DEATH ON SCHEDULE
by K. Forrest
February 24, 2023
It’s your road, and yours alone – RUMI
Big countdown today, my friend, Ermz, has chosen her date with death. This is the first time I know someone personally making this decision. I know the date and time she will end her time as a mortal on this earth. This decision, a raw act of self determination; an autonomous choice over existence as a mortal. This choice is the essence of what it means to be a self determining human being. It is her decision.
From the moment I woke today, the thought that the clock doth toll for her end is on loop. I search for an appropriate sound bite, every cliche about death and dying about the end of life just does not fit for this experience. The axiom of “no one knows when it’s their time” doesn’t fit anymore. Until medical assistance in dying became accessible, I was not familiar with a supporting a person having any say in choosing the thei end. Not a choice I feel I could make for myself.
In addition to a scheduled death, also on my schedule this Friday, I am headed o my weekly sauna session at a recreation centre a few towns away. It is -15 degrees Celsius and my dated silver Volkswagon SUV barely cranks over. He begrudgingly fires up on the second key twist of the ignition and I let him heat up for a generous 15min. I drive up the frozen highway squinting through snow glare off the barren, yet beautiful landscape. The “hills” are tiny bumps by the comparison to the pacific northwest grand mountains where I’m from.
I arrive early at the recreation centre, killing a few minutes in the parking lot, stashing my wallet and phone in what I think are not so obvious hiding places. Now that I am comfortable with my belongings hidden, I notice a few familiar folk start to arrive and I get out of the car and move to join them. The key fob seems to have other ideas and decides to be uncooperative. I depress the lock button, wait on the confirmation “beep”…instead the door lock clicks as though it locking the door, but… no beep. I pull the car door handle, and instead of prohibiting my entry, the door opens AND the alarm is activated. I stand there with car door open, in -15, and alarm blaring. I hit the open door button on the fob, and mercifully the blaring stops. I cycle through the lock, open, alarm dance with the fob a few more times. I do not want to leave the car unlocked on account of my belongings creatively stashed inside. I stare at the fob, my temper is short, and I am angry and vocal about this piece of shit alarm. I express some very salty expletives. My thoughts rage and I kick the running board of the car with my Sorrel boot. Teaching my Silver Bullet and its bullshit fob a lesson as my kick knocks off the string of dirty icicles that are hanging along the running board. I try the fob again…it fails. I can still open the door AND the alarm activates. I press unlock on the fob to stop the noise and I am standing staring at the car, one hand on the door handle and looking angrily at the fob and a regular from the pool passes by. He is good ol’ boy that looks like Santa Claus and regularly leaves candy treats from Halloween on my windshield. Normally, I can exercise the restraint needed to smile and nod at his self centred ramblings of whatever pops into his head, but today I can’t even look up at him. He sees I am having some sort of issue, and of course his first instinct is to state: “Well, you must need some candy then” and hands over a couple shiny gold and green packets stamped with a ghoulish pumpkin insignia that stares back at me with glee. Candy man suggests it might be my battery. I catch a reflection of myself in the back passenger window. I certainly look non threatening, I am a petite woman with blonde whisps of hair up poking out the sides of my hand knitted toque, and my appearance is definitely in-congruent with my internal state. I have a full blown rage brewing. This man unaware of my internal fury, a powder keg ready to explode. I growl through my clenched teeth that I just replace the battery, meaning car battery not the fob battery, which I like to find out later is what he actually meant. My tone must indicates that something isn’t quite right with me today and he backs away, sensing its time to move along.
I am late for the 11:30am pool opening because of the poltergeist in my fob and I’m rattled. I hurriedly plunk down my pre-counted $4 in dimes nickels quarters at the front desk and I skip the usual banter with the kids personing the front desk – today, I don’t have time for the small talk. I like being on time.
A familiar cast is in the women’s change room. I re-calibrate, none of these women deserve to be infected by my internal angst. We chat about the chilly weather and discuss the recovery journey of one of the women in my cohort that is returning to the pool for the first time since her hip surgery. I comment approvingly that the long scar at the top of her leg appears to be healing well and looking good. Life is soldiering on.
I finally enter the sauna, its almost noon, and I’m alone in this dim, hot wooden room that smells faintly of cedar. The regulars spend the first hour doing laps in the pool. I do the lazy man’s work out; sweating out all the toxins from inside my body through my skin. Time for my daily exercises; free squats, pushups, deadbugs and tricep dips. Lightly supporting myself on the wooden lattice in front of the heater, I do 25 free squats. Seven hours to go before the death hour. How do I talk about this? What if I am asked how is my day is going?…15,16,19… What do I say? I am not counting anymore. I moved onto angry push-ups, losing count here also and realize that I think I may have gone over 30, which is a decent benchmark apparently for a man my age, if they want to make it to over 80. I do 15 tricep dips, and I break and sit, puffing away the hot air in and out of my lungs. Ahh, that’s what I can say..my friend is taking her last breath today. My breath steadies and I do another deep, deliberate slower set of another 15 triceps and sit down. I say it out loud “I have a friend who is taking her last breath today, in 7 hours” I looking down at an imaginary watch on my left wrist. Good, now I am prepared with something to say if anyone asks how my day is going.
I lie down on the upper bench and perform dead bugs, alternating my arm and my opposite leg back-and-forth. I usually can do 50 but I lose count. A wave of anger has hijacked me again. My arms don’t seem to be moving in sync, so I just do 25 bicycle kicks and sit up and quickly – a little too quickly. I feel dizzy and I am alone in the sauna, if I pass out, it might be a while before I am found. I deliberately focus on restoring my breath and sit sideways in the corner, swinging my legs along the wall until bottom of my feet pointing towards the ceiling and lying on my back. This is a favourite posture to rest in, and my feet get toasty in the air at the top of the sauna. I breathe and reflect on having many more breaths, and Ermz, will be taking her last one in seven hours. I cry, not worried anyone will notice as I’m sweating and blotchy from my overheating anyway. Lying on the upper bench, the anger has dissipated, and I feel relieved. I ponder philosophically about this idea of planning ahead for death. Stage 4 cancer doesn’t sound like a picnic, and given the option as to not prolong the suffering seems very practical. I could make this choice for my pet. My anger was pre-grieving. The woman is not dead yet, but I know when she plans to be. This concept is very new and challenging to reconcile when I don’t understand what is typical to feel. Historically, I suspect passive euthanasia would be have been very discreet, and between patient and caregiver or health practitioner. Present day a patient can know their death date and time. Having this pre-knowledge is a bit of head twister.
I leave the sauna, take a shower and then to the therapeutic pool for a cool down. There is an extra lane open for the therapeutic pool today for some reason, the recreation area is wider, and I float spread out like a starfish as I typically do, gazing up at the industrial metal ceiling corrugated roof with the banners and flags hanging from the trusses. My head and ears are underwater, only my eyes and snout holes exposed. Ignoring the circle of chattering self interested olds as I float by, I take a deep deliberate breath and find the usual calm and peaceful state. Paying my pool mates no attention, my candy man is there and probably still senses there something amiss with me today. I do not have the patience to tolerate him grunting, “huh?” as a prompt for me to repeat what I have said. My response is likely to be: “turn your fucking ears on bud…and its ‘pardon’, by the way”. I do not like being asked to repeat myself.
Time to leave the pool. I head to the change room, and mercifully it’s empty and I can dress in peace. I collect my clothes from the locker and opt for the stall with a door to close myself in, just in case someone enters the change room. I am in no condition to be congenial today. Time is 1:00PM; six hours till she takes her last breath. I drive to an old timey 50’s diner in te next town. it has a rundown feel and I’ve been wanting an excuse to try it. I pull into its narrow parking lot, barely off the road and I glance in my review mirror and I am a sight! Blotchy and clearly teary, but decide to go in nonetheless, I am hungry and I order a clubhouse sandwich to go. I indicate to excuse my appearance as I have been in the sauna….sure, that explains why am blotchy as fuck and not that I’ve been crying about my friend that has a date with death in 5hours. While waiting on this said sandwich, I receive a call from a wise and stoic friend that has already said her goodbye to Ermz earlier in the week. This is not her first experience knowing someone choosing their date and time to exit. We both have a deep respect for the grace and dignity Ermz exhibited in executing this plan. I explain my state and my voice is choking up, and I apologize. She explains that some emotion in order and speaks to my caring. We laugh and talk in a dark and humourous manner about the moment. The onlooker might regard us as glib, but the truth is that gravity and the beauty of this decision is one I regard with wonder and even a little bit of excitement on her behalf.
My a partner, also a friend and colleague of Emrz is painting for the day, seems fitting. I call to check in and we are all moving through this in our own solitary way. We joke about how many people across the world taking a dram of scotch at the death hour. Its 3:00pm and only 4 hours away now. I feel good, the grief is gone from anger to relief and almost envy, most certainly excitement on her behalf. What should she be feeling now? Is this liberating? I wonder if this the feeling people might have when they choose to take their own life?I wonder if this the feeling people might have when they choose to take their own life? [ metaphor eg. Sides of same coin, same ocean different tides?] If you’re ready for the next stage, who am I to wade into into the right or wrong either one of these scenarios.
I spend the afternoon on errands and I head home, reheat leftovers for dinner and sit in the bay window of our old Victorian house, watching the sun, go down. This is a last sunset for some and night falls clear over the snow, speckled hills. Having a choice on the time of your last breath is profound. Appointment with death 7:00PM Friday. The build up to the time was different that the build up for anticipation of a service for someone who has “passed away” in the traditional sense. Ironically, tomorrow is a funeral service of a dear Uncle. I will not attend but there will be the after service, reminiscing and share stories about him, in the past tense. A distinct contrast to our current conversations of our friend who has not yet left us but will soon, very soon, the scheduled death is less than 15 minutes away. We enjoy the moment and have a wee dram of scotch on the hour. We talk for a time after the 7:00pm mark, in the present tense as though she’s still with us, in the midst of moments when she is seeing herself out.