A Substance of Life and Death

This opinion piece appeared in the Townsman, September 4, 2008 edition

Some musty old book I read centuries ago had a very interesting definition of life; life is that which maintains form through a change of substance. Read that a couple of times and admire the mind that can strip the upholstery from a word that us ordinary folks might pad with a thousand metaphors and still not seat anyone comfortably but ourselves. Do yourself a favor and memorize it because you never know when you might be able to use it to stop a dull, meandering conversation dead; you know the conversations I'm talking about, What is Life, What is Beauty ("beauty is aptness to purpose") or What is Truth ("truth is that which profits man"), the conversations that bring our brains to a simmer but cannot poach an egg or even brew a satisfying cup of tea so why bother.

Beauty and Truth can have their own column, for now let's stick with Life. Our modern age has made it possible to addendum its definition as follows: life is that which maintains form through a change of substance in strict conformance with our schedules and desires.

Let me explain.

Early this year I received a phone call from a very excited cousin. She was going to have her first baby! This was really good news because she was nearing a point in her life when such a blessing would become far less likely. Naturally I heartily congratulated her and for a few moments we enthusiastically agreed no news good be more precious and wonderful, when I asked her what the due date was. She told me the boy would be delivered on July 25. And he was.

My wife's and my first child was born almost 26 years ago. We knew "it" would push its way into the world "sometime around late August or early September." She was born September 3. Or second child was born a little over 22 years ago. We knew "it" would crash the party "sometime around the middle of May." He was born May 11. In both cases my wife and I each were supposed to work those days, but for these inconveniences. In neither case did we stock up on blue or pink baby clothes because we had no idea what gender to expect. When we discussed possible names for the "its" for every "Susie" there was also a "Johnny." To make a long story short, we not only upset our work schedules, but we then blew another day running around buying gender appropriate garb for the little bundles.

I have read how in our nation the number of so-called C-sections has rapidly gained in proportion to that of vaginal births. One explanation is that obstetricians are becoming more and more cautious about subjecting the baby to the stresses and potential hazards of vaginal birth, or in some cases the potential hazard to the mother's health, and recommend more and more the option of putting the mother under general anesthesia, slicing into her womb, bringing the child into the world and then stitching mom back together. This option is more often than not precisely scheduled.

I've also read that more and more moms are insisting on the option. I'm sure in most cases the decision is based on reasons similar to those of obstetricians, and there are many good reasons above and beyond from the ones I have described. Whatever the reason, it does appear that a growing number of parents today are taking steps to determine just what zodiacal sign their child will be. For instance, had my cousin chosen a date four to five days sooner she would have a Cancer instead of a Leo in the bassinet.

So here we are in a modern age when it is not the strangest or most unlikely thing to be told in January that a specifically gendered little cousin will come promptly into the world on, say, July 25.

I wish my rumination could stop here, but the ability to schedule life just today took on another dimension.

Yesterday I got a phone call from a friend. Our mutual friend who for the past several days lay in a hospital bed with a respirator snaked into his lungs decided that he wanted to die today. He had the legal right to have his respirator removed, and was fully aware that without it his damaged lungs would not sustain him. He asked that his daughter be summoned, and by four o-clock this afternoon she arrived with her husband. Earlier several friends had visited to say their farewells. His daughter spent time with him alone to understand for herself the clarity of his wishes. There was some discussion with him about funeral arrangements, the care of his cats and the final disposition of some of his property. The doctor was contacted. The doctor called members of the hospital staff and advised them on procedure.

At about 6:10 PM the respirator was removed. He was given sedation. Even an eighty-six year old body with very damaged lungs does not submit easily. I will only say that there was intense love and compassion from the four of us each trying to comfort him. At 6:40 he was dead. He left us on his own terms with a punctuality that did not characterize his life.

If it had been our mood we could have made the dinner hour.

Such is the modern world.