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Friday, March 25, 2005

 

Terri's Plea

I lie in a bed

In a dark room

Blinds drawn

Lights off

Like a prisoner in a dungeon.

Some people think I am not aware

But I am.

I can hear my husband ask “When is that bitch going to die?”

I can see them remove my feeding tube.

Oh, but for an hour of speech

Feed me!

Give me water!

I’m in pain!

I’m not dead yet, but I will be if I’m not fed!

Why?

Why is food and water “extraordinary” medical care?

Why do I have to die?

Why, Michael?

Why, judges?

Feed me, give me water!

This is my plea.


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