Wild and Precious Life - Softcover

Ziegler, Deborah

Softcover

ISBN 10: 1501128523 ISBN 13: 9781501128523

Verlag: Emily Bestler Books, 2017

Inhaltsangabe

From the mother of Brittany Maynard comes an endearing memoir honoring the young woman who made the decision to travel to Oregon and end her life on her own terms after a defeating battle with a cancerous brain tumor.

Written by Deborah Ziegler, the mother of Brittany Maynard—a twenty-nine-year-old woman with a terminal brain tumor—this touching and beautiful memoir captures and celebrates her daughter’s spirit and the mostly untold story of Brittany's last year of life as she chose her right to die with dignity, a journey that inspired millions.

In this poignant, powerful book, Deborah Ziegler makes good on the promise she made to her only child: that she would honor her daughter and carry forward her legacy by sharing their story and offering hope, empowerment, and inspiration to the growing tens of millions of people who are struggling with end-of-life issues.

"Brittany’s story…will have a ready audience, and Deborah’s frank account of their struggles will be comforting to others facing this difficult decision" (Booklist).

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Deborah Ziegler was born in Albuquerque, New Mexico on July 18, 1956. She currently lives in California with her husband, Gary, and two cavipoos named Bogie and Bacall.

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Wild and Precious Life

1

Foreboding

December 31, 2013—January 1, 2014

The worst moments in life are heralded by small observations.

— Andy Weir, The Martian

The first step in leaving the world I formerly inhabited was more like a jarring shove. Not a tiny toe-out-the-door kind of move. Instead, I was cruelly pushed into a new life.

Late New Year’s Eve of 2013, when Brittany should have been dining and dancing, my son-in-law called me from an ambulance. Dan said that Brittany had a very bad headache. They had gone to a hospital, where a CT scan revealed a shadow on her brain. Since the hospital didn’t have an MRI, they were now heading to a larger one that had the proper equipment.

“Should I try to get on a flight tonight? I’m not sure there are any middle-of-the-night flights to Oakland.”

Dan responded that she’d have to do admittance tests and take the MRI, so tomorrow morning would be fine. He put my daughter on the phone.

“Momma, my head hurts so bad,” Britt said, her voice thick and slurred from the effects of pain medication. “They took a CT scan and found a shadow on my brain. It might be a brain tumor.”

My heart dropped as my mind refused to accept this possibility. “Don’t jump there, darling. Don’t draw any premature conclusions. Baby, I’m coming. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Gary booked my airline ticket as I haphazardly threw clothes into a suitcase. “Follow your own advice,” Gary said. “Don’t jump to any conclusions. I’ll make arrangements for someone to check on your father and stay with the dogs. Then I’ll come up later.” He held me by the shoulders. “Try to get some sleep tonight. You’ll need to arrive rested.”

As I flew to Oakland from San Diego the next morning, I wondered what might have created a shadow on Brittany’s brain. My daughter with a brain tumor? It just wasn’t possible.

Brittany had always been a healthy, active child. Over five feet nine, she positively exuded strength and vigor. As I looked out the plane’s window at the cloudless sky, images clicked through my mind like a silent slide show:

Three years old. Feet up on the dash of her toy ride-on car, screaming in delight. “Faster, Momma, faster!”

Preschool. Curly hair hiding her face, dangling upside down on the monkey bars. “Look at me! Momma, look at me!”

First grade. Bent over homework, Britt printing her letters over and over until she developed a pressure bump from bearing down on her fat beginner pencil.

Elementary school. Green eyes gleaming, Britt as Princess Jasmine sang her solo parts as clear as a bell. Back and forth with the boy playing Aladdin, she fearlessly belted out lyrics about taking a free-spirited flight through a glittering sky. Trilling perfectly on key, she stretched out her arms to the beaming audience. How prophetic this song about seeing amazing sights would be, although Britt would never need an Aladdin to escort her anywhere.

Preteens. Tumbling, cheering, and ice skating her way through middle school, effortlessly excelling at sports.

High school. Alternately crashing and soaring, Britt spiraled into wild rebellion as she fought for autonomy. With almost waist-length honey-brown hair and a smile that knocked the breath out of boys, she skipped school with gleeful abandon, yet somehow always excelled scholastically.

Young adulthood. A trip to Costa Rica to work on a women-owned farm filled Britt with a deep yearning to volunteer, to experience wild places, and to engage in adrenaline-producing activities. It was the first sign of the trekking, bungee-jumping, stranger-befriending young woman that she became.

As I flew toward my sick daughter, I envisioned her startling white smile, muscular legs, and powerful arms as she winged upward and plummeted, freewheeling, through life. I imagined her long tanned legs glistening in the white foam of a waterfall as she rappelled down slippery rock. I pictured my girl in a life vest and helmet, white water almost obscuring the raft, Britt the only occupant who somehow managed to grin impishly at the camera while everyone else grimaced and paddled furiously. I imagined the sound of her laugh—the very best sound I’ve ever heard—as she jogged across a hanging bridge, deliberately setting it in motion to unsettle others in the group.

I could not picture Britt lying still and quiet in a bed. My daughter was definitely more of a magic carpet girl.



Brittany’s mother-in-law, Carmen, picked me up at the airport. We hugged, her compact frame rigid as she squeezed me hard. She drove me to the hospital where my only child slept on crisp white sheets in the Neuroscience ICU.

Carmen told me that they would get a clear MRI today, since the previous hospital only captured a fuzzy image with their CT scan. Her voice was precise, with the charming hint of a Cuban accent that I found endearing. Carmen and her husband, Barry, had bonded with me and Gary at our kids’ engagement lunch. Carmen added that Barry was taking care of Britt and Dan’s dogs, Charley and Bella. I thought of kind, strong Barry and how the dogs immediately calmed down in his presence. The whole family called him the “dog whisperer.”

Carmen and I loved our children fiercely. Dan was Carmen’s pride and joy, just as Brittany was mine.

I didn’t know then that an MRI is the investigative tool of choice for neurological cancers. Carmen and I were silent for a few minutes as she negotiated traffic. “What does a shadow on the brain mean?” I asked.

Carmen replied that she didn’t know, but that Dan would explain when we got there. In the quiet of the van, I prayed silently all the way to the hospital. Brittany had been complaining of headaches for almost a year. Were they migraines? Stress headaches? Sinus headaches? She and I had posed many hypotheses as to what might be triggering the increasingly debilitating pain. Sometimes at night the throbbing of her head was so all-encompassing that all Brittany could think to do was go sit in the shower with warm water pouring down on her neck and head. I had looked online, but there were hundreds of potential reasons.

Brittany tried avoiding wine. She made sure she exercised regularly. She avoided nitrates, and bought farm-fresh, organic foods. Was it our imagination that the headaches seemed to get better when she visited me and Gary in Southern California?

Brittany had bought a Great Dane puppy to join Bella, her needy rescued beagle, soon after marrying Dan in late September of 2012. She said she was lonely living in Northern California, and longed for a puppy to keep her company. Had the teething Charley caused stress?

Soon after her wedding, Brittany saw a neurologist. She chose him because he had training in both Eastern and Western medicine, and he advertised a holistic approach. Although Brittany described the headaches as coming on when she went to bed, severe enough to make her vomit, the doctor told Brittany that she was having “women’s headaches” and that they might get better when she had a baby. Brittany was a bit insulted by this, thinking that he was suggesting that the headaches were potentially a combination of newlywed stress and hormonal imbalance. I didn’t dare say it, but I thought he might be right.

Later, Britt and I discussed the fact that this neurologist hadn’t ordered an MRI and caught her growing...

Details zur Ausgabe

• Verlag: Emily Bestler Books
• Erscheinungsdatum: 2017
• Sprache: Englisch
• ISBN 10: 1501128523
• ISBN 13: 9781501128523
• Einband: Taschenbuch
• Anzahl der Seiten: 360
• Kontakt zum Hersteller: Nicht verfügbar
• Verantwortliche Person: Nicht verfügbar