Personal Narrative-Assisted Suicide

48-year-old James Davenport was driving while distracted, due to sending and receiving text messages, while driving Bus No. 44. He made a sharp left turn, crossed a concrete median, and crashed into another school bus on Asheville Highway near Governor John Sevier Highwayon December 2014. The impact killed six-year-old Zykia Burns, seven-year-old Seraya Glasper, and 46-year-old teacher's aide Kimberly Riddle. All three were dead when emergency crews arrived at the scene.The 48-year-old died June 1,2015. "Due to Mr. Davenport's death, we are legally unable to pursue any criminal charges against him," explained Hixson in a press conference Friday. "We always want to seek justice; that's why we're here, that's why we do what we do. So the fact

Amelia lay on the cold dirt her warm sticky blood seeping through my fingers it’s coppery smell filling my nostrils as I applied presser to the hemorrhaging gunshot wound. “You have to stay with me sis you’re the only family I have left.” My twin sister dying was not an option it just wasn’t.

Despite what other arguments might think, I believe the description in this book was exceptional, in how it hooked me right in. for example, in the text, the way the author effectively describes the way the guardian stabbed Andy, and the blood flowing from the wound. for example in the text it states,`` The knife entered just below his rib cage and had been drawn across his body violently, tearing a wide gap in his flesh. He lay on the side-walk with the March rain drilling his jacket and drilling his body and washing away the blood that poured from his open wound. He had known excruciating pain when the knife had torn across his body, and then sudden comparative relief when the blade was pulled away.`` when I read this I pictured Andy being

In fifth grade I found out my mom had breast cancer. I didn’t fully understand what it meant at the time, but as I got older I understood the severity of the situation my mother had to face. Eight surgeries and seven years later she is cancer free but still faces severe nerve damage and lots of doctors appointments and physical therapy. This put strains on me to take care of her and to do everything in my power to make her day easier by having one less thing to worry about: me. This was, and continues to be my driving force and motivation in school, my extra curriculars, and every day life choices.

Physician assisted suicide for the terminally ill is one of the most debated policies in America. Physician assisted suicide (PAS) is only considered a when a patient has a terminal illness and expresses their right to end their life with a physician. This scenario typically takes place when a patient is suffering severely from a terminal illness and it is only a matter of time before they will die. Advocates for PAS have typically had a loved one who is or was suffering through their final stages of life. Each individual state has specific laws and policies regarding the process of PAS; however, the requirements for a patient to be considered for PAS are similar (Death with Dignity, n.d.).

Cozy coffee shops, warm summers, friendly hugs…1.2.3. Disastrous events occur all the time. We are always aware that someone, somewhere in the world, is hurtling forwards into tragedy. Tragic endings leave behind unanswered questions, unfulfilled dreams, unspoken thoughts. Those who love you are left behind, in the dust of your presence, spent to forever remember only your memory, not your existence. Crisp slices of toast, piping hot cups of tea, fresh strawberries…1.2.3. We all tend to forget an end exists. We spend our lives compiling as many happy memories as we can, fully enjoying the good days, deeply mourning the sad ones. When tragedy strikes, only then are we reminded that the end is there, and we scurry and try once again to make the most out of

Focus. Take a deep breath. Don’t look at everyone around you. Keep your head down. Look at the blue mat on the floor, creasing in wherever you put your feet. Glance at the clock, there are 4 minutes remaining. Put on your jacket, before you start shivering. Remain sitting in the chair. In just 3 and ½ minutes you will climb. When that happens remember to breath and stay focused. Don’t glance at the audience around you, and especially don’t pay attention to the slight pain of your shoes pinching your toes. When the timer hits 2 and ½ minutes start putting on your shoes. They are made of rubber and red felt. Right, then left. The timer has 10 seconds left. Stand up, take off your jacket, and start walking backwards towards the climb. Place your

If you don't like the post, keep that to yourself, but I hope you'll find it helpful. You can also contact me on pvt.

This past fall my grandpa was with my grandma at the Super 8 motel. He was sitting outside on a bench and all of a sudden he passed out. No one was out there when he got dizzy and passed out. They do not know how long he was out there. My grandma walked out there and saw he was passed out on the ground so then she called an ambulance.

It happened so fast. When you die, there's no silent moment of clarity, where your life flashes before your eyes. No one sits down next to you and swaddles your head with their arms in their lap. You simply just bleed out, lying there in pain unnoticed. You're probably asking me in your head, well how did you, Clara? Well, actually I didn't. I'm more like 'a survivor'.

"Did the hit you received yesterday knock out all of your brain cells?" She snaps, "You don't give patients false hope, not when it's a bad case like that."

Place yourself in my shoes 5 years ago. Staring at the wall, twiddling your thumbs, thinking “god, there must be something I can do…” Your mind wanders to dark places when left in a room with just thoughts. The monsters you buried, shoved down, tucked away...slowly claw to the surface. Each word they throw hits you like a dagger. They blare in your mind and echo in the empty. They consume you, at ease, you hadn’t a fight left to put up. Now the tone changes. Their whispers circle you like ribbons of smoke, gentle coos. They dribble in like sweet honey… only, this honey is laced with cyanide. They promise escape. They lure you in, and suddenly the weights on your chest are lifted. How come you never thought of this? If you can’t get rid of the pain, get rid of yourself. Wave your white flag, admit defeat. You start planning, all of the resources are at your fingertips “Painless ways to kill yourself” You eagerly type in. The number for the suicide hotline is your first result, you scroll past it. Euphoria. STOP. How did you get here…? “Help is out there.” “You’re not alone.” I got help aka A pile

‘Call the ambulance’ I said to myself. The red car disappeared from the view as I looked for help. As I tried unlocking the seat belt, I realized I was bleeding and my head was hurting really badly. Helplessly, I bent forward and checked Trevor’s pulse. My immobile left hand lay dead on the side as I reached for my phone, Speed dialling the number as I called the ambulance to the location.

By the age of seven, I became used to the smell of tequila off my father’s breathe, which then usually coincided with his absence for the next few days. It was a regular for my father to be home one day, and gone for the next two weeks. I considered it beneficial when he was gone, as the house was less chaotic and it was easier to do my homework. I didn’t want my father around; his presence was dangerous. While on a bender, my father had stolen my entire college fund that I had been saving up so he could use it as drug money, brutally beat my mother, totaled his car, and accused me of stealing his car keys. I was about eight during the time of most of these occurrences. Eventually, I had considered his addiction an aspect of my childhood.

Is the role of a medical professional to ensure the health and comfort of their patients, or to help them end their lives? Since Dr. Kevorkian assisted in the suicide of Janet Adkins in 1990, physician-assisted suicide (PAS) has been one of the most controversial issues in the medical field today. While some view it as an individual right, others view it as an unethical issue that goes against medical ethics and religious values. Mr. H. M. is an elderly man who is diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and no chance of improvement. After excruciating pain and suffering, he has decided to request physician-assisted death in his home state of Oregon. Oregon’s Death with Dignity Act (DDA) states that terminally ill patients are allowed to use