Bob Cane leaves from Switzerland January 16th.
Here's his goodbye...
Showing posts with label EXIT International. Show all posts
Showing posts with label EXIT International. Show all posts
Monday, January 15, 2024
Sunday, March 20, 2022
Sunday, February 13, 2022
The Right To Die
This just in from EXIT International:
| Exit would like to congratulate the Finnish documentary team of Jan-Olof Svarvar and Maria Holmberg who have won the 'Best Producer' award at the 2022 World Film Fair this week in New York. |
| Based on the 6-part TV documentary series which was aired in late 2019 by the Finnish national broadcaster YLE, (link is to movie trailer) 'Right to Die' follows the end of life experiences of four people (two Exit members) in Finland, the Netherlands & the US. |
| Olof Films feature documentary (English language) stems from their initial TV series. |
| The documentary can be viewed on Vimeo (by subscription; scroll down...it's in the list). Exit hopes to post further information of free to air viewings in the near future. |
| Watch the TV series Trailer |
| * Note - this documentary should not be confused with the 2019 film by Vice Media called 'Time to Die' An image from EXIT's website...in order to have some image to accompany the post.  |
Sunday, May 23, 2021
An Increasing Interest...in Dying
This is a link to an article in The New Yorker made available through EXIT International. The article is titled:
We’ve Had Great Success Extending Life. What About Ending It?
In addition to the article there's a link to Dan Gaffney's blog. In this post, dated May 5, (I'm assuming it's from 2021, but there's no way to know) he touches on common aspects of dying including: coping with a terminal illness, aging, and self-deliverance. The last is my preferred phrase for throwing-in-the-towel and not necessarily his choice.
Gaffney quotes Stephen Jenkinson who was director of a palliative care program in Canada:
“More time, when it finally kicks in, is the rest of a dying person’s life, and the rest of that life will be lived in the never-before-known shadow of the inevitability of their dying. For the first time in their lives they will live knowing that they will die from what afflicts them. More time means more time to live their dying."
“It means more symptoms, more drugs for the symptoms, more drugs for the side effects of the first drugs, more weakness and diminishment and dependence to go along with more time with the kids or grandkids or walks in the park with the dog.
“That’s not all it means, not necessarily, but more time almost always means more dying. No one is born, no one walks in the park or sits looking out the window knowing how to die like that, slowly and visibly and knowingly. Very few here on these shores, where death phobia rules, learn how, or want to.”
I don't wanna get morbid or anything, but now that it appears (after 50 years of stupidity...and what does that tell us about the Powers-That-Be?) that decriminalization of marijuana throughout the U.S. is assured, choosing the time and method of one's death is an issue of increasing importance, especially to the most famous cohort in recorded history: The Baby Boomers!
In this case though, the issue's likely to REALLY benefit our Social Security system...and maybe our taxes! Oh, lordy, wouldn't THAT be something!
But for those of us who inhaled, one of the questions we'll undoubtedly face is: How long will we need to "hold it in" THIS TIME?
Thursday, September 3, 2020
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Friday, July 5, 2019
Monday, October 8, 2018
Right To Die & The Peaceful Pill Handbook
UPDATE 6/13/20
For many years helium was touted (by the now-defunct Hemlock Society) as the most accessible means. I tested it in 2014 and it felt like having a hive of bees lowered over my head. I think the feeling was due to a numbing effect.
The surgeon was surprised at my youthful age and asked me several times if I was sure. But there was never any question of my legal right.
Now, as we enter our "twilight years," many of us and/or our loved ones face the possibility of criminal prosecution for simply being present when someone ends their life.
For many years helium was touted (by the now-defunct Hemlock Society) as the most accessible means. I tested it in 2014 and it felt like having a hive of bees lowered over my head. I think the feeling was due to a numbing effect.
In 2015 I tested carbon monoxide by lighting the two burners of my Coleman stove inside my Geo Metro hatchback, the car I was then traveling in. It was winter and very cold outside so the heat was welcome. The gas was a very mild soporific that induced only the slightest of pressure in the area of my frontal lobe; not enough to even begin to call a headache and barely noticeable. But it took two weeks for my mind to fully clear.
Recently, in May of this year, I tested nitrogen. It is extremely fast and very gentle...no side effects at all. I only took four "whiffs" but that was enough to narrow my vision and bring me to the edge of consciousness. It took about 20 minutes for the acute effect to wear off and about 24 hours for it to completely "clear."
I recently finished reading Dr. Nitschke's autobiography, Damned If I Do. I can't recommend it enough! It's an excellent tale of his (and his partner's) courage and willingness to help others. Dr. Nitschke seems to prefer carbon monoxide. In the interests of testing, I ordered formic and sulphuric acids from
https://www.dudadiesel.com
a supplier of the two chemicals needed to produce CO.
When my order didn't arrive I contacted Dudadiesel and was told they automatically cancel orders that include both. Be advised.
In December of 2017 I turned 65. As a gift to myself I bought a subscription to The Peaceful Pill Handbook. The subscription includes a monthly newsletter from EXIT International.
I had a vasectomy at age 22. Although I suppose I MIGHT have been able to do the job myself, I did not have the necessary license to obtain or administer the anesthetic. And even if I had, I still lacked the coordination and certainly the expertise; it was much easier to pay someone.
I recently finished reading Dr. Nitschke's autobiography, Damned If I Do. I can't recommend it enough! It's an excellent tale of his (and his partner's) courage and willingness to help others. Dr. Nitschke seems to prefer carbon monoxide. In the interests of testing, I ordered formic and sulphuric acids from
https://www.dudadiesel.com
a supplier of the two chemicals needed to produce CO.
When my order didn't arrive I contacted Dudadiesel and was told they automatically cancel orders that include both. Be advised.
In December of 2017 I turned 65. As a gift to myself I bought a subscription to The Peaceful Pill Handbook. The subscription includes a monthly newsletter from EXIT International.
I had a vasectomy at age 22. Although I suppose I MIGHT have been able to do the job myself, I did not have the necessary license to obtain or administer the anesthetic. And even if I had, I still lacked the coordination and certainly the expertise; it was much easier to pay someone.
The surgeon was surprised at my youthful age and asked me several times if I was sure. But there was never any question of my legal right.
Now, as we enter our "twilight years," many of us and/or our loved ones face the possibility of criminal prosecution for simply being present when someone ends their life.
Friday, April 22, 2016
Trees! or Old Fool!
There was a time when I'd lope off into the woods, hike all day and come back to the car at sunset. Once, in the ponderosa and cinder fields near Bend, Oregon, I discovered I'd gone in a circle. Another time in the piney woods near Los Alamos (New Mexico, USA), I came to a promontory overlooking some hills and mesas I didn't recognize. There was a momentary sense of panic, but I ignored it. I arrived back at the car just as the sun was sinking.
In my youth I traipsed the high, thin trails of the Salmon River Wilderness (now credited to Frank Church). One time though, when camped near a road, I went to the creek about 300 feet away to get water. Returning, I was surprised when I came out on the road; I thought I was going back to camp. The road was straight and closely bounded by very same-looking trees; I had no idea which way camp was. It was getting dark and the camp wasn't right on the road. It was a 50-50 deal.
At some point (years later) I realized my luck had run out. I broke down and bought a GPS. Of course, electronics come with the requirement of carrying an extra set of batteries...maybe even TWO sets. And if I'm gonna carry something, I might as well take a flashlight, rain poncho and some water. I keep a pack with all this stuff, including the kitchen sink, ready to go.
But there's nothing like an old fool. And so, every now and then I think I'll just follow the road/trail a little ways and see where it goes. Each time I've gotten lost. This time, in the pinyon-juniper west of Cameron, Arizona, I was surprised at how quickly the panic set in. It was interesting, much different from the deliberations on self-deliverance (See: EXIT International) that sometimes accompany tho'ts of age and infirmity. It's a matter of control, I surmised.
As I strolled along, checking to see if I was getting thirsty yet, I recalled an essay in High Country News (great magazine!!) by a guy who lived in Alaska. He told of how whenever the conversation waned he'd blurt out "I'm from Alaska!" and everyone'd be awestruck. He acknowledged how pretty it is, but said he never ventured far from the bike path. He had no interest in encountering grizzlies, wolves or other predators; he was, he said, perfectly content to enjoy it from the safety of the street.
My encounters with wildlife have always been numinous, but I've never gotten over the time I had to climb down a mountain to get to the creek at the bottom. It's been nearly fifty years and to this day "Ah alwayz filz up muh jugs."
I soon found the road I'd driven in on. I carefully marked the two-track I'd taken from the stream (where I'd gone to get water) and went in the direction I thought likely. Luck was with me.
Upon arrival I paid obeisance to the GPS...and promised it I'd never go off and leave it again.
Old fool!
Eggbert (1999 3-cylinder, Geo Metro) amongst the trees...
In my youth I traipsed the high, thin trails of the Salmon River Wilderness (now credited to Frank Church). One time though, when camped near a road, I went to the creek about 300 feet away to get water. Returning, I was surprised when I came out on the road; I thought I was going back to camp. The road was straight and closely bounded by very same-looking trees; I had no idea which way camp was. It was getting dark and the camp wasn't right on the road. It was a 50-50 deal.
At some point (years later) I realized my luck had run out. I broke down and bought a GPS. Of course, electronics come with the requirement of carrying an extra set of batteries...maybe even TWO sets. And if I'm gonna carry something, I might as well take a flashlight, rain poncho and some water. I keep a pack with all this stuff, including the kitchen sink, ready to go.
But there's nothing like an old fool. And so, every now and then I think I'll just follow the road/trail a little ways and see where it goes. Each time I've gotten lost. This time, in the pinyon-juniper west of Cameron, Arizona, I was surprised at how quickly the panic set in. It was interesting, much different from the deliberations on self-deliverance (See: EXIT International) that sometimes accompany tho'ts of age and infirmity. It's a matter of control, I surmised.
As I strolled along, checking to see if I was getting thirsty yet, I recalled an essay in High Country News (great magazine!!) by a guy who lived in Alaska. He told of how whenever the conversation waned he'd blurt out "I'm from Alaska!" and everyone'd be awestruck. He acknowledged how pretty it is, but said he never ventured far from the bike path. He had no interest in encountering grizzlies, wolves or other predators; he was, he said, perfectly content to enjoy it from the safety of the street.
My encounters with wildlife have always been numinous, but I've never gotten over the time I had to climb down a mountain to get to the creek at the bottom. It's been nearly fifty years and to this day "Ah alwayz filz up muh jugs."
I soon found the road I'd driven in on. I carefully marked the two-track I'd taken from the stream (where I'd gone to get water) and went in the direction I thought likely. Luck was with me.
Upon arrival I paid obeisance to the GPS...and promised it I'd never go off and leave it again.
Old fool!
Eggbert (1999 3-cylinder, Geo Metro) amongst the trees...
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