Choosing Death

My Biggest Secret

I don't know if I want my father to live. I don't know if I want to know if I
even have the option to save him. There are people out there who would be
astonished to hear anyone speak like that about their parents. We are still a
generation that is taught to "honor thy father and mother", and any other
relative, no matter what happens. It wasn't until my teenage years that I
decided that philosophy did not collaborate with my moral beliefs. So while my
statement is horrific, I simply consider it to be honest.

I do not say it lightly. It is not something that I admitted before the moment I
sat down to write this. I could not say it aloud -- especially to my
grandmother, who is more like a parent to me than the ones who conceived me. She
would not understand. To her, parents are near to God and sacrifice is second
nature and it is unspeakable not to give everything to someone in need, whether
they deserve it or not. The rest of my family is the same way, but I, like my
father, am often seen as the black sheep.

My father is terminally ill. He has Hepatitis C, and while normally this disease
would not be fatal, his has been left unattended for over 20 years. He was a boy
who was taught that real men, like his father, didn't need doctors, and just
like his father, he will suffer the fate of death when he is much too young.
Through treatment, my father's disease has been halted; he is in "remission".
However, the cirrhosis of his liver is so dire that it cannot repair itself and
only a transplant will save him. There are 17,000 people waiting for a liver
transplant currently. 17,000 people who will die without it. In 2002 only 5,300
liver transplants were performed. That is 12,000 people who are still waiting,
or who couldn't wait anymore. The statistics are not promising. It only
reinforces the idea that I might be able to save my father's life, and yet I am
no more inclined to do so.