My Advance Medical Directive

Having had a recent brush with death (and by "brush with death" I mean "a semi-serious illness that lasted, surgery included, about a week and a half"), I have once again been reminded of the need for an advance medical directive. I know that it's important that my loved ones know my wishes should I, for any reason, be unable to communicate them. With that in mind, I decided to go one step further and put my AMD here online.

Directive to Physicians

Directive made this 18th day of August in the year 2009.

I, Junglemonkey, being of sound mind, willfully and voluntarily make known my desire that my life shall not be artificially prolonged under the circumstances set forth in this directive, nor shall the quality of my life be greatly compromised.

1. If at any time I should have an incurable or irreversible condition caused by injury, disease, or illness certified to be a terminal condition by two physicians, and if the application of life-sustaining procedures would serve only to artificially postpone the moment of my death, and if my attending physician determines that my death is imminent or will result within a relatively short time without the application of life-sustaining procedures. I direct that those procedures be withheld or withdrawn, and that I be permitted to die naturally, although feature-enhancing artificial light and a six-piece chamber music group would be nice.


2. In the absence of my ability to give directions regarding the use of those life-sustaining procedures, it is my intention that Madame Rosalie, certified psychic, be permitted to lay hands on my forehead and divine my wishes. Should my inability to communicate involve the sort of head trauma that would make such laying on of hands impractical Madame Rosalie is hereby authorized to read the lines of my left palm only.


3. If I have been diagnosed as pregnant and that diagnosis is known to my physician, my family is directed to sue Dr. Victoria Whitman who performed my tubal ligation in February of 2000 and guaranteed that I would never again need another method of birth control. Dr. Whitman's paperwork is in the filing drawer of the big wooden desk upstairs.


4. If I become unable to update my Facebook or Twitter accounts, my family is directed to use whatever means necessary to keep my accounts updated at least four times daily, ensuring that at least half of all posts are both “snarky” and “hilarious.” My family is directed to ensure that any future posts are re-Tweeted at least once a week by no fewer than three people.


5. If I request that my children drive me to a membership warehouse store so that I can stock up on tube socks and beef 'n' cheese mini tacos, I direct that those trips be withheld, or that any of my nieces or nephews be sent instead as I work on my ultimate all-time high Bejeweled score.


6. In the event that I refuse to acknowledge that my niece Tanya is a lesbian and insist on asking “When are you going to find a nice boy and settle down?” at every family gathering, my family is directed to show me all of those pictures of Tanya starring in the 4th grade production of Peter Pan. Again.


7. In the event that I am thrown out of the supermarket for winking and growling “Nicely packed, bag boy” to the 18-year-old kid who packs the groceries, my family is directed to explain to the manager that “Mom is off her meds again.”


8. When I am no longer able to distinguish the difference between Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin champagne and cheap white wine mixed with 7Up, my best friend Carl is directed to take possession of my entire wine cellar and throw a party to which he is directed to invite our friend Patricia, but NOT Sylvia.


9. In the event that I begin wearing shoes that make my feet look like hooves and clothes made only of flame-retardant materials, my family is directed to cut my hair like Florence Henderson circa 1972, and tell me that I have “Wessonality.”


10. If at any time I appear unable to communicate, unable to respond to stimulus and immobile, my family is directed that I'm probably just thinking and to shut the hell up and leave me alone for crying out loud. A person can hardly get a second to herself around here!

This directive is in effect until it is revoked.

I understand the full import of this directive and I am emotionally and mentally competent to make this directive.

I understand that I may revoke this directive as any time.

I understand that a lot of people are fascinated by American Idol, but for the life of me, I don't know why.

I request that only comfort care be provided to me, no antibiotics, no artificial nutrition (with the exception of Pringles), no mechanical ventilation, and no hydration. It is my strong preference to be allowed to die outside of a care facility if possible, preferably in the home of Martha Stewart, while she whips up a crème brulee to ease my passing. The only condition under which I desire these preferences for end of life care to be altered is in the case of possible cryogenic suspension in which case I would like my sickbed to be wheeled to the mall where I can undergo a complete makeover beforehand.
Signed Junglemonkey