Monday, August 10, 2009

MJ Death Blues, Side 2

As I continue down the rabbit hole of my own insanity, further analysis of the case of MJ’s death may indicate that the stupid, inept, moron of a doctor probably killed him---with stuff that Michael wanted anyway. I’m sure the doctor didn’t tie him to the bed and force the IV in his arm against his will. You can argue that Michael was genuinely ill with a sleep disorder and panic and depression and anorexia and didn’t get the help he needed. That’s true. But he might not have wanted the help either—drugs are faster than years of medical tests and therapy. There’s a lot of gray areas there surrounding professional responsibility and personal responsibility. And, in his case, celebrity. Being a celebrity didn’t help Michael Jackson one bit.

All this reminds me of the John Belushi drama. The woman who supplied the drugs that he took of his own free will ended up paying a price too. If you drive drunk, the person who supplied the liquor is responsible too. But that doctor had a professional responsibility that he completely ignored. His creed says “First, do no harm”. And for that…and for all of them that did that….may they all rot in hell (preceeded by a nice stint in jail).

Back to the issue though. Don’t get me wrong. I love anesthesia. Wouldn’t have an operation without it. Working in medicine and being a chronic patient, I know how anesthesia works. I know how it feels. Some knock you out flat. Some give you moments of a type of relaxation just before oblivion that is something that can't be found in nature. Slipping away and not coming back is what I wanted. Slipping away for a nice long nap and waking up for another day is what Michael wanted. Maybe God switched the wires and something got lost in translation.

But no matter what, I wouldn’t hook it up to my vein in the privacy of my own home even with a doctor there. Common sense tells you that it just has some kind of bad. That it’s supposed to be used in a hospital cuz people smarter than you with initials after their names said so—probably after many mishaps. But all of this is really water under the bridge, which brings me to my next point:

It is clear to me considering the circumstances between me and MJ that he reached the Bridge of San Luis Rey before I did. We read that story in school -- it’s a Thornton Wilder Pulitzer prize winner from the 1920’s. The story surrounds a group of people who, by chance, meet at a rope suspension bridge. The bridge collapses and everyone is killed. The Father who witnesses the accident begins to find out about each of the people who were killed and discovers they were all at points in their lives when they were looking forward. They had let the hurts and disappointments of the past go and they were focused on a goal in front of them. The issue then stands --- did they die at the perfect time for them? With no fear of their past and only forward to go? And as it is with death—it’s always sadder for those of us left behind---does it make it doubly sadder that we missed out on their triumphs?

Don’t look at me. I have no idea. I find it hard enough to deal with MJ and my karma trains crashing at the anesthesia crossing. But I think this story defines what happened to Michael Jackson better than anything and makes me feel good for him, bad for me. It seems that with the O2 announcement, he was looking ahead. Putting the past behind. And he knew his fans still loved and wanted to see him. He had his children and it appears, a plan for their future as a family. It does seem that he even had a plan to get his health back.

Of course, we don’t know. We like to analyze and pray and speculate and ruminate to help us get past painful things. To help make sense of them.

I don’t know if I understand why our paths crossed the way they did. It could, in the words of David Steinberg, just be God’s will… “and that mystical sense of humor that is only His.”

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