NEW JERSEY NEWS
FEBRUARY – MARCH 2005
PRESIDENT’S MESSAGE
MISSION
To maximize
the options
for a good
death,
including
legal
physician aid
in dying for
terminally ill,
mentally
competent
adults who
request it,
under careful
safeguards.
End-of-Life
Choices
was founded
in 1980 with
two goals:
to change the
law to permit
physicians to
help suffering
people
end their lives
under careful
safeguards
and to
educate people
about planning
for a
peaceful
death.
Envision a travel agency brochure. The brochure describes
a journey. The journey will not be enjoyable. It will last
months, possibly years. During that entire time, the traveler
will be in pain. The journey will offend all senses in steadily
increasing intensity. During every minute, the traveler will
look forward to the journey’s end and will do everything possible to abbreviate its duration.
Few persons would voluntarily undertake such a journey.
A travel agency that relied upon sales for such a journey
would quickly fold. And yet, irrational laws force upon many
of us a journey of exactly that nature. Such laws exist
President Allan Marain
because of ignorance, superstition, and political opportunism.
Lives are sometimes compared with a journey to a [email protected]
nation. Often, however, people never take the time to
explain, even to themselves, what that destination is. They simply proceed, day to day,
working toward some vague concept of ultimate fulfillment.
I disagree with that outlook. For me, what justifies existence is not some speculative and
hypothetical destination. Rather, it is the journey itself. If that journey, like any other journey, loses all possibility for enjoyment, my duty to myself is to end it.
Community theaters present plays. Countless hours are spent in rehearsals. Productions
open. Performances recur, typically for a few weeks. Then the productions close. Upon the
final fall of the curtain, the performers’ knowledge of their lines, their mastery of expression and timing for that production all become of no further use to that
production. It seems such a waste that no further audiences will obtain the benefit of those
skills. Yet the productions must close. And so it is with life.
Hopefully we will have had a good run. Ideally our lives will have been fulfilling. Hopefully
they will have also enriched the lives of those for whom we care. But the run must eventually and inevitably end. The question then becomes this: To what extent will we be permitted some ability to determine when that production must close? End-of-Life Choices
seeks to maximize that opportunity. “Good life, good death.”
MENDHAM SOCIAL DRAWS
INTEREST
P
The social on November 7 at the home of
Gordon and Janice Cameron took place in
a breathtaking woodland setting. The
Camerons were wonderful hosts and the
conversation was spirited, centering around
Caring Friends, medically hastened selfdeliverance, and physicians sympathetic or
unsympathetic to the Choices mission,
including the all-too-familiar horror stories
about advance directives not being followed by health care providers during the
terminal illness of a loved one. Attendants
left with the resolve to attend the January
board meeting to hear Delaware Valley
Chapter President Fred Cohen’s proposal
for the New Jersey Advance Directive
Registration Act and to work toward its
passage.
IN THIS ISSUE
Meetings Survey . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Vice President Wineberg Participates
in Assisted-Suicide TV Program . . . . . . .
Unification Information Slow in Coming . . .
Adopt a Library . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
We Still Need Help! . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Endless Night . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Case Updates . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Why Did You Join End-of-Life
Choices? . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Parting Thoughts . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Contact Information . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Meetings Survey Form . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
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MEETINGS SURVEY
Please take a minute to look at the Meetings
Survey on page 7 of the newsletter. It pertains to
regular membership meetings and proposed topics
for speakers at these meetings. There is also room
for suggestions or comments about the newsletter.
We want to hear from you, the membership, about
how the chapter might better serve you. Please feel
free to make any other suggestions as well. We
value your input.
VP WINEBERG PARTICIPATES IN
ASSISTED-SUICIDE TV PROGRAM
If you are not registered to receive e-mail
reminders and notifications about chapter events,
you may have missed seeing Choices-NJ Vice
President Howard Wineberg on “It’s Your Call with
Lynn Doyle” on CN8, if the television station is within your viewing area.
The live program on physician-assisted suicide
aired on November 30 and consisted of panelists
Mayer Morganroth, Dr. Jack Kevorkian’s attorney,
who appeared by satellite from Michigan; Vice
President Wineberg; opposing panelist Dr. Jeffrey
Bado, a board-certified internist in private practice
who also is a clinical instructor at the Philadelphia
College of Osteopathic Medicine; and opposing panelist Joseph Giganti, a conservative strategist for the
Veritas Media Group in Stafford, VA. The show was
seen in more than ten million homes between Maine
and Maryland.
Lynn Doyle’s primary questions were whether Dr.
Kevorkian should be granted early parole because
of his declining health and whether terminally ill
people should have the right to die by physicianassisted suicide if they choose to do so.
Mr. Morganroth expressed Dr. Kevorkian’s regret
that his actions did not accomplish his goal of having the right to die issue heard before the Supreme
Court. But he said that Dr. Kevorkian was glad that
he had brought the issue to the public consciousness. He said that Dr. Kevorkian had been
sentenced to 40 percent more time than had been
recommended after his conviction for seconddegree murder in the death of Thomas Youk, an ALS
patient who had sought Dr. Kevorkian’s help.
Vice President Wineberg stated that Dr. Kevorkian
had acted only with the concurrence of the person
who wanted assistance in dying and had been oversentenced.
Bado and Giganti in turn contended that Dr.
Kevorkian was a murderer who had violated his oath
to preserve life. Many misstatements followed, and
the program became a shouting match between
Morganroth and the opposition, with only Vice
President Wineberg maintaining his composure
throughout the program. He was a fine representative of our chapter and an able spokesperson for our
movement.
2
Telephone callers to the program were from several states, including Massachusetts and Maryland.
It was gratifying that 72 percent of the respondents
were in favor of early parole for Dr. Kevorkian, with
only 28 percent against it. At the end of the program, 74 percent expressed their agreement that the
terminally ill should be allowed to choose assisted
suicide if that is their wish; 26 percent disagreed.
We were contacted by a senior producer for the
television show just before Thanksgiving so had no
opportunity other than by e-mail to publicize the
event. If you would like to be added to the list to
receive e-mail reminders and notifications of chapter events, contact [email protected].
UNIFICATION INFORMATION
SLOW IN COMING
We apologize to our members for the lack of information regarding the merger between End-of-Life
Choices and Compassion in Dying. We asked
national a number of specific questions about the
impact of unification on our chapter and were told
that they had no answers yet. Stay tuned!
In the meantime, Senior Vice President Faye Girsh
and Lois Schafer, director of community service for
Caring Friends, are no longer with the organization.
Faye was president of the Hemlock Society for more
than five years and was a co-founder of the Caring
Friends program. Lois was the first director of Caring
Friends. The death with dignity movement owes
much to these women. They have worked tirelessly
on its behalf.
So many changes in so short a time. But this is a
time for patience while the new organization collects itself and proceeds with renewed strength to
promote death with dignity. As we go to press, we do
not yet have new membership numbers for our
chapter, but we were asked to comment on a logo
that is under consideration.
ADOPT A LIBRARY
Do you live in a town with a library? Would you be
willing to contact the librarian to see if we might
leave copies of the newsletter on their information
stand, if they have one, and then take newsletters
there when they are published? Help us gain visibility with the public and spread the Choices
message. Contact [email protected] or call
(856) 429-8247 for more information. Many libraries
are already receiving the newsletter, so please contact the editor before you approach anyone at your
library.
WE STILL NEED HELP!
Do not be fooled by the absence our usual long
lists of “help wanted.” We still need all the help we
can get. Contact [email protected] or call
(856) 429-8247 for more information.
E N D L E SS N I G H T
by
William C. Hunter, Jr.
May today may be the last day I breathe in the air,
feel my chest rise and fall with the change in pressure, hear the air whistle rhythmically through my
nose and mouth. I can only hope that this will be a
good day to die. Will I have the strength today for
self-deliverance?
Death is inevitable. It’s more inevitable for me now,
but it has always been part of the master plan. Since
I have taken my first breath, I was destined to die.
That’s the cycle of life.
How different are we from the other members of
the animal kingdom? They too are born and die.
Perhaps it’s better to be positioned lower on the evolutionary ladder, for with this inferiority comes the
lack of prognostication. If I lacked this ability, I
wouldn’t spend so much of my remaining time
dwelling on my fate. To anticipate the unknown is not
a pleasant experience, yet it is one we cannot seem
to avoid.
The digital numbers on the clock radio are illuminating the room with an eerie red glow, letting me
know that it’s 3:37 AM. I’m still here; 3:37 AM won’t be
written on my death certificate this day. I can hope
that 3:38 will be.
I’ve been thinking again, unable to stop. I would
like to break this cycle. I’m so full of self-pity, always
focusing on my cancer and impending demise; I
don’t know if it’s possible to control my thoughts.
“Demise” is such a soft word, so much less harsh
than “death.” See, the thoughts just happen. How
can I control them, when I don’t know what they are
until they are?
Death
is everywhere.
I'm dying.
Death
is everywhere.
I’m dying.
Think happy thoughts.
Think happy thoughts.
Who will miss me? What have I contributed? What
would I do differently if I could do it all again? Did I
get the best medical care available? Would it have
made a difference if I had gone elsewhere? A
hundred questions are being formulated at once;
some are answered, some not, and some have no
answers to be had.
I haven’t always been so gloomy. I had a life once;
I thought it was great and would go on forever that
way. I was a fool.
I remember a happy time. Please let me focus on
it and not return to my despondency. My glowing
enemy lets me know it’s now 3:38. Think happy;
please don’t leave.
I’m eleven years old. I’m walking home from school
with my friends. It’s a misty autumn day and slightly
humid; it had rained earlier. The dampness, however, doesn’t dampen our fun. It’s no special day, just
one of those carefree days of youth to which we are
all entitled. We always take a short-cut through the
woods. We’re kicking stones along the path, shaking
the trunk of an occasional sapling so we can drip
water on whoever is behind us.
There in the path, just ahead, lies a dead squirrel.
One of my friends picks it up and begins to swing it.
Everyone is ducking and dodging, unsure who the
unlucky recipient will be when he lets go. We have
no respect. The poor animal is dead and we don’t
care. It’s bad enough that we don’t care, but we’ve
made a game of it. We are not afraid of death. The
innocence of youth protects us.
Death is everywhere. I’m dying. Think happy
thoughts. I watch as the eight turns to a nine. It’s
3:39. I’m still here. Please let me go.
There will
bebe
many
college-bound
kids kids
There
will
many
college-bound
with hangovers in the morning,
withwon't
hangovers
the morning,
but Mark
be one ofin
them.
but Mark won’t be one of them.
My friend Mark is the target and is hit in the leg
with the dead squirrel. It wasn’t bleeding or oozing,
so his pants aren’t dirty. Good thing, too, because
his mother would have killed him. She wouldn’t really have killed him; it’s just a figure of speech. Dead
ringer, dead duck, dead ahead, dead wrong, dead
center, dead bolt, dead end, dead in the water; I
never stopped to think of all the “dead” figures of
speech. Mark’s mother is dead now. She died at
least fifteen years ago. Why does death have to be
everywhere?
It’s high school graduation, a time for watches, balloons, and cards with good wishes and money.
Everyone tells me what a big change college will be
and how much fun I’ll have. There are parties all over
town. There will be many college-bound kids with
hangovers in the morning, but Mark won’t be one of
them. Mark won’t see another morning.
He was found dead in his GTO, the powerful car
upside down with its engine pushed into the passenger compartment. It took the rescue workers
several hours to get him out; of course it was obvious that there was no need to rush. He had had too
much to drink, they said. Mark and I were blood
3
brothers, along with the other members of our gang.
We had all rubbed our knuckles until they bled and
then mixed our blood together in a juvenile ceremony of manhood.
Mark’s blood brothers carried his coffin from the
church to the hearse and from the hearse to the
grave. Every one of us “college men” cried like
babies when they lowered his coffin into that dark
hole. But life would go on and we would scatter to
different universities in the fall. With time, Mark
would become a faded memory, not because he
wasn’t missed or because he wasn’t a dear friend,
but because life happens.
Now that I’m a parent, I know Mark’s parents’ lives
didn’t just go on; they would never be the same. I
wonder if the reverse will be true. Now that I’m dying,
I think such morbid thoughts.
The paperwork
made it legal
The paperwork
made it legal
and the
minister
gave
me
a wife,
and the minister gave
me a wife,
but the years that followed
gave mebut
my the
soulyears
mate. that followed
gave me my soul mate.
How long will my children remember me after I’m
gone? Of course they’ll be upset at first, but they
have their whole lives in front of them. It wouldn’t be
productive for them to dwell in the past. How long
before they forget the special times? The everyday
events will certainly be lost first.
I’m staring at the ceiling, a favorite pastime lately,
but I still notice those damn clock radio numerals
switching to 3:40. Will this night never end? Maybe
I’m wrong about the routine incidents. If I think about
my own parents, I recall some of those times. In fact,
they’re clearer to me than the milestones of childhood. For example, I don’t remember the details of
my graduation ceremony or the party that I went to,
but I can hear my parents telling me to be safe and
use my head. I can see them waving goodbye at the
window. I see now the worry and concern on their
faces.
My sister and I spent a lot of time with our parents; it was the 1950s and that was the way it was
then. My mother stayed at home, Dad worked, and
although everything was not all right with the world,
I certainly thought that it was. Of the thousands of
hours my parents spent raising me, sacrificing their
time and limited resources, watching my baseball
and soccer games, what do I remember but a look
on their faces. So what should I expect from my children? I never even returned to the cemetery after the
last trip to bury my mother. I don’t know whether the
headstone was erected; if it was, is it overgrown now
with weeds? What kind of son was I? I certainly
didn’t dwell in the past.
It’s sunny but cool, a perfect autumn day. The oak
leaves are red and mixed in with the green of the
4
hemlocks and the yellow of the birch; the mountain
is a dramatic backdrop for our wedding. We decided
to be married on the beautiful church grounds. It
worked out nicely because the church was also
hosting a funeral that day, and that made it easier for
the church to handle both affairs. Death intrudes on
everything.
Not now! This is a happy memory; stay away,
Death! I don’t know what my life would have been
like if I hadn’t married Annie. The paperwork made it
legal and the minister gave me a wife, but the years
that followed gave me my soul mate. I don’t think that
I’ve deserved her support and care all these years.
She has always been there for me; she’s here now
at the end. There has never been a day when I
haven’t been awe-struck by Annie’s beauty and
courage. Today is no exception. I lie here quietly so
as to not wake her, and I watch her breathe. I regret
not being able to stay and take care of her much
longer.
This is not how I planned it. I thought I would always be here for her. I recall John Lennon’s words:
“Life is what happens to you while you’re busy
making other plans.” Maybe we’d have been better
prepared if he’d written “Death is what happens to
you while you’re busy making other plans.”
I was dressed again,
I was dressed
again, a piece of meat
no longer
no longer a piece of meat
to be prodded
for tenderness.
to be prodded
for tenderness.
Death shows no mercy; it cares not for those left
behind. I wonder how much time I have left. I have to
lift myself to see the clock over Annie’s shoulder
because she has rolled onto her side and is blocking my view. It requires much effort; I can feel my
muscles quivering with the exertion. It’s 3:41. I contemplate whether she will find someone else to take
care of her. That would probably be best. I shouldn’t
be jealous, self-centered. How long before she forgets our special times and our everyday moments?
I hope she remembers. No one else could ever love
her as totally as I. I will miss you most of all, My
Angel.
I’m really not in pain. I’m just so weak; I can barely muster the energy to lie down again. I somehow
thought it would be different. I remember the day I
found out. I had been feeling pretty tired and finally
made the time for a checkup. That was at 3:42. No,
I’m confused; it’s now 3:42.
The doctor walked into the examination room and
looked down at me as I waited in a mustard-yellow
vinyl chair. I was dressed again, no longer a piece of
meat to be prodded for tenderness. He said: “I
always hate this, but there’s no other way to say it:
Ian, you’re terminally ill.” No hope offered and none
taken, my world spun out of orbit. Surely the next
sentence would be that he was joking.
No, he’s not the joking type, but he’s supposed to
be a super clinician, a Superman. He would certainly come up with some miracle cure; somewhere in all
this new biotechnology there must be an answer. But
he wasn’t the joking type, biology couldn’t help me,
and here I am, still staring at the ceiling. I know
every imperfection in the paint. It’s no consolation,
but if I could climb a ladder, I could have that ceiling
looking pretty great.
My brain is stringing together
My brain is stringing together
the syllables, words, and sentences,
the syllables, words, and sentences,
but
muscles
be commanded.
but
mymy
muscles
won'twon’t
be commanded.
I wonder who will tell my doctor he’s dying when
his time comes. Will he look himself in the mirror and
give himself that same terse speech? Maybe some
equally callous bastard, just doing his job, will make
my doctor’s world explode as mine did.
I wonder if he’ll have the same feelings I had. Will
his professional knowledge keep him from having
hope? He won’t be able to enjoy any of the platitudinous remarks from well-wishers.
Maybe he’ll be lucky and have a massive heart
attack. No advance knowledge, bang, just a little
pain, maybe some time to realize what’s happening,
and then he’ll be dead. I hope not; he should feel
what he has made others feel so many times: the
absolute loss of hope with the full realization that
you have limited weeks, days, and hours left. I was
so angry at everyone.
I don’t really wish my physician any harm. He was
just doing his job. I actually feel sorry for him, having
to deal with death and human misery so frequently.
What kind of person wants that job?
is on
now
my nightstand,
TheThe
juicejuice
is now
myon
nightstand,
along
with
unread
books, get-well cards,
along with
unread
books,
get-wellacards,
bedpan, and my dignity.
a bedpan, and my dignity.
The ceiling is looking better at 3:43, yet I’m not on
a ladder and I certainly don’t have the energy, much
less the stamina, for painting. I’m feeling happy
about the ceiling; it’s one less thing that Annie will
have to deal with when I’m gone.
My eyes are getting tired. They feel gritty, like
paint has spattered into them. Maybe I’ll just close
them for a few moments.
I blink in the bright white light. I must have been
talking out loud when I nodded off and woke Annie,
for her angelic face comes into focus in front of me.
She is fair and freckled and her skin looks clean and
fresh. I see no crow’s feet at the corners of her green
eyes. Her hair is hanging within inches of my face.
She’s blocking my view of the freshly painted ceiling.
I hear her saying, “Ian, you look so tired.” I love the
sound of her voice; it has always soothed me.
I’m having a hard time forming words. My brain is
stringing together the syllables, words, and sentences, but my muscles won’t be commanded. My
tongue is lying there like a lazy hound on a hot summer’s dog day.
My angel Annie glances at the keeper of my
nemesis and says, “It’s 3:45. How long have you
been awake?” When she gets no response she continues, “Are you thirsty, Ian? I think you’re having
trouble speaking because your mouth is so dry.
Would you like some juice?” She’s still leaning over
me, patiently awaiting a reply.
I’m trying. I feel the warmth from her soul drip onto
my exposed chest and run down my side in a deep
channel formed between two ribs. She is not embarrassed, nor am I. We are one. I manage to nod my
head ever so slightly. It’s enough. She understands.
She leans closer. I can’t see the ceiling at all as she
kisses my forehead, then my nose and lips. Her lips
feel so soft and warm; I didn’t realize until just that
moment that I was cold. She tells me she will be
right back with my juice.
always
slept
on my right;
SheShe
has has
always
slept on
my right;
she is my right
hand.
she is my right hand.
Annie bought a small refrigerator to keep upstairs
so she would not have to leave me for long. It’s like
the refrigerator I remember carrying up two flights of
stairs to our daughter’s dorm room at college. Will
that memory be lost with all the others?
Annie’s back and the clock insists that it’s 3:46. I
knew that she wouldn’t be gone long. Not now, but
soon.
She sits on the edge of the bed, her weight flexing
the mattress and rolling me slightly toward her. I
can’t stop the roll; there is no will nor energy to do so.
I see the juice in her hand. I guess it’s apple, but I
can’t be sure.
The juice is now on my nightstand, along with
unread books, get-well cards, a bedpan, and my dignity. Annie leans close and slides her arm behind my
shoulders. With minimal effort she lifts me into a sitting position. I am so grateful. Where would I be without my Annie? I hope she realizes how much in love
with her I am. I wish I could tell her. She is whispering in my ear, “Let’s have a sip of juice now.” Her
voice washes over me like soft waves.
She eases my head forward as she tilts the cup to
my lips. A good portion of the cool liquid makes it
into my mouth. She’s wiping my chin with a napkin,
then wiping her tears. Did I make you cry, Annie?
Oh, please don’t be upset with me. I tried.
But I can see her face, and she’s not upset; on the
contrary, she’s smiling at me, showing me the same
love I saw on our wedding day. She lies me down,
my head sinking into the pillow as she moves to her
5
side of the bed. She has always slept on my right;
she is my right hand. I can feel the mattress dip as
she sits, then lies flat next to me.
She places her head on my pillow and my head
turns to meet her. We are looking into each other’s
eyes, lying together side by side. Just as it should
be. There are no tears. We are not blinking; we’re
afraid to lose sight of each other. My dear wife
reaches over and cradles my face with her hand. I
feel so safe. She is whispering to me, telling me she
loves me and that she will always love me. Her beauty is overpowering. I see in her eyes that she will
always love me. “It’s all right. I’ll hold you. I love you,
Ian.”
As I close my eyes,
my other senses following,
I hear her reciting lines
from our favorite poem . . .
The clock says 3:47. This is my time. I tighten all
my muscles in an effort to pull in a deep breath. I’m
pleased with myself because I have a modicum of
success. I look into Annie’s eyes for the very last
time, and with all that I am and all that I can be at
that moment, I muster up my strength and tell her, “I
love you so very much, My Angel. Thank you for so
many years of life.”
As I close my eyes, my other senses following, I
hear her reciting lines from our favorite poem:
…But we by a love, so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Care less eyes, lips and hands to miss.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat …
- John Donne A Valediction: Forbidding Mourning
[Ed. Note: Professor Hunter teaches anatomy and
physiology as well as bioethics at the County
College of Morris in Randolph. His touching story
made possible a nice break for the editor over the
holidays. Thanks, Bill!]
CASE UPDATES
Dr. Jack Kevorkian
Dr. Kevorkian has petitioned the US Supreme
Court for a commutation of his sentence because of
his declining health. He needs surgery to repair a
double hernia, but complications must be addressed, including hepatitis C, ischemia, a heart
6
murmur, and other circulatory problems, according
to his attorney, Mayer Morganroth.
Dr. Kevorkian was sentenced to 7 to 10 years in
prison in 1999 for second-degree murder in the
death of Thomas Youk, an ALS patient who had
sought his help.
Terri Schiavo
As we go to press, a Florida appeals court has
denied a request by Terri’s parents for a new trial.
Once the court’s formal decision is announced, it is
possible that Michael Schiavo will again be able to
have his wife’s feeding tube removed. Terri’s parents
have argued that as a good Catholic Terri would
have wanted to be kept alive artificially, given the
Pope’s comments that it would be a sin to withhold
nutrition and hydration from a person in a persistent
vegetative state. Terri has been in a persistent vegetative state since 1990 when her heart stopped and
deprived her brain of oxygen for more than six
minutes.
-From The Philadelphia Inquirer, December 30, 2004.
WHY DID YOU JOIN
END-OF-LIFE CHOICES?
Did you join End-of-Life Choices because of an
experience with a family member or because of your
own illness? If you are dealing with a chronic or terminal illness, be it your own or that of a loved one,
would you tell us how you cope with the disease on
a daily basis? Are you able to carry out the normal
activities of daily living without help, or do you need
assistance? Who provides it? What is your prognosis? Is your pain under control? What are your
biggest challenges? How do you manage them?
What is most important to you? If you are a caregiver, do you have a respite strategy in place?
Your willingness to share your experience may
help others in a similar situation. Send details to
[email protected] or call (856) 429-8247.
PARTING THOUGHTS . . .
Dr. Murray Elters Jr.
I am a retired dentist. In November of 1998 my late
wife and I moved into Seabrook Village, a
Continuous Care Retirement Community in Tinton
Falls, two weeks after it opened.
Six months later my wife developed lower back
pain. Our doctor told us she had cancer of the lower
spine and said that the cancer could be removed but
that there was a 70 percent chance she would be
paralyzed from the waist down. Because of that risk,
with only a 30 percent chance of success, we did not
have the surgery done. The doctor put her on morphine to reduce the pain.
Six months later she died. I believe she skipped
some of the prescribed doses of morphine and
saved the tablets until she had enough to end her
life. We had the book Final Exit, which tells the dose
of morphine to end one’s life. On the morning of her
66th birthday she did not wake up. I checked her
pulse—she was dead.
This is a perfect example of how our life would
have been changed for the better if the USA permitted euthanasia. My wife and I always believed in it.
We would have taken that 30 percent chance with
the operation if she could have been put to death if
she were paralyzed, if she so desired.
MARCH BOARD MEETING
The board of trustees will meet on Sunday, March
20, at 1:30 in Allan Marain's office in New Brunswick.
Contact Allan for directions.
BOARD OF TRUSTEES
CONTACT INFORMATION
NEWSLETTER PUBLICATION/
SUBMISSION DATES
Month of Publication
Submission Deadline
February
December 15
April
February 15
June
April 15
August
June 15
October
August 15
December
October 15
Submit material to [email protected] or
phone (856) 429-8247 for the address to send it
through the US mail. All material becomes the property of End-of-Life Choices of New Jersey, Inc.
Permission to reprint articles must be obtained in
writing from the editor and the author. Unused articles may be returned to the author upon request.
DISTRIBUTION
Allan Marain, President: [email protected]
Howard Wineber g, Vice President; Speaker
Coordinator: [email protected]
Roberta Massey, Vice President, Newsletters;
Volunteer Coordinator: [email protected],
(856) 429-8247
Joan Miller, Treasurer: [email protected]
Arthur Hausker, Trustee: [email protected]
Morton Leeds, Trustee: [email protected]
Dr. Harry Zutz, Trustee: [email protected]
If you do not receive your newsletter by the third
week in a publication month or if you would like additional newsletters to post or distribute, e-mail
[email protected] or call (856) 429-8247.
ADDRESS CHANGES
Please submit changes of address to national at
End-of-Life Choices, PO Box 101810, Denver, CO
80246, or call (800) 247-7421.
Visit our Web sites at
www.endoflifechoices.org
www.EndofLifeChoicesNJ.org
ME ET INGS S URV EY
If membership meetings were held bimonthly in New Brunswick, would you attend?
Yes
___
No
___
I would be interested in the following topics at meetings (please prioritize your choices but leave blank those
that do not interest you):
___ Unification
___ State of the Movement
___ Introduction to End-of-Life Choices
___ State Legislative Opportunities
___ Natl Legislative Focus
___ Local Legislative Opportunities
___ Exploring the Hastening of Death
___ Caring Friends
___ HIV/AIDS
___ Legal Ramifications of Hastened Death ___ Advance Directives
___ State-Specific Laws
___ Religion and the Choices Movement
___ Bioethics
___ Disabilities and the
Choices Movement
____________________________________________________________________ Other (please specify)
The most convenient time for me to attend meetings:
____ Saturday afternoons ____ Sunday afternoons
Suggestions, comments for the newsletter: ____________________________________________________
______________________________________________________________________________________
Name/phone/e-mail (all optional): ___________________________________________________________
MAIL TO: Roberta Massey, Newsletter Editor
316 Cranford Rd, Cherry Hill, NJ 08003
(856) 429-8247
7
Allan Marain, President
(732) 828-2020
End-of-Life Choices–New Jersey
Post Office Box 1030
New Brunswick, NJ 08903
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