http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-10689294
This article is about a man who wishes to take his own life. The man, Tony Nicklinson, has been paralyzed from the neck down after suffering a stroke in 2005. He and his wife wish to pursue a means of helping him die without having his wife run the risk of being prosecuted for his murder. Nicholson cites his reason is he does not want to be stuck in this condition for the next twenty years, and states his reasons "I have no privacy or dignity left. I am washed, dressed and put to bed by carers who are, after all, still strangers." This article is extremely interesting to me because it reminds me of the controversy in the United States a few years ago with Terri Schiavo. Is the right to die a civil liberty, or can your government tell you when you can go and under which circumstances? Personally, I am a believer in the patient having a say in the matter, especially like in Nicklinson's case, where he is not just a vegetable and expressed his will to die through blinking to his wife. The idea of waking up every day to such an awful and depressing reality would make me want to take my own life as well, it seems like there is little joy in his life as he lays in the same bed day after day, unable to speak or communicate with the people he loves other than blinking or nodding to letters posted on a board. It must be traumatizing to witness the agony in your loved ones faces when they come and see you, for obviously the man is not blind to the world, he is just immobile and mute. Nicklinson questions whether or not he is grateful to the doctors in Athens who were able to save his life, or wonders if he had died that day he and his family would be much happier. The interesting thing about this article is the legal issues behind it. I am not for what Dr. Kevorkian and his 'assisted suicide' means with his patients, and think what he did was wrong. However, one must examine Nicklinson's case in a different light. He has requested to die, and I am sure if one of his arms was able to function, he might pull the plug himself, as awful as that sounds. He and his wife are in the middle of a legal battle to be able to put him out of his misery and are still nervous about her possibly being charged with murder. If a person asks you to kill them, gives you their permission, is that still as bad as killing in cold blood? It almost seems like a favor in this situation. I am sure that Nicklinson's medical bills alone would make me want to kill him, not to mention the fact that if I can see him suffering I would want to help. The analogy that comes to mind is seeing the dog whose hind legs and back have been crushed by a car. Obviously the animal is in pain, paralyzed and possibly with damage to its internal organs, not to mention it probably will never be able to walk again. The humane thing would be to shoot it and help it find peace. Clearly I am not suggesting that Jane Nicklinson take out her gun and shoot her husband in the face, but if the court rules against her plea to help her husband end his life, she may resort to desperate means. This article intrigues me because while one hears about controversial medical situations like these in the United States, it is not often that I consider the same situation in foreign countries, this one being England. Spain, being a very Roman Catholic country is probably against abortion and assisted suicide, but if a paralyzed husband and his distressed wife walked into your courtroom and looked to you to help them with his situation, how would you rule?
My neighborhood is in the Gothic Quarter (Barri Gotic) which is the oldest part of the city of Barcelona. This is where the first Roman settlement was, and was the main part of the city until the expansion in the middle of the nineteenth century. The gothic quarter is known for its narrow, winding streets, and was the center of all trade and business in Barcelona until the city expanded due to urban sprawl. The street I live on (Portaforissa) literally translates to 'Iron Door' because at the end of the street was a giant iron door that would be closed each night to keep the inhabitants safe from an unwanted attack or from a potentially diseased stranger who had not stayed a month in quarantine outside of the city walls to make sure he was safe to enter. Each night all entrances to the city would be closed, except for one the Porta de Angels, which was always left open in case the King needed to make an emergency entrance or exit to the city. My apartment is only about 30 meters from La Rambla, one of the most well known streets in all of Spain. This is a very touristy area and is always extremely crowded with foreigners, street venders, and pickpockets. Living in La Rambla is exciting because there is always something going on, but sometimes I grow tired of the noise, and the excessive crowds always milling about doing their shopping, and wonder what it is like to live in X'iample in a quiet apartment. I also have to remind myself that my roommates and I have fantastic location to the beach, nightlife, great restaurants, and most importantly to CEA globalcampus. I shop for groceries at a small market by my apartment, and also at a supermarket for harder to find items, but when I am looking to buy fresh fish, fresh fruit and vegetables or some interesting meat or succulent fruit juices I always head to the Boqueria Market. This is a market just on the other side of La Rambla from me, and dates back to the very beginning of the 18th century. At the back side of the market is my local library, the Biblioteca Sant Pau Sant Creu de Barcelona, a library with roots which are also a couple hundred years old. This massive library has beautiful architecture and houses thousands of books. Here people can get on the computer, check out cds, magazines, or just come and hang out in the courtyard which is beautiful and has some nicely planted trees. While I would have liked to live in a more peaceful neighborhood during my stay in Barcelona, I can honestly say that out of the entire CEA group, my roommates and I have by far the best location out of any students and for that I am thankful. This has been one crazy month and there is no detail I will ever forget from this fantastic trip.
Quarter in Barcelona is unlike anything I have ever seen or done at any point in my life. The architecture, the sights, even just the way that the buildings fit together in those narrow streets, or the random sculptures or gargoyles that are on display. To be able to walk down streets that have had men walking on them for two thousand years before me is a feeling unlike any I have ever known in America, especially since San Francisco is only a century and a half old. Walking through the Jewish quarter and seeing the sights, the stars of david carved into the walls, the streets called 'Call' to mark the Jewish part of the city, and the old synagogue that was destroyed during the Inquisition. To walk down the city streets where the guilds were was equally fascinating. To think that the concept of what one may see as a 'union' today existed back then is so impressive. Entire streets devoted to craftsmen making swords, or mirrors, areas where shepherds would bring their flock to sell the wool. Other guilds included silversmiths, and the exchange market where the price of goods would be determined. Fishermen and sailors would disembark and head to the exchange market where they would settle on the price of a pound of fish, and would return with their goods to sell afterwards. This banking system has existed in Barcelona for close to 800 years.
getting myself into. On a bus ride that should have taken 8 hours but instead took 11, we got to know each other pretty well, and thought nothing of arriving in Zarauz, not Pamplona where we all expected to be staying. After being greeted by a group of rowdy Australians who were our travel guides and getting a 30 min nap in, we set out for Pamplona and the running of the bulls. I will never admit that I was too afraid to run with the bulls, but one of us had to make sure the girls were safe in a strange Spanish city filled with crazed drunken Spaniards. After watching my friends make fools out of themselves (from the arena seating) it was back on the bus to Zarauz and off to one of the most beautiful and amazing beaches I have ever had the pleasure to be at. We spent the afternoon playing and swimming in the ocean and admiring the gorgeous scenery around us. What was boggling was the fact the Spaniards simply took their surroundings for granted, but those lucky locals don't realize just how lucky they are. Returning from the beach meant a cookout with the Auzzies and lots and lots of sangria (5euro all you can drink!) and another sleepless night of partying before returning once again by bus into Pamplona, but this time we were all too exhausted or drunk to run. Sleeping in a large clump on the floor of the Pamplona bus station probably wasn't our smartest idea, but at the moment was a necessity, as we boarded the bus back to Barcelona none of us had any idea what we were in store for next. The way I see it, if you are a bus driver, you really only have two duties the first being knowing where you are going and how to get there, and the second being remembering to put gas in the tank. Well our driver had already showed his incompetency by adding 3 extra hours to our trip on they way there, but he had to go and run out of gas on the freeway; we were stranded for an hour and a half while the local police ran to the gas station and came to fill up the tank. Fortunately, we made it back to Barcelona with just two hours to spare before the Spain-Holland final of the World Cup and were able to celebrate with Spaniards, at least those who were rooting for Spain, before we all crashed from a long weekend of drinking and running on no sleep. I can honestly say that the first thing I did at CEA that next monday morning was have Monica Rodriguez write down the name of that little beach town because I made a promise to myself to return there before I die. I recommend you do the same.
