 I am obsessed with my own mortality.
I don’t want to die; in fact the very idea that the world could
possibly go on without me is difficult for me to comprehend. Were I to
suddenly cease to exist, who would watch my T.V.? Who would annoy my
wife on a daily basis? Who would be able to tell the Greatest Dick
Jokes in the World?
I constantly speculate about the way I will eventually shuffle away my mortal coil.
I might be struck by lightning. No really. I’ve studied extensively
about it and whenever I’m outdoors when a rainstorm is approaching I
have the demeanor of a gazelle who has stopped at a watering hole for a
drink and thought she might have just heard a lion. I am wary and ready
to sprint at a moment’s notice.
I could fall from a great height. This is another one of my irrational fears. I try to avoid high places of any kind. When I stay in a hotel I always ask for the lowest floor that allows smoking. Unfortunately the smoking rooms in a hotel are usually the highest and I wind up sitting on the floor of my room, smoking cigarettes and trying not to look out of the window.
I wonder sometimes about how I would look falling from a great height. I would probably flail about and scream the “F” word on my way down. But I like to think that I would recognize the inevitability of my situation and go for the laugh. Maybe I could do the backstroke as I plummeted and really confuse the witnesses on the ground.
Another very real possibility is that I could wind up dead from a massive heart attack. I smoke, which isn’t good. I never exercise and I constantly worry about having a heart attack, all of which makes me a pretty likely candidate to have one.
If I had one at home while I was alone that would be one thing. I would collapse in agony and try unsuccessfully to dial 911 and my wife would return later to trip over my corpse. End of story.
But if it happened while I was in public that would be quite another thing. If it happened while I was in line at a Starbucks, for instance, strangers would have to try to help me. I’m not comfortable with that. I don’t like feeling as though I’m a burden to anyone, particularly a complete stranger. In my mind it would play out like this...
(amazing pain suddenly shoots through my chest.)
Me: Oh my God! Um, excuse me?
Complete Stranger in Front of Me: What is it?
Me: I think I might be having a heart attack.
Stranger: Do I look like a doctor to you?
Me: Well I don’t know. I was wondering if you might help me by calling an ambulance.
Stranger: On MY cell phone?
Me: If it’s not too much troub-
Stranger: So you want me to use up minutes on my plan by making a phone call on behalf of someone I don’t even know?
Me: Well when you put it like that...
Stranger: You’ve got some nerve... you’ve also got some drool coming out of your mouth.
All of this brings me to my next point: how to address the question of what to do should I be incapacitated to the point that I am being kept alive by a machine?
I would like to use this opportunity to erase any doubt as to the correct course of action should my organs shut down and I am being kept alive artificially. Thanks to the magnificent eternity of the Internet, this should serve as a legally binding document that may be consulted in case of such an event.
I, Matt Sadler, being of sound mind and body and being not too drunk thus far today (it is morning after all. I’m still having mimosas.), do solemnly decree the following last wishes with regard to the course of my medical care.
If there are any doubts as to whether I will make a full and speedy recovery, go ahead and turn off the machine.
If I am going to wake up and not be able to make love like a canine (please note that I said “like” a canine and not “to” a canine. I’m not drunk yet, remember?), turn off the machine.
If my condition is such that I will not be able to poop without assistance, turn off the machine.
If for some reason I won’t be able to scream the “F” word at will several times a day, turn off the machine.
For you see, these are the things that make me who I am. If you take them away, you take away the things that make Matt Sadler the person that he is.
However, I don’t wish to go out like some loser who dies from complications in a hospital either. It is a part of my final wishes that after I die, a team of animators from I.L.M. put together a really cool CGI short film that makes it look like I went down in a hail of gunfire.
I’ve always wanted to have an obituary about me that contains the words, “hail of gunfire.”
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