If the M’s lose and I snooze, pull the plug

Note to spouse, children and mom: It’s OK. Go ahead. Pull the plug. Yank the feeding tube. Perform the full “Clint.”

If I can no longer carry out the most basic forms of human communication – such as flipping the bird at Bobby Knight – I no longer want to linger in this vale of tears.

I already have a living will that expresses my wishes. Preparing a living will was not a difficult decision for me. I’m the sort of person who, when I sprained my ankle and had to watch daytime TV for two days, begged my loved ones to put me out of my misery.

So deciding whether I would enjoy living in a brain-damaged coma was, if you’ll pardon the expression, a no-brainer. And I certainly don’t want my kin saddled with the job of reading my mind, especially when my mind is gone.

Nor do I want them agonizing over how impaired I must be before they execute (ouch) my wishes.

Just so they know, here’s how they can tell if I have lost all basic cognitive skills: If someone walks in my hospital room and announces that the Seattle Mariners have just lost another game by walking in a run, I should at the very least (1) Shake my head sadly, (2) Throw arms in air in expression of futility, (3) Shout string of nautical oaths involving “hawse pipes” or (4) Grab notepad and write essay blaming all of Mariners’ problems on radio broadcaster Ron Fairly. If I do none of these things, I am already gone by any reasonable measure.

And if, at the end of a losing season, I do not have the ability to either say or write or drool in Morse code the words, “Wait till next year,” then it is safe to assume I do not require a next year.

Now, I don’t want you to think that I am some kind of pro-death fanatic, and I especially don’t want you to think that I am a pro-MY-OWN-DEATH fanatic. That would be a fatal misreading of my position.

For instance, about that sprained ankle incident. Maybe I begged people to put me out of my misery, but I didn’t mean I wanted them to fetch a loaded handgun.

“Not THAT,” I would have said. “I meant I needed someone to go to Blockbuster and get me some decent DVDs and a box of Nestle’s Drumsticks. And stop pointing that thing at me.”

So I do have some rather strict guidelines on when it’s OK to let God call me home. Here’s an idea of where I stand:

It’s time to go if: I cannot breathe, eat, digest and operate the remote without artificial assistance.

But not if: I am merely complaining of a headache.

It’s time to go if: I am being kept alive only by tubes jammed into every orifice of my body.

But not if: All I have is a saline IV drip and a grouchy attitude.

It’s time to go if: I am in a permanent coma or non-responsive state.

But not if: I am merely “resting my eyes.”

It’s time to go if: I have reverted to, more or less, broccoli.

But not if: I have merely forgotten my ATM password.

It’s time to go if: I let go peacefully.

But not if: I must be overpowered and smothered with a pillow.

That ought to clear up a few gray areas.

By the way, when I use the expression “let God call me home,” I do not use it as a euphemism. The whole issue boils down to this: If I can no longer breathe, no longer swallow and no longer survive without a bunch of ridiculous electronic gadgets plugged into me, I believe that God wants me back.

He has expressed His will quite clearly. It’s those infernal machines that are thwarting Him.

My beliefs on this issue are, I confess, not entirely spiritual. My family members should also keep in mind that I am, and have always been, a cheap, cheap man. Paying hundreds of thousands of dollars on machinery to keep me alive in a semi-coma strikes me as a massive waste of money. Wasting money is also against my religion.

As I mentioned, I already have a living will, so I am covered legally. However, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to establish my wishes, right out here in public. Maybe my case will be the first time the hospital’s legal staff will ever have to stand around my bed with a newspaper clipping, furrowing their brows and saying, “Well, he has expressed absolutely no response to Ron Fairly’s voice.”

As far as I’m concerned, I’ve caused enough trouble in this world with my brain and mouth in full working order. I feel no compulsion to cause even more, just lying around doing nothing.