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We have a medical profession apparently wedded to the notion that quantity trumps quality. That’s why, although I have no problem with being dead, I have serious concerns about the process of becoming dead. I have no wish to linger for months attached to tubes, or to disappear for years into the mists of dementia.
I have few childhood memories, and I wouldn’t swear to the accuracy of those I have. Still, one from my teens has remained with me. It was the last time I saw my maternal grandmother, then in her mid-90s and confined…
