hydrated state, I'm finding that the very worst thing about this stage of hunger is the general malaise and weakness of the extremeties, plus hunger pangs and nausea. The crash at the end of the day is swift acting and leaves me exhausted. On to the protests: things were once again heated and emotional today. "Not Dead Yet", the activist organization for the disabled, blocked the road with their wheelchairs. One young man, Zen, got out of his chair and lay down in the road. They became the lead story on most news stations and they were interviewed on MSNBC. Great press regarding civil rights for the disabled... The stations of the Cross were made in great ceremony outside hospice, and one young Orthodox Jewish Man walked silently up and down the sidewalk, his vestments and yarmulka testifying to his fevervent readings as he swayed to an unseen cantor. All around, the textures and rhythms of faiths of all flavors found welcome space on the now-muddy medians of Hospice. The cacophony of voices from all walks of life is at once overwhelming and gratifying, but many of us are wishing to avoid the "circus" atmosphere that so often accompanies protests. One young man was heckling the police, and was asked several times to stop by Terri's supporters - he finally settled down when Bobby Schindler asked him to keep it calm. It is of utmost importance that we remember we are supporting a woman and her family through a very dark time - it doesn't need to be made more stressful than it is by protestors. At the same time, proper protest and civil disobedience can make the difference, especially when it comes to pressuring the Governor. Unfortunately, this Governor is showing that he cannot be trusted; on Wednesday, he said he had the authority to take Terri Schiavo into custody. Today, he said he does not. This means I will never take his word for anything else ever, again. And if I can't trust a man, I can't support him in office... Awaiting A Miracle  The juxtaposition of the suffering of Terri Schiavo and the Week of The Passion is beyond coincidence, and it with greatest hope that I approach this day. Not because I expect life to be perfect, not because I expect the world to be good, but because God is God and nothing shall ever change that. Beyond the Pharisees, beyond the Corrupt Judges, beyond the weak Rulers, there is God. I await God now. Two of our worship leaders - pastors both - got arrested today while attempting to peacefully take a dying woman a drink of water. We shall see what else transpires today. Sometimes, late at night, I look across the beautifully landscaped lawn of Terri's prison and realize just how close we are to her. So close. I wish I could be an angel. I wish I could fly over the fence, above the police dogs, through the walls and into Terri's room, just to give her a little cup of water. But I have this body, rapidly diminishing though it may be, and it will not fly. I can only gaze across the garden, past the fountains flowing with water just outside Terri's window... Christ is Arisen. I await God. The Sun Shall Rise... and the first rays shall shine upon an empty tomb. We are awaiting the sunrise here, as we vigil outside of Terri's deathbed. The courts have turned away, and all that is left is the grace of God. I await the grace of God. Today's hunger strike was filled with the support of friends from all around the vigil. Today was very hot and muggy, and the tensions at Hospice Woodside are running hot. Everyone is extremely upset with Jeb Bush, as well as with his brother George Bush. We had several more peaceful arrests today, and many more who wished to join them. People are coming in from all over, and - regardless of what the press reported - the Schindlers did not ask for everyone to leave the Hospice permanently. Rather, they wanted them to take time to worship with their own families and then return for services later. I do not know why the press reported this so inaccurately. Terri's plight is sad and desperate. The Schindlers say she is approaching her final hours, and their wishes to have Terri receive Easter Communion were denied by the courts, again. Her priest was turned away by the hospice, and she will receive no holy wafer or wine for her last rites... Tennessee Tammy had to go home finally, and I was very sad to see her go. I have a new "handler" Marcy, who is officially responsible for making sure that I am not dead or passed out under a tree somewhere - at least once an hour. I had a very rough morning, followed by a better afternoon, and ended with exhaustion. Nausea and cramping is becoming more common. I believe that a fast that is accompanied by plenty of water might be less painful, but without adequate water, it becomes a painful endeavor. I will post before leaving for Easter Services at the Hospice tomorrow. Pray for Terri, and may God have mercy on all our souls... Saturday, March 26, 2005
Hunger Strike - THE BLOG: The Jackals Descend...  The Hunger Strike continues, and all is not well. I am so tired and frequently weak, and it is probably a good thing, or there would be violence from me toward's Michael Schiavo's supporters. Yesterday the Jackals descended to circle the expected carcass of Terri Schiavo. Of the four or five of them, many were drunk as they swayed, loudly singing songs, dancing while holding signs stating "Terri's Brain Dead" "She's Already Dead" and "Michael's Choice". Most of them are large, young affluent white males; they intimidate and harass the Terri's supporters endlessly. One large blond woman walked by the children holding roses for Terri, breathing expletives and profanities just below earshot of the police, but well within the hearing of the children. They bullied themselves into a position so that Bob and Mary Schindler can see them each time they go in and out of the Hospice. One large man screams at Mary every time she passes by: "It's Michael's Choice" chanting it as if it were his mantra. Mary, visibly ill, is powerless to stop his ridicule, for he is protected by the power of free speech. They laugh amongst themselves, and mock the humanity of Terri, speaking of her as a "liquified brain" and "lower than a jellyfish". According to two of them, they were allowed to go in and ogle the misery of Terri, brought in by Michael himself just recently. They are happy. They are rejoicing in the torturous death of a disabled woman. They are Michael Schiavo's supporters and friends. I am beginning to think that dying by starvation would be better than living with such abusive, adulterous, maniacal, depraved, drunken strands of human waste as these people. If Terri ever did wish she were dead, it is because Michael Schiavo paraded these people through her room so they could speak to her the same way they speak to us - spewing forth the vomit of their drunken minds upon her as she lay in bed, helpless, alone... It is Saturday of Our Lord's Death. Easter is coming. We are awaiting deliverance from evil... Never Give Up - Never Surrender It's the end game for Terri Schiavo, and those of us who have followed Terri Schiavo's case from the very beginning understand the desperation which will accompany this next few hours. Now is the time for Jeb Bush to make his move; now he must act, or he will surely lose us all. I am so tired tonight I will only be able to give you just a short update. According to her father, Terri is in a critical stage, and we are all praying that she just hang in there a little while longer. A little while longer, until someone will act. And they are acting; if they choose to do nothing, they are murdering this woman. If they do what they know is right, they will save Terri. Let's pray to God that Jeb Bush acts in the right and saves Terri... Until they do act, I will man my post until the One who sent me relieves me of my duty. I'm so tired; I'm simply out of energy. I really need to eat - and so does Terri. Please feed her. Please water her. Please save this woman, who has committed no crime... Friday, March 25, 2005
GOOD FRIDAY  The day is blustery and overcast. No announcement yet from the Judge, even though he had promised to expedite the case. We shall go to hospice to wait, and pray, and do what God has led us here to do. Other are not so mild; they are voicing a deep desperation, the urge to save Terri is so strong. The urge to save this nation is so strong. Still, our Caphias, Whittenmore, sits in his chamber while the innocent woman is flogged by her own instincts, her own hunger and thrist. Undoubtedly, the Judge is thinking about what his lunch shall be, for it is nearly noon and he surely must be hungry. The Hunger Strike continues on, and I am now trying to increase my water intake to make up for my week-long mild dehydration. This is the first day I woke up without the constant headache and leg cramps which have plagued me each morning. This is the first time I really realized how hungry I am - the thirst has been overriding most of the pain of the hunger. My stomach cramps, and I have had waves of nausea. The weakness is more pronounced now, but I started out a fairly strong person; I am still walking around the hospice, and I am able to speak and serve as need be. For the first time in my life, I understand the reason for fat. I never realized what a gift these few extra pounds could be when no food is available. I actually thanked God for them; I wish Terri had a few extra pounds, but she is thin and fragile. She does not have the reserve - perhaps they never wanted her to have that reserve for this very reason. Her mother reported last night that Terri's nose and lips are bleeding, her sking peeling, her eyes sunken, her tongue dry and swollen. Her mother leaned over her, and Terri's voice seemed weak and far away. She turned her eyes to her mother and seemed to beg for help, and Mary her mother became ill and wept, for the police in the room will not let her even touch Terri's skin with a wet cool cloth. She looked, her mother said, like a victim of Auschwitz. It is true - Terri is in Auschwitz. Heil Death, and welcome to your new Reich... Who are these people who say this is painless? Have any of them denied themselves food and water? Or is it possible that they lie to fool us, a nation that has so lost touch with hunger and thirst that we no longer even know what it is? I feel guilty for taking the water I need when Terri is being denied even a chip of ice. Jesus was offered vinegar by his tormentors; who will offer Terri even this small bit of fluid? And yet, this song is ever with me, so strong I can hear it a still moments: Surely it is God who saves me - I will trust in Him and not be afraid, For the Lord is my stronghold and my sure defense, and He will be my Savior... Hunger Strike - THE BLOG: And So We Are Betrayed Nothing more. The rain is coming down outside now, and the lightning flashes. Today at hospice we were visited by nurses from Hospice and by friends of Michael Schiavo. They descended upon us on one little corner, twenty or so of them just before news time. To one protestor a man shouted "We have you surrounded, and we are going to pound you." She retreated quickly, believing this to be a threat. They rushed past the beautiful Heather Demian in her wheelchair, and one protestor screamed at her until tremors seized her arms. Weeping, she told him that this was a civil rights issue, that this was a women's right issue, but - having succeeded at making a terminally ill young woman weep and become ill - the man now turned his back on her as if she were nothing more than a tree stump. His noble work was done. Another Michael Schiavo supporter cried "F*** Terri" and yet another "this is Michael's choice". Their enlightened cries filled the area, disturbing the dying who lay in their rooms, filling the area with profanity and shrieks of loathing for Terri Schiavo, and indeed for any living being that does not please them. I turned back to Heather, whose arms were still jerking willy-nilly, and stroked her back to try to calm her. Then I hid my face in the white cotton sleeve of my blouse and wept to think that these people were crying out for their Barabbas, when Christ had been offered to them. I wept, but the tears were few, because of my thirst. I wept, and non could comfort me. We are betrayed. The day has come. It is Good Friday, and the world has gone dark. Thursday, March 24, 2005
Hunger Strike - THE BLOG: The Ugly Truth  The ugly truth is, makeup doesn't makeup for starving and dehydrating one's body. The ugly truth is, one cannot hide torture behind the guise of mercy. The ugly truth is, one cannot tell a lie and then make it truth. This is the ugly truth. We're heading out to hospice this mourning, on the day of Jesus' betrayal. We shall see if we are about to be betrayed by all those standing in the judicial crowd shouting crucify, crucify... Terri is being crucified on a cross of gold. She is being crucified so she may serve as the gateway of all the others who will follow her into the clean, white, profitable slaughterhouses. She and all the others will enter an Auschwitz with landscaping and pretty flowers, and they will die. Meanwhile the eugenically superior and perfect people will stroll by, eating and drinking outside the doors. But they will not be unaware of the ugly truth. The ugly truth is, this is murder. Another Late Night, No Relief in Sight, and Yet -  What a wretched day, and yet it had such moments of hope that it carries us through tonight until tomorrow. I cannot describe how tense we all are... several shouting matches have erupted between the few three or four Michael Schiavo supporters that show up, and the Terri supporters. Some people are arriving already in tears, calling for radical reform of the judicial branch. We had several arrest today, including the disgraceful handcuffing of a small boy who only offered water to Terri Schiavo. A youth group with perhaps thirty teens just showed up today. People are literally showing up drawn as if by some unheard song. We all just want one thing - we want to save Terri from the enforced death of the disabled, the starvation of the innocents. I am not doing too well tonight; I will have to start drinking more water if I intend to do the entire hunger strike day for day with Terri. I am so tired, and my whole body hurts. I feel like I've drunk enough, but it's just not as much as I now need. I'm dehydrated, and the others are warning me I have to hydrate more or I'll die. I think I'll try to drink a whole bottle of water tonight, to prepare myself for the struggle to come. I am just so so tired, and the lack of food and water make it terribly hard to sleep. If I can't sleep, then I know by logical succession that Terri is not"resting comfortably" at all. I have included a profile picture of me for comparison of my usual self. As you can see, I'm not looking too good. I'm also not feeling too good. It shows. This is not a humane process. I can't believe that by tomorrow evening, it will have been one week since I ate, and I certainly can't believe that any human being would ever force this torture on anyone. A Michael Schiavo supporter today told me I was just wasting my time, Terri was a vegetable that would soon be dead. I told him this is not a waste of time - it is showing the world the truth about starvation and dehydration deaths. Let them try to lie now. The truth will be known. Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Update from Hospice - Terri's Priest & Parents Turned Away From Room. (phoned in from Becki Snow live at the Hospice.) FLASH: Bob & Mary Schindler and Terri's Priest were turned away from seeing Terri this evening. They were stopped at the gate and turned back, just minutes ago. No explanation given. An unconfirmed report says that Deborah Bushnell, George Felos, and Michael Schiavo are in the hospice now. George Felos, in his new conference today, has threatened to charge anyone who tries to help Terri with felony assault. This is clearly out of his jurisdiction. Once again, Felos insolence as past chairman of the board of the Hospice, is dominating the Hospice policies. Awaiting word from Talahassee to see if DCF will intervene to save Terri Schiavo under executive order from Governor Jeb Bush. Hunger Strike Update: dehydration more insidious today, I have to take more water than I can handle because my stomach has shrunk so much since the hunger strike has began. Terri Schiavo Update: Terri Schiavo is also dehydrating faster now: her lips are bleeding and cracking now. There is no time to spare. We are awaiting a miracle. UPDATE.....(few minutes ago) Terri's parents were admitted into the hospice for a few minutes and left with their heads hung low..... Will No One Hear Our Plea?  The 11th circuit court of appeals has rejected our plea for leniency. Is there no one left in our judicial system who will spare the life of a woman who has committed no crime but to be disabled in a society hell bent on perfection? I am not in very good shape right now; I'm becoming nauseated easily and my legs are cramping. I feel pretty weak. If I could share Terri's burden with her I would, but the only thing that I can do is to walk with her, carrying my own burden down the last mile - spiritually hand in hand with my sister in suffering. She will not know I am here; but regardless of whether or not anyone ever knows, I will still walk this last mile with Terri. I will do it because someone must tell the tale of the suffering, someone must understand. Someone who has a voice must speak to the world of the of suffering of Terri Schiavo... Tonight, I took the Holy Communion. It will not break the hunger strike to take the crumb of wafer and the teaspoon of wine that represents the Body and Blood of Christ. It gave me strength, and I will now use that strength to do what God sent me to do. God is still God, and Terri Schiavo is still Terri Schiavo. Neither life, nor death, nor anything that man can do can ever erase that. No one can ever erase what Terri is, was, or will be. And no one can ever image what God (who is still God) can do... I will wait upon God. I will wait for Him. Tuesday, March 22, 2005
Hunger Strike - THE BLOG: Live From Hospice I've stepped in to blog from The Illustrious Nikki's beautiful Florida condo for a minute, before heading back out to the Hospice. Here's the story... The crowd is really getting energized here. More people today than before, and a very good group. "Not Dead Yet" , a militant disabled rights organization, has been very vocal today. Once of the Women got arrested for walking up and trying to take water to Terri. She was treated relatively well by the police, but it still seems so wrong to arrest a person for taking water to a dying woman. It IS wrong. Lots of singing going on now, and we are doing the best we can under the circumstances. Yet another day of this woman's life was wasted by the Judicial system. This is the second whole day that she has spent while the courts who were supposed to be reviewing the case have deliberately dragged their feet. They did NOTHING at the 11th court of appeals today, despite the fact that they received the papers before court opened this morning. DCF is opening its records to the court tomorrow at 10:45 AM. Let's pray that someone, somewhere, will stand up for the rights of the disabled to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness... As for the Hunger Strike: According to http://www.rehydrate.org, I am now displaying the symptoms of mild to moderate dehydration. I'm trying to avoid the severe dehydration, because I really don't want heart failure to show up in the middle of a candlelight vigil. It would not be cool. I think I'll make sure to drink a little extra water before I go back out tonight, so my children will still have a mother, my mother will still have her daughter, and my husband won't come to Florida and forcibly take me home - which is what he was threating to do tonight if I didn't be more careful. Ah, well... What is so sad is that, according to Terri's Priest, the symptoms he described indicate that Terri is now in the moderate to severe dehydration phase. This is brutal; it's torture; it's abuse. No one who is reading this should ever doubt that this is a painful process. I can tell you that, even if Terri can't... From Rehydrate.org:
Symptoms of moderate to severe dehydration include: -low blood pressure -fainting -severe muscle contractions in the arms, legs, stomach, and back -convulsions -a bloated stomach -heart failure -sunken fontanelle - soft spot on a infants head -sunken dry eyes, with few or no tears -skin loses its firmness and looks wrinkled -lack of elasticity of the skin (when a bit of skin lifted up stays folded and takes a long time to go back to its normal position) -rapid and deep breathing - faster than normal -fast, weak pulse
 This not an attractive picture. This is not how I would wish to be shown to the world, with no makeup, haggard, dessicating; but you deserve to see what the Judges are doing to us. Every time they make a ruling against Terri, they are damaging her body more and more dramatically. In turn, they are damaging me. I cannot fully hydrate as long as Terri is suffering, and you deserve to see what they are doing to Terri behind closed doors. They thnk they can hide this evil. It's even worse in there for Terri, but perhaps I can shed a little light on this version of murder. It is not painless. It is torture. Hunger Strike - THE BLOG: On To Atlanta This Judge BURNED an ENTIRE DAY off Terri's life. There is no WAY that this could be justified. He knew what his ruling would be, and he took ONE DAY away from this woman's life. I hope everyone understands the gravity of this situation, and I hope that the Judiciary is condemned for violating the rights of the disabled in America. They are deliberately murdering a disabled woman. We are going back to Hospice immediately. We finally got some sleep last night, but overslept. Now we are needed more than ever. I put out this plea to you. If you ever cared about civil rights, if you ever cared for the dignity of man, if you EVER ONCE considered yourself to be Christian and if there's any way you can - Come to the Hospice of the Florida Suncoast, Hospice Woodside; 66th and 102nd St., Pinellas Park. WE NEED YOU NOW. HUNGER STRIKE: I'm still hanging in there. My cognitive function seems to be a little better today than yesterday, so I'm going to keep up the magnesium suppliment, (magnisium sulfate in mineral water) and I finally dissolved a vitamin in some water so I could take it without getting nauseated. I still feel lousy. Here's the scoop: it's not the starving to death that's the worst thing, and it's not the thing that kills you. It's the DEHYDRATION that is the torture. They take away the body's ability to hydrate itself, and it's an absolute hell. Fasters who keep fully hydrated or who drink juices should not experience the kinds of pains and symptoms that I am experiencing. Dehydration is not painless. This is not painless. The Experts who say it is are lying murderers. I'm off to get ready to go to Hospice. I will log in later. Pray for Terri. Hunger Strike - THE BLOG: That's It, I've Lost My Mind My Handler, Tammy "The Rage of God" Melton says my cognitive function has become more of a malfunction. I'm not exactly a wasted skeleton, but my mind is turning to mush. I'm rambling in my conversations more, and I am forgetting what I'm talking about in mid-subject. I'm losing my speech inhibition; I'm starting to blur the line between the private conversation in my head and the public conversation I have with others. I even used a bad word tonight that I hardly ever use, but fortunately I was just talking to Tammy instead of talking to the press, so that was good. I'm pretty sure this is related to dehydration, but it's not inconceivable that I have a magnesium deficiency, since I don't ususally get enough anyway due to dietary restrictions. I'll add a little magnesium citrate or something like it to my water so I don't have a bigger problem with it later. Terr Schiavo's ruling has STILL not come through. This is wasting precious time, and everybody at the vigil is quite upset. I can only pray that the judge will rule in Terri's favor, or else rule quickly against her so we may appeal to the higher court... Monday, March 21, 2005
 Terri and I are now entering our fifth day without food, me with diminished water, and her completely without water. This is so cruel to have to wait so long for the judge. Notice the hollows now on my cheeks, and more fine lines. But at least I have a little water. Terri has none. Her lips are now starting to crack, her eyes are dry, and her mucous membranes are starting to severely dehydrate. I was noticing today how dry and itchy my skin was... but no lotion for me. What if there is no one who will help put lotion on Terri's skin? Hunger Strike - THE BLOG: Waiting on the Judge with Sean Hannity Well, we're going back to the Hospice to provide moral support for the Schindlers and Sean Hannity. I'll check in to tell you all about it when I get back, which may be late, but hey. Wait up with me... My tongue is now completely WHITE? What on earth is up with THAT? I suppose anemia is setting in??  Here I am, Miss Death On A Cracker. Notice the lovely dark circles under my eyes, not to mention the fine lines that come with not drinking enough water. Wow, what a difference being fully hydrated makes in the way we look. You want to see what Terri looks like? Don't ask the experts, they're not a 42 year old woman who's being starved to death. Ask me. This is me, a 42 year old woman who has not had a meal since St. Patrick's day or a bite of any kind of food - liquified or otherwise - since March 18, 2005. This is a woman who has not had enough water, but at least I've had enough to sustain my body - which is more than Terri is getting - and it's still damaging me. This is what starvation and dehydration does to a woman my age. This is what the doctors are doing to Terri Schiavo. This is not humane. Hunger Strike - WAITING FOR TUBE So many things to blog, so little time. Have not yet gotten the update from Michael Schiavo's Lawn vigil; will do so as soon as I talk to my contact. Sat around all night trying to get a law passed, trying to get a court ruling, trying to not fall down flat on my face in a concrete parking lot from hunger. Oh yeah, and trying to find internet access. Why oh why is there no Wifi in the hospice parking lot??? Why did they not anticipate my every blogging need. On to Terri; she's still waiting. We have a court hearing this afternoon - a Clinton appointee by the name of James Whittemore, U.S. District J in Tampa FL. Seems to be all over the map ruling wise - we should have some people going to the court today, but I'm just not going to be physically able to do it. I'm going to Hospice Woodside and stand vigil with the woman on the other side of the wall, the other woman who has not eaten since Friday morning. I will be praying for Terri from the trodden-down grass outside the hospice, waiting for the courts to give us both the reprieve we so desperately want. This is the first time I've thought, if I really screw this up, I could die. I got pretty sick yesterday afternoon. It took me by surprise; suddenly I was just weak, and I really thought I was going to faint. I kept thinking "if I fall forward, I'll break my nose on this concrete - if I fall backwards, I'll hit my head and knock myself unconscious. Fall to the side, body!" Fortunately, I did neither. I collapsed under bush on the backside of hospice and had Tennessee Tammy go fetch the precious water bottle of life, wherein the emergency vitamin water is stored. I felt really, really bad. Kinda like a wet noodle with no wet. Just noodle. But hey, I got my first real leg cramps this morning. Woo-hoo. Ow, ow, my foot is going now, and I HATE foot cramps. This is related to minerals, or calcium. Limbs are starting to go numb sporadically, which is a lot of fun when your walking or having an interview with the press. We did have a couple, and Guabe Garcia, the D.C. attorney who was my other Hunger Striker, was most excellent with the press. He was great at explaining his reasons for opposing the execution of Terri Schiavo, and I was sorry had to go home last night. He is a real fire-cracker, and was up all night with us. But he did look a little under the weather himself. He had finally started to really feel that sort of visceral hunger that can only be fathomed after a few days without food. For instance: smelling food is like getting hit in the face with it. It's a completely different experience when you're truly starving; I think my sense of smell has been heightened. Still thirsty, but I'm still drinking water. I must need more, but I just can't quite bring myself to really get hydrated when Terri won't get anything yet. I don't know how she stands it, I really don't. Oh, and don't tell me "it's okay, they give her morphine" - they are making her die of starvation and dehydration, but it's okay because they'll deaden the pain with a little morphine? This is HUMANE? We stayed out til' five in the morning, when the press finally told us there would be no ruling yet. We were completely exhausted, and I was barely able to crawl into my sleeping bag. Thank God for friends who extend their hospitality to us. It was so cold for Florida last night. I'm going back out to vigil in a little while. I did add a teaspoon of sugar to some water this morning; I crawled out of bed and I realized I might have just damaged my body with this Hunger Strike, and it's not a good feeling. I don't want to die. I don't have a choice about not wanting to die - the body's messages and will to live is so overpowering, when our physical nature is given the chance, the will to live overrides all. I pray to God that the Court will give Terri the right to eat again, to drink again. I know that it is hurting me to go without food, and I know it is even worse for her to go without both food and water altogether. It is wrong to starve a being to death. It is a medical fact that Terri's body is suffering now. We are entering the critical period, where our bodies are cannabalizing themselves in a desperate attempt to stay alive. Her will to live is overriding all other signals now, and she would take food and water - nutrition and hydration - from anyone who would offer her some... if only they would. Sunday, March 20, 2005
Hunger Strike - MIDNIGHT PRAYER VIGIL! I'm going to a midnight prayer vigil at Hospice to pray for Congress, that they may vote wisely and with their hearts. My poor hubby; he has been reading my blog, and he's scared to death I'm going to up and dry up. He practically ordered me to eat; no use. Ha ha, I'm in Florida, so he can't make me do anything. Tammy sez we must away to the vigil. My handler is going to make sure I don't die while praying for Terri. She's a ninja and she's down with a bow staff so no starvations are gonna whup up on me. HA! Hunger Strike - DRUDGE AUDIO - Terri Responds to Her Father Find Drudge on your radio... http://www.drudgereport.com/affils.txt If you want to hear an audio clip of Terri allegedy responding to her father after her feeding tube was removed. It's supposed to be extremely moving - she responds to her father, not with words, but with coos and moans. If we insist that all spoken responses be "words"in our definition of response, then we have truly sunk to the lowest levels. It's amazing that ANYONE has the gall to the call Terri a vegetable. Vegetables don't cry when you ask them if their back hurts... Speaking of hurting, I'm still waiting for the euphoria that the experts say is supposed to accompany this starvation and dehydration of which we speak. Ya know, I'm beginning to suspect that the expects are WRONG. I'm beginning to worry about shock; I'm not sure what to look for with the effects of dehydration/hunger shock, so I'm making sure to stay hydrated as much as is ethical on a hunger strike. I find that the effects of not eating for approximately three days are painful and rather weird. I wish I was more able to explain: weakness, general internal pain (now through the entire abdominal cavity).I'm really surprised at the worrisome behavior of my heart; there is a complicated "depressed", slightly burning feeling throughout the chest cavity. I'm trying to be very careful - and yet I am inspired by other hunger strikers for Terri that are here. One that I have met is a 26-yr-old pro-life attorney from Washington DC. He started at exactly the same time that I did, with the same motivations; his family has many members in the medical profession, and other than taking a quart of Pedialyte a day, he seems to be hanging in there. My "Propel" has about the same make-up as Pedialyte, but it only has 15 calories per 20 ounces. I'll have to be watchful about this; this is really a crash diet for sure. The specter of hunger and thirst hangs over everything like an oppressive cloud of diffuse pain. The company of others is beginning to diminish - even their conversations are suffused with the everpresent voice of the body, calling for food and water. I hate this Hunger Strike. I hate it. It hurts. I hate the fact that Terri Schiavo has to go through this, without even the comfort of a sip of water. I hate the fact that anyone would think this is painless. I hate that Doctors will do this to people and call it merciful. This is insane. This is brutal. This is evil. Terri's Infected After Improper Feeding Tube Removal At last report, Terri is feverish, having contracted an infection at the site where her feeding tube site was not sutured but just LEFT OPEN. At this time, Hospice is refusing to give her "comfort care" for her infection, denying antibiotics or treatments in ADDITION to denying this woman food and water. Do this to an animal - cage it up, cut it, infect it, and allow it to die without food and water - and you'll go to jail. I think you'll go to hell, too. Now, if you'll go to jail (and to hell) for doing this to a dog, why would you be allowed do this to a woman? WHY? MESSAGE FROM TERRI'S FATHER: GO TO TALLAHASSEE! A plea from Terri's father, Bob Schindler: meet us in Tallahassee: March 20, 2005 -TONIGHT! 7:30 PM at the Governor's Mansion for a candelight vigil March 21, 2005 - TOMORROW MORNING! 9:00 AM In front of the Florida Legislature (Capitol) He jsut came out to ask for volunteers to go and make their case in the Florida Capitol. You can help too - just meet our people there. At this point, I am getting too weak and punchy to go. My handler - Tammy - has said that she doesn't want to call my husband and tell him I'm dead in a hotel in Tallahassee. She thinks the bus trip might kill me - HA! The lack of food and water is going to kill me. So there. If Terri feels as bad as I do, I know that this is torture. And Terri, God help her, doesn't even get the sip of water I get. She has to be really feeling it by now, and that's just inhumane. This is only going to get worse, for both of us... Hunger Strike - THE BLOG: Live From Hospice Woodside First: where's my freekin' "starvation euphoria" they PROMISED me? These so-called experts have NO CLUE about this process - they've never done it to themselves, or they'd know that this hurts like a monkey chewing my innards ALL THE TIME. The dehydration isn't exactly a picnic either. The specifics? My vision is getting blurrier. My co-ordination is getting a little off. And not to be a whiner, but my headache is still here and has now been joined by it's little friend, dryness. Drier skin, drier lips, drier everything. Don't make me go into details. Suffice it to say, this is not "drifting off to sleep". This is more like "getting kicked in the stomache to sleep". Awwwww, sounds so peaceful doesn't it? Especially uplifting are the abdominal pains, which are still sporadic and now more intense. It's a real hoot. Feels like clothespins and my intestine is the clothesline. Ow. I want my EUPHORIA, you expert liars. My train of thought just got derailed. Ah, back on track again. I'm seriously in need of some food, and none is forthcoming. We have just heard that a few choice Congressmen have decided Terri doesn't need any help, and they couldn't come to unanimous decision in the Federal House. Hahaha, they are getting called back to session at MIDNIGHT tonight so they can try again. Nice work, losers. Get it right this time. But so many thanks to those in the house who DID get it right. No real arrests so far at the hospice vigil today; we do have guitars strumming, pets, violin music, the occasional peaceful song and a few others of us who are wearing black armbands to denote we are on hunger strike - in solidarity with Terri, who has no choice but to go without food and water. Expect to see more errors in my writing, and possibly a little personality change coming. I'm still only taking one ounce of water an hour, and my kidneys have rewarded me with an example of concentrated output. What a lovely, lovely color. I'll be posting later this afternoon. Pictures should be coming tonight - I'm getting ahold of someone's sweet machine and will have an update from MICHAEL SCHIAVO'S LAWN vigil. Yes. The protestors will hold a candelight vigil for his poor, dying wife Terri. I'm sure he'll be touched... This Is So Not Cool: Heart Skipping Beats While Mind Skips Track Maybe this is what they are calling starvation induced "euphoria" - my heart is going skippy skippy, and my head isn't too clear. I'm having a few "blank spots" in my thinking process. That's probably a blood sugar problem. The skippy skippy problem I've had before when I didn't eat properly, so I won't freak on it unless I get that thing where my heart stops. Live dangerously, hey? I'm going down to check on the protests outside of hospice to see if we have a church service or something. Back in a skippy skippy... |
