raining in Baltimore

It has and continues to be a week of testing, not for my knowledge or those assisting me. It is for the pencil pushers in Baltimore that decide what constitutes terminal and who is terminal. So although my condition has seen a decline and I puff on morphine to open up a passage to breathe,
some jackass continues to want more paper on my illness to re-qualify me as terminal. And although the team of physicians have documented visible changes in my well being or lack there of, someone is thinking only in terms of statistics and I DC9 codes in determining my medical state or to put it blunt, my readiness to die.

I have always joked about big brother watching and politicians playing G-D, and now I experience their lack of knowledge, unwillingness to know the difference and their pathetic set of rules that put those suffering in an eternal state of hell until death does approach. I am tired, mind body and spirit and when I feel my weakest, I watch the Government shake its stick and I report for that which is scheduled, that which has been duplicated and triplicated and that which makes being terminal an unkind and unwanted full time job.