During an emotionally charged morning of speeches at a symposium entitled Reflections on and Implications of Schiavo, Dr. Jay Wolfson asked members of the audience to raise their hands if they had ever faced the difficult decision of giving or ceasing life-sustaining medical treatment for a loved one. I watched as many members of the audience raised their hands. Later in the day, in a rush of guilt, I realized that the loss of my daughter, Madison Gerow, had indeed involved just such a decision, yet I had never considered her death from this perspective. Somehow, not raising my hand seemed an affront to Madison’s memory.
Madison would be six now. On March 12, 1999, after several agonizing days of trying to stop the inevitable, Madison was born just shy of twenty-three weeks’ gestation. She weighed one pound, four ounces, and measured only ten inches from head to toe. Born too early, and suffering from the initial effects of an infection that threatened to take both of our lives, Madison lived for approximately forty-five minutes. Except for a brief trip to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), Madison spent her short time on earth wrapped in the love of her parents and family.
Is it wrong that I never thought of the decisions we faced at Madison’s birth in the right-to-die context? Should the obstetricians
or neonatalogists have framed our decisions in terms of Madison’s rights, or our rights, under the law? Should I have raised my hand?