Changed Plans

A little Buffalo winter humor

I awoke last Monday morning with plans for a busy week. 

Monday has become a marathon day of errands for me - work followed by a boot camp workout with a personal trainer, grocery shopping, and laundry when I (finally) get home. On Tuesday evening, I had a writing-group meeting, and on Thursday evening, I had tentative weather-dependent plans to attend a concert. Alas, those are my two key words for this time of year, as I live in a small town near Buffalo, N.Y. (which, if you haven't heard, is basically the snow capital of the world): weather dependent.

As it turned out, plans started changing quickly after I got to work last Monday. All of us were on high alert, monitoring the forecast, which called for up to several feet (not inches) of snow during the next few days. My only wish at that point, as a light rain/snow mix (undoubtedly the precursor to much worse) commenced, was that I'd be able to stop for groceries on my way home, as I was running low on nearly everything food related. Thankfully, I did, though not before cancelling my workout (I made up for it later at home, on my own) so I could get home before daylight faded. (I also told my writing-group leader, when she called with the meeting reminder, that I most likely wouldn't make it due to the forecasted weather.)

The snowy view from my snowy bedroom window.

I awoke the next morning to snow...lots and lots of snow...so I turned on the TV, checking to see what, if anything, was closed. By 6 a.m., nearly all schools in my area were closed, except, unfortunately, the college where I worked. I left my apartment earlier than usual to start cleaning and defrosting my car. As I futilely attempted to brush the snow off my car (as soon as I finished brushing off one side and went to the other, the side I'd just cleaned would be once again totally snow-covered within seconds) and squinted at the street, which I could barely see, my boss's words from the previous day ("Don't come in if the weather is bad") rang through my head. Well, although I never call in sick, regardless of appendicitis, flu, colds, or snowy mornings, I ditched my snow brush and promptly headed back inside to text my boss and email my coworkers. 

The storm waged on throughout the day and night, thankfully closing my college (and everything else) on Wednesday and again on Thursday. More than anything, I was thankful to be home, safe and warm, with a well-stocked refrigerator and cupboards, especially when I heard on the TV news about motorists stranded on the New York State Thruway (which had closed) for hours at a time without food, water, or any knowledge of when they might be rescued. If I had to be snowed in anywhere (which I was; by Thursday evening, my car was literally buried under feet of snow), I'm glad it was in the safety of  my home.

Making productive use of three consecutive snow days.

By Thursday afternoon, after enjoying three days of relaxing downtime to read, watch movies, clean my apartment, and get a jump start on my holiday decorating, my anxiety kicked in to overdrive. Despite shoveling my porch and around my car that morning, and having my parking lot plowed by a neighbor the previous two days, there was at least a solid foot of snow on my car, with only the black side rear-view mirror visible out of the white snowy lump. And it was still snowing. (And the concert was cancelled, of course.)

My car...in there somewhere.

So I grabbed a shovel and got to work, while trying to stave off a pending panic attack. Minutes later: a true answer to prayer. Two men, who just happened to be walking by with shovels, asked if I needed help. "That's an understatement," I responded. Without another word, both men started shoveling an opening to the parking lot, eventually, after over an hour of backbreaking work, meeting me in the middle, making a seemingly insurmountable task for one person a doable job for three. 

Before they left, I dropped my shovel, ran inside, and grabbed two $20 bills, one for each, and thanked them both profusely. As a strong, single, self-sufficient woman, I hate asking for help. I rarely do, and, truthfully, I really don't expect anyone to help me even if I do. But what I realized, in the midst of this storm, is that good people are out there, especially in the small town where I'm fortunate to live, and they tend to come out exactly when they're needed.

Thanks to the assistance of those two men, and another neighbor who helped push my car out after a plow banked a heap of snow at the front of my parking lot overnight, I was able to make it back to work on Friday morning. By now the storm was over and massive cleanup efforts began, along with a new concern, due to a rapid warmup and heavy rainfall: flooding.

After this crazy, unpredictable week, only one thing is certain: there's never a dull moment during winter in Buffalo.

Her Right to Die

On Nov. 1 a 29-year-old woman died in Oregon, just as she had carefully planned. 

But her death was not a suicide. There's no question that the terminally-ill woman - Brittany Maynard - who had become synonymous during the preceding weeks with the Death with Dignity law that allowed her a medically-assisted hastened death would have chosen life and all that came with it - travel, adventures, motherhood, family - if that had been an option. Tragically, because of her untreatable brain cancer, it was not.

After being given a six-month life (or death, depending on how you view it) term in April, knowing that the cancer would slowly, painfully, inevitably end her life, she took action, becoming a Death with Dignity recipient and advocate, moving with her husband from California to Oregon, a state that allowed medical-assisted death, as her health and quality of life diminished, while she still had the ability to choose. Simply put (in a story where nothing was simple), she chose quality over quantity. Who could blame her?

Unfortunately many, many people did. Although it was a very personal choice, one that she made after thoroughly researching her condition and concluding that there were no possible treatment options, everyone had an opinion regarding the life and death of this woman they had never met. Suddenly her previously unknown existence was everyone's business. Why? Because she bravely made it our business. 

Prior to her death, Brittany wrote a moving essay (My right to death with dignity at 29) published on CNN.com in which she explained that she did not want to die but had accepted, after months of tumultuous soul-searching, that she would. Scheduling her death for Nov. 1 (a few days after her husband's birthday) and filling the prescription for her life-ending medication brought her peace and comfort, she wrote, that she would not otherwise have had. She was afraid of dying, not of death. As she wrote in her essay,

"Having this choice at the end of my life has become incredibly important. It has given me a sense of peace during a tumultuous time that otherwise would be dominated by fear, uncertainty and pain.

Now, I'm able to move forward in my remaining days or weeks I have on this beautiful Earth, to seek joy and love and to spend time traveling to outdoor wonders of nature with those I love. And I know that I have a safety net."

She just wanted peace, enough to enjoy her final weeks, but she courageously made her story public because she wanted others who might someday be faced with the same unyielding circumstances and the same inevitable decisions to have the same choice.

It is my sincere hope that she turned off her computer and tuned out the naysayers (all those who posted in online forums that she was choosing "suicide" instead of natural death, playing God, robbing herself of a possible cure, acting hastily, was selfish, ignorant, uninformed, and ungodly, and consequently bound for hell) during her final days and instead tuned in to the loving support of her family and friends.

Believe me when I say that, having lost a friend to suicide and nearly losing a family member to attempted suicide, I am not an advocate for suicide under any circumstances. It's never the answer. But there's a difference for me between choosing death when life is an option and accepting death when there's no other choice.