These days the news of a court ruling (Supreme? Boh, nun me remember) when you agree to the interruption of force-feeding of a poor man who grows from 16 years in a hospital bed.
OK, the topic is quite tricky, I admit. Although I would say that in fact the argument itself is not at all tricky, but that has been made that a little thing. A little thing called Catholicism, and is expressed in various forms in the four corners of the planet (Although that is round, its beautiful corners gave them to the same). The fact is that thanks to a certain vision of the world, made their own and in part generated by the person who refers to the Catholic doctrine, or the Christian faith in general, nowadays no one can claim to be entirely master of his own life. And of his death, which is its natural conclusion. Nothing has
the fact that a person express their will at the height of his faculties, or that nothing and no one has yet proved to belong to any of the human upper body - which in turn has not yet revealed its existence. So, to me on the ass is that you decide not to suffer, then you're here and die in agony, full stop: this seems to be the reasoning that drives so many little heads more or less clerical in Italy and the rest terraqueous Orbe.
Be ', if he did not understand, I is not well. I want to leave as I will, not as someone else wants. I could not direct me to open the curtain on this life, at least the output of the scene I decide!
How do you say to a terminally ill - cancer, AIDS, diabetes, Parkinson's or any other disease terribly painful - "No, you do not you commit suicide, because your life belongs to God"? The answer that I would be spontaneous "So what if I take him my pain, and do not piss me." But in his infinite generosity, the Almighty (which is not Berlusconi, by definition) gives grace to suffer like animals, to experience surges of grief that perhaps not even the Nazis ever inflicted on their victims.
And then, two things.
First, I hope tomorrow, when it's up to me to have strength and I can choose my death, I could fill of beta-blockers and vodka (or rum, and barbiturates, perhaps with a little 'lime and sugar) without giving me the task of anyone I please. And I hope no one dares to criticize my choice, otherwise my last act will be to open it in two, large or small, or secular priest who is.
Second, I wish all those who are indignant and anathematizing that they decide to stop suffering, to spend even half of the suffering that so incensed. O to finish at the San Raffaele, where until a few years ago, was given morphine for the pain ennobles ...
Well ... now a dab of good balls and I go to a cigarette fumarmi: o) Baci
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