Reality Check

Reality Blurred reports that ABC is negotiating with attorneys for Michael Schiavo to star in the next season of The Bachelor. “A media buyer expressed hope for this new season, saying, ‘ABC's utter incompetence when it comes to reality series has left The Bachelor on the reality TV version of a feeding tube, so this makes perfect sense.’"

In other TV news, today Shepard Smith of Fox News Channel was pulled abruptly off the air after prematurely declaring the death of Pope John Paul II. According to an inside source, what really infuriated NewsCorp CEO Rupert Murdoch was Smith’s announcement that Constantine Maroulis is this season’s winner of American Idol.

Mercy Killing without Mercy

Terri Schiavo has slipped the surly bonds of matrimony to Michael Schiavo to find the mercy no earthly judge could grant her. At the end her family was still pleading for Michael’s mercy to be with their beloved daughter and sister as she passed. Terri is safe from Michael and the courts forever.

The case of Terri Schiavo is now out of the legal realm and into the moral where it will be debated and reconsidered for years to come in the court of public opinion, which never closes.

My heart aches for Mary, Bob, Suzanne and Bobby. I know how it feels to be haunted by powerlessness when a dear family member dies from dehydration and starvation and their experience was so much crueler than mine. I pray that their exhaustive diligence brings them peace and comfort.

May God bless Terri and the Schindler family with His loving mercy.

Topsy Turvy Top Ten

We’re only three weeks into the American Idol final countdown. Even so I feel confident enough to make a prediction about the winner – not a huge surprise considering that I began to study these contestants as I packed away stockings, snowflakes, and candy canes and now I’m saying goodbye to baskets, bunnies, and colored eggs. Never mind that I am already rethinking predictions I made last week about record numbers of record contracts.

It’s been a looong season. But, oh, what a difference a week can make.

Just ask Ozzie “Nikko” Smith, who was cut one week and called back up to the big leagues the next. Since he got his second chance, Smith put together a three-week hitting streak. He picks songs that showcase his strengths and infuses them with the kinetic energy that apparently is his birthright.

On the other hand, ask Mikalah Gordon, who had one impressive week when she sang God Bless the Child, followed by several disappointing performances. She inspired a loyal cult of poisonality (think Bronx accent, not toxicity) that could not save her from her vocal shortcomings.

Nikko obviously figured out what it takes to win the competition: smart song selection and consistently appealing performances. While I am enjoying his comeback, I do not foresee Nikko winning.

I have a name in mind for the winner, which I will reveal at the end of this column. Two weeks ago I thought Anwar Robinson was a strong contender. Last week I wrote that Anwar needed help choosing songs. This week I decided regretfully that Anwar is beyond help. He is a dynamic singer when he picks a melodically demanding song. I can imagine him blowing everyone away with one of Stevie Wonder’s gems from the 1970s like Golden Lady (and Nikko could do the same with Sir Duke). However, I have little hope that will happen now.

Last week I wrote off Vonzell Solomon. This week she took on a Whitney Houston ballad, an ambitious but extremely risky choice, and avoided the temptation to out-diva the original. Her song selection paid off and an appealing performance should put Vonzell back in the competition for at least another week.

For me, the most memorable part of Anthony Federov’s performance was the tragic look of devastation he wore after Simon Cowell trashed it. Or were his contact lenses bothering him? Anthony seems genuinely likable as a person while perfectly forgettable as a performer. His survival this week may depend upon the continuing support of Claymates, but I don’t think boyish looks are enough to keep him around.

Last week Jessica Sierra surprised me as Vonzell did this week. I am not familiar with the Leann Rimes song she performed, but there was an a cappella bridge where she seemed to lose her pitch and made me cringe. With her pipes, Jessica has the potential to steal every show but not the victor’s crown, I believe. I would love to hear her try a Stevie Nicks song like Edge of Seventeen or Landslide.

A relatively subdued Nadia Turner redeemed a Melissa Etheridge song I thought Nikki McKibbin butchered in season one. I bet lots of viewers who used to mock Nadia’s trademark ‘do were happy to see it back this week. I suspect last week’s mohawk cast her as more of a fashion idol and cost her as a serious contender.

Scott Savol has a big, slow vibrato that occasionally flirts with flatness. Thus he needs to pick songs that showcase his soulfulness but allow him to control his vibrato. I disagree with Simon that his performance was fit for karaoke. Like Aaron Neville, Scott has a distinctive R&B voice and unconventional look. Sadly for Scott, he is not the only good singer and this is more than a singing contest.

Carrie Underwood looks like Reese Witherspoon’s country cousin. Her talent is undeniable and unique to the AI competition. Her voice is dynamic and powerful, but her facial expression seldom varies. I am sure she will do just fine on radio, although she may need a drama coach to make her a more appealing performer. I wonder if she inspires the passion it will take for fans to deliver enough votes to “carry” her to the very top, pun intended.

We’re near the end, so I can reveal the name I have in mind for this year’s winner. I think I will call him … Clay Guarini.

Clay Guarini is a composite of two AI4 contestants who combine the attractiveness of Justin Guarini with the charm and talent of Clay Aiken. AI fans have never had a traditional heartthrob who could really sing and this year’s competition features two: Bo Bice and Constantine Maroulis.

The momentum seems to be with Constantine. He looks like he’s having a blast shaking off all the preconceived expectations of the rocker label and retooling familiar songs everybody has heard. When Constantine looks into the camera, he absolutely commands your attention. You feel a personal connection. In a forum that could scarcely be more public, he creates the illusion of intimacy. To paraphrase Randy Jackson, Constantine has theatrical talent. He also has an unexpected sweetness to his voice.

Bo is a better singer than most of his song selections reflect, but he needs to shift gears quickly or he’ll be eating Constantine’s dust. This is not American Idle. I enjoyed Time in a Bottle, but Remedy was a messy throwaway. Bo needs epic songs to impress us with his big talent: You’ve Lost That Loving Feeling, Trying to Get the Feeling Again, Feelings (Whoa Whoa Whoa). Scratch that last one. Seriously, if he wants to rock out, Black by Pearl Jam would be a great choice.

I think either of the Clay Guarinis will be hard to beat. I also reserve the right to change my mind next week.

Deathwatch Countdown

As I have written, Terri Schiavo is dying of dehydration and starvation as my mother did in 1994. Looking at the calendar, I just realized that my mother and Terri Schiavo both stopped taking all liquids and nourishment on the same date: March 18. Although she had finalized her decision a month earlier, Mom continued to eat until she finished saying goodbyes to her family. Her brother, my uncle, was visiting over St. Patrick’s Day and I prepared our traditional corned beef dinner. On March 18th I made hash from the leftovers, my mother’s last meal, and my uncle returned to his home in Pinellas County, Florida, coincidentally where Terri Schiavo now lies dying.

The hospice staff predicted my mother would be dead in less than two weeks. She died on the morning of Tuesday, April 12, 1994, her twenty-fifth day without nourishment of any kind. At the time of her death, my mother suffered from two life-threatening conditions, kidney failure and multiple sclerosis. Ten months before her death, she became bed-ridden after a mild stroke followed by deep-vein thrombosis, both potentially life-threatening. She chose her time and method of dying and yet lingered for more than three weeks, at times seeming to cling to life.

We can only guess at Terri Schiavo’s overall condition on March 18, 2005, when her feeding tube was removed per Judge George Greer. Hospice specialists speculate that she will die within two weeks of that removal. Hopefully the hospice team had access to her medical records and made an informed prediction.

During the last month of her life, my mother received absolutely no medication of any kind, unless you count the glycerin swabs we would apply to her lips, the anti-itch cream I massaged on her skin, or the drops of wine from her last communion. And so I was shocked to read that Terri Schiavo has received at least two doses of morphine.

My father died of multiple myeloma, cancer of the bone marrow, which means that at the end his bones began to shatter. He did not receive morphine until the Saturday when he was admitted to the hospital where he died the following Thursday. His pain was progressively unbearable and yet he received relief from morphine only for the last six days of his life. The morphine made my father’s death seem much more peaceful on the outside than it was on the inside.

When my mother chose to die, I know she was expecting her passing to be as quick and peaceful as my father’s appeared to be. When I had the first consultation with my oncologist two years ago to determine my course of treatment for breast cancer, we discussed my family’s medical history, especially my father’s as his oncologist shares a medical office with mine. He explained the morphine effect that probably expedited my father’s death. By the time morphine is administered to a dying patient, organs are already failing and morphine likely will depress their activity even further.

The hospice workers who visited my mother daily at home were professional and caring, as I am certain are those who attend Terri Schiavo. But morphine, a CSA classification II controlled substance, requires authorization by a doctor. I can think of only two reasons why Terri would receive morphine: 1) a doctor ordered morphine to treat her pain or 2) the patient’s guardian, Michael Schiavo, requested it to calm her.

My mother was quite agitated and restless after her first week without nourishment even as she continued to muster moments of lucidity. She had visible tremors and seizures. She would mutter unintelligibly and moan. Her hospice caregivers assured us these reactions were normal and required no medical response.

If Terri needs morphine, her need puts the lie to claims by George Felos and other rush-to-die advocates that she is in a peaceful, pain-free state unless he saw her under the influence and failed to include that bit of information.

If Michael requested the morphine, well, I’ll let you speculate about the reasons.

This is horrible news for Terri and the Schindler family.

A Purpose-Driven Death

My workweek has been frenetic and my exhaustion is compounded by a badly timed cold and the nocturnal demands of our beloved housecat, Tigerlily, who at twelve is developing chronic problems. I really need my sleep, but here I am blogging again about Terri Schiavo.

I think she and the Schindler family weigh so heavily on my heart because of my mother and my brother. As I wrote a few posts ago, my mother chose to die of dehydration and starvation. Suffering from kidney failure, she may have naturally died that way eventually but chose an early exit because of other serious health complications. She did not have many options left, but I was deeply concerned that she rushed right past them into the express lane speeding to what she was assured would be a quick, painless death. It wasn’t. Her last words were a cry for help, a cry of regret, a cry of pain and fear.

My brother Richard was born deaf and suffered brain damage due to a difficult forceps delivery. He has never been able to live independently and has been with us since my sister, his caretaker of many years, died unexpectedly 18 months ago. I cannot overstate how much he has influenced who I am and what I value.

I am awake in the early hours of Easter Sunday because writing helps me sort out my jumbled thoughts and emotions. Orson Scott Card is an author of science fiction and fantasy, none of which I have read, but I am awestruck by his gift for commentary. Writing with clarity is nearly impossible when overcome by emotion, as I have been reminded this week, and so my admiration is beyond measure for his simultaneously reasoned and heartfelt summary of the Terri Schiavo tragedy, Whose Life Is Worth Living?, that expresses my viewpoint more forcefully than I have thus far.

Yesterday, March 26, 2005, was the darkest, most depressing day yet for the movement to save Terri’s life. Still I was encouraged when Margaret Carlson of Capital Gang, faintly echoed by Al Hunt, declared that Michael Schiavo should have transferred Terri to the care of her parents. Such cross-partisan sentiments, also expressed publicly this week by Alan Dershowitz, David Boies and Lanny Davis among other prominent Democrats, belie recent polls indicating majority support for Michael Schiavo’s actions.

I would like to see the results of a poll asking this question:

You have a mentally disabled daughter with special needs but no life-threatening illness. You are willing, able and eager to provide the care that she requires. Her husband is already engaged to another woman with whom he has two young children. He will let your daughter die by withholding water and nourishment rather than relinquish her to your care. Should he be allowed to let her die?

That poll would never be commissioned because it strays into the realm of the moral and the mainstream media equate morality with hypocrisy. This is an excruciating moral dilemma but we live in a political world. On the flimsiest evidence, our judicial tradition of humanistic liberalism failed to protect the most vulnerable among us, a woman unable to defend herself. The remedy must come from the legislative and executive branches not always characterized by moral courage.

As much as embittered Democrats would like to make Tom DeLay the face of this controversy, the poster boys are Judge George Greer, Michael Schiavo and George Felos, a right-to-die zealot whose description yesterday of the dying Terri as more beautiful and peaceful than he has ever seen her in the eight years of their one-sided relationship defies credibility. He presumed to speak for the woman whose permanent silence he insured. “(I)f there's anything that I think Mrs. Schiavo would want is not only to die with dignity and peace, but to also have the country at peace over this matter. So as we are approaching Easter, I think Terri would want all of us to reflect on the impermanence of life and ask ourselves the questions, what's the purpose of my life?”

When asked about Michael, the client whose thoughts are his business to know and the only Schiavo for whom he has the legal right to speak, this exchange ensued:

QUESTION: Can you characterize what this experience has been like?

FELOS: Well, I really can't characterize how it's been like for Michael.

Does anyone else find this inconsistency odd?

In his press conference, Felos displayed an unperturbed certainty in the righteousness of his actions in surreal contrast to the unmistakable devastation of the family whose rights he stripped and whose hope he crushed. Bobby Schindler is a dignified, articulate advocate for his sister in life and I think he could be an effective advocate of national reform in her death in due time.

On the most hopeful day of the Christian calendar, I pray that the Schindlers find comfort in their own exhaustive diligence, in the power they hold to continue helping others, in the healing love of their savior’s waiting arms, in the knowledge that Terri will soon be free from the control of Michael Schiavo, as will they.