X-Message-Number: 1253

Subject: CRYONICS Quintessence: Jerry White's Account of his Mother's Suspension
1/3
From:  (Edgar W. Swank)
Date: Fri, 02 Oct 92 07:27:38 PDT

[Reprinted from the September 92 Immortalist]
Quintessence (part 1 of 3)
 
by Jerry White
 
 
Background
 
Some time before the first neuro ("cephalo-cryonic"?)  patient and the
first brain ("encephalo-cryonic"?)  suspension (July 16 and October 4,
respectively, of 1976), I had conceived of preservation of only the
brain (perhaps with biopsies of other tissues) as an important option,
and had circulated a memo to that effect among afew individuals.  I
was pleased when the first cephalonic suspension occurred (though I
believe my own proposal had nothingto do with that or subsequent
cases).  Thereafter, it seemed to me that cephalonic suspension was
generally satisfying the basic objectives of encephalonic suspension,
and I did not attempt to promote the latter further, except for some
spasmodic and unsuccessful attempts to persuade various friends and
relations not involved in cryonics at least to consider donating their
brains for cryonic preservation.  I proposed at the February 24, 1991
meeting of the ACS Board of Governors that ACS move deliberately
toward offering cryonic preservation of the brain as an explicit
option.  This proposal was reported in The Immortalist (March 1991)
and discussed there further (May 1991).
 
 
A Friend of the Family
 
Noel Sullivan was a great friend of our family since he and my
mother's mother Helen met as teenagers.  A pacifist Irish Catholic,
dramatic, passionate, generous, wealthy and socially prominent, Noel
bought a fleet of ambulances, and maintained and operated it on the
front in Europe during World War I (I seem to remember being told that
Hemingway based the character of his ambulance-driver protagonist in A
Farewell to Arms, though not the story, on Noel), built the Carmelite
Monastery in Carmel, California (and is interred on the premises),
performed as an accomplished concert singer and instrumentalist,
patronized and supported numerous writers and other artists, and
provided a home for scores of injured animals in Carmel Valley at his
Hollow Hills Farm, a place I recall as one of peace, joy, and beauty.
Noel himself died in 1956, but I remember him well and fondly and with
a sense of kinship which has grown with the years.  My mother
repeatedly affirmed that he was the most saintly person she had ever
known; on the back of a framed photo of him, she wrote:  "A living
example of love, compassion, and care, for all God's creatures, both
human and animal ...  he cried and he laughed--he had beauty in his
soul!!"
 
My dear friend Michele accompanied me on the weekend of Memorial Day,
1991, to visit my mother.  I had told Michele of Noel Sullivan and my
own meditating on, or to, him.  Impressed by these stories, she then
devised a mantra or invocation to be used to petition for healing.
Poetic license suggested that his name be pronounced differently from
usual.  The mantra goes:  "Noel ...  Make us whole...  Bless your
soul."  I had told my mother of the mantra, and she, Michele, and I
started in using it and some other such measures on the occasion of
our several maladies.  At the very least, we felt that doing so
instilled an extra portion of solidarity among us, and we shared the
hope of such psychic chicken soup that, It couldn't hurt!
 
 
Critical Developments
 
On December 20, 1991, my sister Soffie phoned me from her residence in
Nevada to say that our cousin Callie, a registered nurse specializing
in home and hospice care, had just called.  Callie's news was that
Soffie's and my mother, Susan, a California native of age 73,
currently residing near Callie in a semi-rural area a few hours drive
from the San Francisco Bay Area, was ill.
 
I drove the next day to visit Mother.  Soffie and Callie were there
amidst a house full of visitors.  Mother had been taken to the
hospital at 4 a.m.  suffering respiratory distress.  X-rays showed
lesions which were suspected of being malignant, and a lung biopsy had
been taken.  A brain scan also showed two lesions, which were however
believed benign meningiomas (tumors of the meningeal membrane
surrounding the brain).  The long term prognosis was poor.  However,
it was not felt that she was serious enough to be admitted, and she
returned home about noon.  I found her mobile and in feisty good
spirits, fearless at this prospect of death while resolutely opposed
to enduring extreme though useless pain, awestruck at her seeming
predicament, and angry at the circumstances which had engendered it.
Her physical condition, though, alarmed me.  Although she did not
formulate a durable power of attorney for health care, she did make it
clear to family and medical personnel that she did not want
extraordinary life support if there was no chance it would
significantly extend life.
 
With the two of us together at the table in the family area, I berated
Mother for begrudging me the signal though problematic status of my
own ailment by turning up with one even more critical.  She, in turn,
scolded me for being a rotten kid to suggest such an outrage.
 
I had to return home later that evening, but Soffie decided on
an extended stay.  Mother felt better the next morning, but
experienced
very severe back pain during the evening.  The next day she and Soffie
visited her doctor, where they learned from the biopsy results the
diagnosis of terminal lung cancer, with other tumors likely throughout
the body.  Mother made an appointment to start therapy in two weeks
from a specialist of her acquaintance situated a few hours away, the
doctor who had treated our dear friend Gerry (Geraldine), whom Mother
nursed during most of the last year or two of her life.
 
Last Project
 
Mother's and my last joint project was to commemorate the 100th
anniversary, on Christmas Day, of Noel Sullivan's birth.  For our
little celebration, I ordered a birthday cake.  Mother and I spoke on
the phone and she proposed as well sending a birthday flower
arrangement to the Carmelite Monastery.  I spoke to the Monsignor and
arranged for a Christmas birthday bouquet to be delivered.  The card
said:  "Dearest Uncle Noel ...  Make us whole ...  Bless your soul ...
love, Susan and JB."
 
I arrived at Mother's Christmas Day with the cake.  Though further
weakened, she had managed that morning to lean on the car while
watching her grandson Marcus rollerblade down the adjoining hill at
high velocity.  I arrived to find her dressed elegantly indeed and
skillfully applying tasteful but dramatic makeup, though she then
climbed back in bed and did not leave her room.  She wanted us to use
up her film, so we took numerous photos--the last stills of her in
life--including all of us with the cake.  I sliced portions for
Mother, Soffie, Marcus, and me, and also one for Noel.  Mother was
able only to taste her piece, but after a while, a bite was discovered
missing from Noel's.  All present, other than Mother's cat Liza Jane,
disavowed any knowledge of the errant bite.  I hereby reaffirm my own
ignorance and innocence regarding it.
 
When I described the disposition made of the flower project, Mother
cried, incredulous that we had managed to do such a thing, and praised
the beauty of our efforts and Noel's saintliness.  As I knelt by her
bed, she argued that given her own condition, she might as well take
mine with her.  I inquired where I might sign to finalize the deal.
 
 
Learning and Teaching
 
At that time, and more than once again during the days that remained,
and often since, I've recalled those whimsically sincere occasions
when she made the same offer, and the bitter moments when, in January
of 1989, I told Mother and Gerry of my condition.  I expressed great
regret in imparting the burden of that knowledge, but also of my need
for them, especially for Mother, then more than ever before.  It was
terrible to see the sorrow and dismay in Mother's eyes as, taking a
moment to collect herself, she retrieved some carrots from their
assigned bin, stuck them in her back pocket, and strode off to
administer them to her horse Gogie.  After a minute I followed her
down to the pasture, and there, bathed by the gaze of that furry
friend, we melted tearfully into each other's arms, affirming our love
and pledging our mutual support.
 
Many times over the years she and I had discussed the merits of my
life extension activities.  For twenty-six years it had been my hope
to persuade her to participate.  On one of these just described
visits, I discussed it one last time with her, noting that it was not
too late, to which she promised to give more thought.  Otherwise, her
stated desire was to be buried next to her brother at a local
cemetery.  Of course, she had made no advance arrangements for
suspension, and there were no funds readily available.  I shared
status as next of kin with Soffie, who was proceeding to make plans
for interment according to Mother's wishes.  These factors seriously
limited if not eliminated the possibilities for suspension.
 
Mother insisted that Soffie go home for a few days, which, after
arranging for live-in nursing care, she did on December 30.  Mother
also arranged for Beulah, a professional attendant in whom she had
great confidence from her recent work with an older cousin of
Mother's, to take over at the beginning of the year.  About that time,
Callie had Mother admitted to the hospital because she could not eat
and was having a lot of pain.  Mother became very discouraged but
insisted on going home.
 
When I visited again on January 4, Beulah had arrived and we got
acquainted.  Mother had strength only to sit on the side of the bed
and move around in it, her words few and fading in and out of
coherence.  She had experienced a rough night, and was still in great
discomfort from extensive itchy welts, to which medication likely
contributed.  I massaged her gently, and when I concentrated on her
legs, she murmured "lazy bones ...," to which I replied that,
especially under the circumstances, they weren't so lazy at all.  She
then expatiated further by weakly singing, "Lazy bones, sleeping in
the sun ...."  When she was resting more comfortably, I curled up next
to her, and she grasped my wrist.
 
Before returning home later that night, I talked to her doctor, who
thought that she might well survive long enough to undergo therapy,
which, because of her condition, had been delayed, and might then live
for up to a year.  Taking the opportunity to get some archival
material by filming her a bit with my video camera, I saw very clearly
in what had become her constant agony that dying was a 24-hour-a-day
job.  Soffie had noted that, had we in better days chanced to predict
the circumstances of Mother's death, this would have had to be
precisely the scenario, "a nightmare," as Soffie described it; and so
it was.
 
 
The Plan
 
It was as late as that very day and the next that I conceived what I
might be able to do.  On January 6, I drafted forms whereby I would,
as next of kin, make an anatomical donation of Mother's brain to ACS
or to an appropriate physician, and whereby Soffie would consent to
the donation.  That evening I met and conferred with colleagues Jim
Yount and John Day about what might be required to implement some form
of encephalo-cryonic suspension.  Our discussion ranged over the
proposed forms, personnel, equipment, and supplies that might be used,
the cooperation of the local mortuary, attending physician, and
lawyer; and, all important, Soffie's role.  Funds to cover expenses
incurred in all suspension operations through encapsulation in liquid
nitrogen and initial maintenance being a problem (there was no
insurance and cash was uncertain), they proposed that enough be raised
by loans until my share of the estate became available.
 
The next day I revised the forms, and that evening I phoned Soffie,
who had returned to Mother's, and proposed the plan.  Not wishing to
get involved in what might otherwise be lengthy bargaining, I reminded
her of what I would really like to have happen--our mother's
suspension--but stressed that I felt that circumstances made either of
the two conventional options out of the question.  Our conversation
continued roughly:
 
"However, there is a compromise ..."
 
"Yes?"
 
"I want to freeze her brain."
 
" ... You do?"
 
"Very much," and I then described how this new encephalic option, this
compromise between a conventional suspension and none at all, would be
very important to me and would permit our mother's body tobe interred
as she desired.  My sister very perceptively formulated to me the very
arguments I was prepared to make to her and agreed to support the
plan.  She suggested I mail the form to her in Nevada for her
signature, as she was going there the next day for a brief period.  I
immediately met and conferred again with Jim and John as well as
Carmen Brewer and Avi Ben-Abraham and at the ACS office.
 
 
The Visit
 
Rather than send Soffie the form to sign, I felt it advisable to visit
Mother's the next day with the forms and to start setting the plan in
motion, though uncertain how long I would stay or how critical the
situation really was.  Although involved in other urgent business, Jim
volunteered to accompany me.  So, early on Wednesday, January 8, I
phoned Mother's and told Soffie I would be there in a few hours, and
Jim and I did arrive late that morning.  Jim had brought about 750 ml
of Ringer's lactate and a vial of heparin as samples and a bag
resuscitator.  I immediately refrigerated the samples, and soon
started accumulating a supply of ice cubes in the freezer.
 
Mother's condition was worse still, though Jim contends that she
responded graciously on being introduced to him--as it turned out, the
last person she was to meet.  A hospital bed had been moved into her
room and a device to assist her breathing with oxygen was being used.
Soffie had visited the mortuary earlier that morning to complete
arrangements for Mother's interment, and had informed the director
that I would be stopping by soon to discuss an interesting and unusual
project.  She and I filled out the forms.  Believing that Mother would
likely survive for some days at least and with pressing obligations at
home, Soffie set out early in the afternoon on the drive to Nevada.
 
Jim and I visited the mortuary to alert the personnel there to the
anatomical donation.  They were willing to help, but concerned that
appropriate legal and medical formalities for removing the brain and
transferring its custody to the donee be adhered to.  Though having
some theoretical familiarity, they had not themselves participated in
any such case.  They initially expected problems with transportig
Mother's body to medical facilities, but it became clear that the
removal could occur on their premises.  We planned to find a local
physician or to bring in our own.  The mortuary referred us to some
pathologists whose services they had previously employed, and whose
office we visited.  However, none of the doctors was currently in
town, so we agreed to return early the next morning.  The mortuary
thought that the physician in charge of the case might be able to
order a partial autopsy, for which there could be some advantage.  We
visited his office, but he was unavailable, although an associate made
a house call during the afternoon, was apprised of the project, and
made valuable suggestions.
 
[Continued]

--
 (Edgar W. Swank)
SPECTROX SYSTEMS +1.408.252.1005  Silicon Valley, Ca


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