Gov Jerry Brown Forgot the First Rule: Don’t Kill Innocent People!

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Phil Konstantin

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Phil Konstantin

Governor Jerry Brown jumped off the cliff and into the volcano of mass murder today.

He signed a law that opens the door for euthanasia in California. The harm he has done will live long after him. That’s the way it is with bad laws, and this law is a warrant to kill.

I wrote about this for the National Catholic Register.

Here’s part of what I said:

The Los Angeles Times story is so over-the-top supportive that it was downright soppy.

It paints a word picture of a politician on the rack, a “former Jesuit seminary student” who was riven by a heart-wrenching moral conundrum. I could almost hear the violins playing and see the sunset … except for the raw truth of what this politician/martyr had done.

“I have considered the theological and religious perspectives that any deliberate shortening of one’s life is sinful,” he said.

Nice phrase that; “deliberate shortening of a life.” Not only did this politician ply all his political arts to evoke sympathy for himself as he did the unthinkable, he created a new euphemism for the doing of it while he was at it.

“Deliberate shortening of life” is Governor Jerry Brown’s lovely little phrase for murdering people to put them out of our misery, otherwise known as euthanasia, also known as death with dignity, also known as cold-blooded killing. Governor Jerry Brown, that “former Jesuit seminarian,” has joined the pantheon of politicians who, with a stroke of his pen, has killed untold numbers of people with a law that will allow the killing to go on for generations.

Long after Governor Brown has finally retired for the last time and ridden off into the political sunset, people will continue to die because of what he did today. If past is prelude, this law, as bad as it is, will become the opening volley in the war on life by use of euthanasia in California. As bad as it is, future politicians will line up to the death wagon and amend it to make it worse.


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Sign the Petition for Mandatory Euthanasia for Senior Citizens

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Miran Rijavec

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Miran Rijavec

How many of these people understood what they were signing?

By the way folks, this “petition” is a ruse. The man getting signatures is a comedian. However, the fact is, quite a few people signed the thing. Did they understand what they were doing????

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It was a Mama Kind of Weekend.

Copyright: Rebecca Hamilton. All Rights Reserved.

Copyright: Rebecca Hamilton. All Rights Reserved.

My family and I had a rough weekend with Mama. Here’s a summary of part of it that I wrote for the National Catholic Register.

If you could spare a prayer for me and mine, it would be much appreciated.

From the National Catholic Register:

I woke with a jolt — one of those soldier-coming-awake-in-a-foxhole snaps from dream sleep to full awake without a step between.

The house was quiet and dark.

I hauled my tired self out of bed and walked down one hall and then the next hall and yet another hall until I came to Mama’s bedroom, flipped on the light and looked at her bed. Which was neatly made up and empty.

Panic is the word, but it’s inadequate. Think baby-missing-from-the-crib-in-a-silent-house, think every nightmare of bungled love and responsibility pounding straight down with one slam.

I ran through the house, yelling for her.


Then, I noticed that the pillows on the sofa were laid out flat in a row that went from one armrest straight across to the other. I walked to the sofa. Lifted a pillow.

She was lying there, fully dressed and sleeping. Her white hair was streaked red with blood, her pants and shirt had huge spots of blood. It was bright red; fresh, newly-bled.


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Dying to Keep a Job … Freedom of Conscience and Abortion, Euthanasia

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Cliff

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Cliff

Do you support forcing doctors and nurses to violate their consciences by killing their patients with abortion and euthanasia?

How does this overall concept apply to the questions raised by the jailing of Kim Davis?

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Lord Carey, the former Archbishop of Canterbury, and Walking Mama Home.

Mama last May. Believe it or not, her appearance in this photo seems robust to me now. Copyright Rebecca Hamilton. All Rights Reserved.

Mama last May. Believe it or not, her appearance in this photo seems robust and sharp-witted to me now. Copyright Rebecca Hamilton. All Rights Reserved.

Mama seems better the past couple of days, but she is hallucinating, which means no sleep for me.

I’m sorry I’ve been so slow to come back to blogging. I’ve been going minute-by-minute on Mama care, and when I get a moment, I usually crash.

I did take a few minutes to write this post about Lord Carey’s advocacy for euthanasia, as well as one of the tougher moments I’ve had with Mama since I brought her home from the hospital.

I’m asking for prayers all around, my friends. Pray for me, as I find that the exhaustion is undermanning me seriously. Prayers for Mama. And prayers for our world that is so in love with the culture of death.

I’m going to do my best to blog more this week. But if I can’t, know that you are in my prayers.

From the National Catholic Register:

Mama slipped through my hands.

It was as if her bones were strands of boiled spaghetti, as if she was liquid rather than solid.

I fought the fall all the way down.

She landed in a sprawl against the oxygen machine, her head wedged between it and the portable potty. “Ohhhhh,” she moaned. I tried to lift her, but those spaghetti bones and her little bit of weight were too much for me.

The master bedroom, where my husband was, is all the way across the house from where Mama and me. I yelled for him to come help me. Yelled again and again. Yelled so loudly that my throat strained.

He didn’t hear me.

I left her there and ran to the master bedroom, yelling his name as I went.

He was able to lift her from the floor, and back onto the bed. Meanwhile, I collapsed on the small sofa at the foot of her bed. Throughout the last week, from her first collapse into unconsciousness on Tuesday night, all through that long night in the ER, and then through her rousal the next day and lapse back into deep sleep from which she could not be awakened … a sleep that lasted for four days … I never cried a tear. I couldn’t cry. My eyes were dry and I just kept going, one foot in front of the other foot.

But when my husband lifted Mama from the floor and put her back on her bed, I sank onto the sofa at the foot of her bed and broke into great, gasping sobs. I cried until the muscles in my chest hurt from the exhaustion of the sobbing.

Meanwhile, Mama, half conscious, kept mumbling something. I got up and sat on the bed beside her, but I still couldn’t make out what she was saying. I leaned forward until my ear was almost touching her lips.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said.

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Belgian GPs “Killing Patients Who Have Not Asked to Die.”

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Steven Depolo

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Steven Depolo

Evidently, the greatest danger to an elderly person in Belgium is their doctor, a fact that shouldn’t surprise anyone.

If you give people the legal right to commit murder, they will commit murder.  What’s more, people who enjoy committing murder will be drawn to the profession which is allowed to kill without legal consequence.

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Steven Depolo

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Steven Depolo

We have become a society which only grants a basic right to life to those who are able to go into court and defend their lives themselves. Now, we are becoming a society in which even this opportunity to fight for your life in court is being removed.

Belgian doctors are killing people without informing either them or their families. The docs just decide who to murder, and then they murder them. There’s no room in that equation for legal challenges and courtroom appeals for a stay of execution. Belgium has evidently given its doctors the legal right to kill at will, with no corresponding right to protest on the part of their victims or their victim’s families.

It’s the Final Solution in a white coat.

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Alden Chadwick

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Alden Chadwick

From The Daily Mail:

Thousands of elderly people have been killed by their own GPs without ever asking to die under Belgium’s euthanasia laws, an academic report said yesterday.

It said that around one in every 60 deaths of a patient under GP care involves someone who has not requested euthanasia.

Half of the patients killed without giving their consent were over the age of 80, the study found, and two thirds of them were in hospital and were not suffering from a terminal disease such as cancer.

In about four out of five of the cases, the death was not discussed with patients subjected to ‘involuntary euthanasia’ because they were either in a coma, they were diagnosed with dementia, or because doctors decided it would not be in their best interests to discuss the matter with them.

Very often doctors would not inform the families of plans to lethally inject a relation because they considered it a medical decision to be made by themselves alone, the report published by the Journal of Medical Ethics said.


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Pope Francis: A Society That Does Not Take Care of the Elderly, Has No Future

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Marjan Lavareski

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Marjan Lavareski

The Church teaches us to love and care for the elderly, disabled, weak and helpless. It teaches us that every human life has immense value. It reminds us over and over again with a consistent voice that human life is sacred and we may not murder.

The world is doing its best to teach us to love euthanasia.

The difference, my friends, is Jesus.

I often get comments when I write about my own elderly mother, telling me that if euthanasia was legal, I would have a “solution” for my problems. Caring for an elderly parent is work. Caring for an elderly parent with dementia is hard work.

It can be painful, frightening and lonely. But it is also and always a gift. My son took Mama to her adult day care this morning. He told me later how much he enjoyed those times with Amah.

As the days dwindle down, each one of them becomes precious.

Pope Francis tells us that a society that does not take care of the elderly has no future. I would say the same thing, only differently. A society that consigns those who can not defend themselves to death because they are a “burden,” is dead already.

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What a Difference a Year Makes. Andrew Lloyd Webber Considered Assisted Suicide.

A year ago, Andrew Lloyd Webber almost fell prey to the satanic evil of euthanasia.

He was depressed and, as he says, “Couldn’t think of what to do.” So, he considered going to Switzerland and paying one of the murder factories there to kill him.

Now, a year later, he’s glad he didn’t.

What a difference a year makes. 

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When It Comes to Caring for Your Parent with Dementia, You are Alone.

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Sohel Parvez Haque

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Sohel Parvez Haque

Before I do anything, I want to thank Public Catholic’s readers for their caring and kind suggestions and ideas about my problems with my mother’s dementia. I am in the process of following up on several of them.

You folks are the best.

Next, I want to apologize for going dead silent on you the past couple of days. My personal situation drug me down too far to write. But I’ll be back. I just needed time to deal with my own emotions.

I had a big tubful of hope when I put Mama in the hospital for an in-patient diagnostic. I thought that they would see the problem and come up with something to help my mother — and me — sleep through the night. The quickie convo with the doc Monday dashed those hopes to the ground. Help ain’t coming.

I’ve spent the past few days living in dry-as-dust land. My heart, my head, were full of dust. Maybe the reason I was so dusty is that I cried so much; tears of anger, tears of despair, tears of grief. I prayed and prayed. Then, I went through the angry phase, and again, I prayed and prayed.

Now, to use a phrase from my horsey days, I’m at the point where I can sit down in the saddle and ride. Sometimes, to paraphrase Robert Frost, the only way out is through.

Here’s a quick take on my feelings right now about what people face when they are trying to care for their parents.

First, we do not get any information from our docs. By that I mean that the only things I’ve learned about Mama’s medical situation have come from reading on the internet and attempting to diagnose her myself. Here’s a list of the information I’ve gotten about dementia, what to expect and how to handle it from our medical practitioners:



Did you hear the crickets chirping????

Now, here’s a list of the medical help and advice I’ve gotten about dealing with Mama’s many symptoms, including hallucinations, night terrors, etc:



Again, did you hear the crickets????

We once had a family doc who took a history, listened, and explained. This enabled her to treat Mama appropriately, and allowed us to take care of her at home. I had no idea at the time that this level of care was totally unique. When she retired, I began going from one doctor to another, trying to find someone who would replicate this level of care.

I’ve read a lot literature about dementia that comes out with this statement: You are not alone.

This is untrue. People who are trying to care for their parents with dementia are completely, absolutely alone. Unless they have a lot of money — and I mean a lot of money — the solutions that are offered to them are to (1) Warehouse their elderly parents in a medicaid nursing home where they will be left in bed all day and ignored, or, (2) Euthanize them.

This last is a real annoyance to me. Every time I write about my mother, some dirt bag tries to leave a comment advocating euthanasia. Every. Single. Time. The effect this has on me is to harden me toward people who advocate euthanasia. It also illustrates just how low we’ve fallen as a society.

The solution to this problem is not to warehouse people with dementia in sub-standard nursing homes with inadequate staff and a don’t-care attitude. I will also add, because it appears that I have to, that murdering them is also not a solution.

Euthanasia, death with dignity and all the rest of that rot are just nice names for murder.

If we spent a fraction of the effort advocating for help for people who are caring for their elderly parents with dementia that we spend on trying to pass laws to kill our elderly, we could solve the problem. Much, in fact most, of the problem lies with the medical profession.

I’m not sure when it happened since I’m healthy enough not to need much medical care, but we’ve arrived at the era of match-the-database-to-the-lab-results medicine. It seems that docs today don’t diagnose, they collate. The patient is totally secondary in their considerations.

Here’s an example from my past dealings with medical professionals. My husband and I took a weekend trip to Dallas a couple of years ago. I left Mama with the kids. She got sick and the kids took her to the er. The er doc ran a lot of expensive tests, including a cat-scan, said there was nothing wrong with her and sent her home.

I got a call in Dallas from that good ‘ole family doc — the one who took histories and listened to her patients — telling me that Mama had left a confused message with her answering service. I headed home to find Mama in desperate straits.

I took one look at her and knew what was wrong: She was dehydrated.

Me, with my master’s in business, did a better job of diagnosing than the doc in the er with his medical degree and all his tests. Why? I did something he evidently never considered. I looked at her.

This particular episode was the beginning of Mama’s won’t-drink-water spell. It was a little slice of hell, getting water into her.  We had to work with her and work with her to get her to drink. Then, for reasons unknown, she started drinking again and we haven’t had that problem since.

She went through a similar period where she wouldn’t eat. We got her though that one, too.

Now, it’s night terrors, hallucinations and what I gather from reading on the internet is called “sundowning.”

I called a lot of docs this week, including several neurologists. It turns out that neurologists won’t see you unless you’re referred by another doc. One neurologist’s appointment maker told me that princess doctor wants all her patients to have an MRI and about a gazillion other expensive tests already done and in the chart when she meets them.

Think about that. This is many thousands of dollars worth of tests that she’s demanding without so much as knowing the patient’s name, sex, age, symptoms or anything about them. If that isn’t trying to diagnose by test, I don’t know what you’d call it.

What these folks don’t see is that medicine is more than collating test results with a database of illnesses. A computer can do that. In fact, can do that. I have no medical training, but I’m plenty smart enough to collate databases. Medicine involves a serious interaction between doctor and patient that these docs have evidently been trained to avoid.

Without a full history and an exam that includes listening, not just to what the patient says but how they say it, without an application of actual clinical knowledge and skills that come from observing, listening to and treating real live people, medicine just doesn’t work.

If docs won’t believe what their patients tell them, then treatment is reduced to what can be replicated in lab tests or in front of the doc. If you have gastroenteritis, do you have to throw up in front of the doc to get something for nausea and vomiting? That’s where we’re heading. In fact, dementia patients and their caregivers are already there.

The danger of relying on tests alone is multifarious. First, as in the case of my mother’s dehydration, the doc may not order the right test. Second, without a history and an exam, the doc may not know how to interpret the test even if he or she accidentally orders the right one. Third, not everything shows up on a lab test. Fourth, even if the doc gets the right result — which is somewhat akin to throwing darts at a wall and hitting a bull’s eye, the patient is out of the loop. With long-term illnesses, the patient must be in the loop to get a good result.

Database collation medicine, or paint by numbers medicine, works very well most of the time. There are reasons for this. First, with most ailments people eventually get well on their own, even if the doc misses the diagnosis entirely. Second, the majority of aliments that people show up at their doc’s office with can be treated with a broad spectrum antibiotic and maybe something for discomfort.

In other words, most of the time, the doc doesn’t have to know what’s wrong with the patient. They can claim a victory just by prescribing a broad spectrum antibiotic and relying on the inherent resilience of well-fed, comfortably-housed Americans.

If things go past that 1, 2, 3 doh-ray-me level of medicine, they refer to specialists who provide a second layer of paint-by-numbers medicine.

The trouble in all this lies in the fact that when a patient gets really sick with something that requires a bit of actual medical practice, today’s docs appear to be utterly lost. They have a few buttons they push, labs they order and standard things they do. When it gets past that, they’re not much more use, and not more personal, than the internet.

What I’m trying to say is that if you get something really weird, you’re going to have to diagnose yourself. If you get something that’s not at all weird, that’s expected even, but that is complex, like, say, dementia, you’re going to have to treat yourself.

I’ve spent this week being down in the dumps for one simple reason: I was coming to the realization that my family and I are on our own with my Mama. We’re going to have to figure this out and provide the care that gets her through this, and we are going to have to do it ourselves.

Because the sloganeering claptrap out there is a lie. When it comes to taking care of your parent with dementia you really are alone.

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Is the I Aborted My Baby Because He was a Boy Story a Confabulation?


Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Elvert Barnes

Photo Source: Flickr Creative Commons by Elvert Barnes

The I Aborted My Baby because He was a Boy story is almost too perfect.

By “perfect,” I mean that it reads like someone took every crazy accusation anyone ever leveled against man-hating feminists and characterized them in a blog post. Is this story a not-so-funny first-person prank? Did someone make up a tale about how they murdered their baby boy with abortion?

The bedeviling thing, to me at least, is that I’ve dealt with people just as crazy mean as the author of this post sounds. I’ve dealt with women who are this man-hating, and I’ve dealt with men who are this woman-hating and neither one had any qualms about sharing their viewpoint. That gives the post a certain cultural veracity.

None of the people I’ve dealt with took to the web to write blog posts about it. They either contacted me in anger about legislation I was trying to pass, wanted me to “help” them pass a hateful law, or, occasionally, wanted me to use my legislative powers to “get” somebody for them.

What that means in terms of the I Aborted My Baby Because He was a Boy story is that I know it’s possible it’s the truth. I know this because I’ve met and listened to people who are this crazy, this evil and this self-righteous about their vile beliefs.

I went back to the Injustice Stories web site this morning and read through the posts that it lists. The blog is said to be a forum for individuals to post their own “injustice stories.” Thus, the various blog posts are purportedly written by different people.

I’m not a linguist, but it doesn’t seem to me that the writing style differs from one post to the next. It’s not difficult to tell my writing from Kathy Schiffer’s or that of the Anchoress. All three of us write differently from Deacon Greg. Our writing is a “voice” we use, and it is somewhat unique to each of us. It’s usually that way with people.

I’m not saying that the posts on Injustice Stories are all written by one person. I don’t know that. But I will say that they do not differ in voice or syntax enough to sound like more than one person is doing the writing.

So, the question is out there? Is the I Aborted My Baby Because He was a Boy Story an attempt to prank the internet? Is it true, or is it confabulation?

I don’t know the answer to that.

Confabulation or fact, the story is possible. Sex-selected abortion is a horrible realty all around the world, including here in the United States. The world’s two largest nations by population — China and India — both have seriously lopsided male-female ratios due to sex-selected abortion. Men outnumber women in these countries by margins wide enough to unhinge the social order.

Live Action has released videos of Planned Parenthood counselors in locations all over the United States who are willing to help women obtain abortions simply because their unborn child is a girl. Half a world away, an Australian doctor had to fight to keep his medical license because he refused to either do or refer for a sex-selected abortion.

This is why the I Aborted My Baby Because He was a Boy story is plausible. I don’t know if this particular blog post is a fact or a confabulation. I don’t even know the author’s last name. But I believe that baby boys have been aborted just because they were boys, and right here in the United States.

Why would anyone do that?

Because they can.

When you legalize killing a whole group of people for any reason whatsoever, they will be killed for every reason possible.

We live in a fallen world. We all bear the mark of Cain. Blood guilt is our heritage, born of unending war, violent crime, family violence, abortion and euthanasia.

Legal abortion knocked over the carefully tended wall we had built between human life and our passions. It let the wolves of our own depravity into the fold. We defined a class of people as subhuman and declared open season on killing them.

So why should we be surprised when people avail themselves of this freedom to kill by doing exactly what we have given them the legal right to do: Kill for any reason that suits us.

Is the I Aborted My Baby because He was a Boy story fact or confabulation? If it’s fact, a precious baby boy has been horribly murdered. That matters quite a lot.

But in terms of social/political commentary in which individual lives get swept up and lost in talk of millions dying for decades, no, the veracity of the story does not matter. It does not matter because the laws which allow such things and the belief systems which excuse them are real.

Every abortion kills an innocent person who can not fight back, can not even speak for themselves. We can pretend they are not real, and if confronted by a million ultrasounds attesting to their reality, we can persist and refuse to back down in our claims that they are not human. If that fails, we can fall back on claims that, yes, they are human, but not human enough.

And that concept of not human enough is another slippery slope of illogic claiming to be the heart of rationality that leads even deeper into the abyss. If we can kill human beings because they are not human enough, the door swings wide for euthanasia and after that killing the poor and disabled, the “useless eaters” among us. Not human enough is such a subjective and frail reed of verbal positioning that it falls easily before the next new killing plan.

A large segment of our society has abandoned the notion of moral absolutes and seeks to replace it with verbal positioning. If they can concoct an argument that sounds convincing in their own ears, then whatever they are arguing for becomes their new morality. Ironic as it is, they then claim this newly-minted moral reality of theirs as a moral absolute.

When it comes to legalized killing, there is no bottom for these people. They sincerely believe that it is a moral imperative to allow the legal murder of any group of people that they can convince themselves should be killed. The great wall of the sanctity of human life was breached with legal abortion and that let the wolves in.

Now, they, like satan, prowl about, seeking whom they may destroy.


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