What is the point of the existing upon this plain? I often think about that. With the degree of apathy I have, I get to wondering why things are the way they are at times. I become curious about the point of certain things. Why does one continue to go on when it seems that so much of their life has been taken from them? Why does one worry about the next day or the one after that. You see this a lot in those who have terminal illnesses. Who's quality of life is so terrible that they no longer wish to continue on. Or those who quality of life has dropped so drastically from that which they desire to be at or that which they wish they they could have maintained.
I have a friend. Bob. I always called those doomed to death Bob. Bob used to do a lot of things. Run whenever Bob wanted to, have physical interactions and intense mental battles with those Bob found interesting for long periods of time. Than Bob got ill. Now Bob is no longer able to do these things because of this illness. Bob's illness is under control, for the most part, it seems. Yet Bob fears a resurgence of this disease... and if Bob loses what Bob has now, what is left of what Bob used to have... Bob would rather die than continue to exist in that shell of a body.
I had another friend, Bobbie. Bobbie had a disease where he was slowly getting progressively more paralyzed as time went on. First he couldn't walk. Than he couldn't control his bathroom functions. Than he couldn't eat, couldn't move his arms or his head. He was also ill with another viral issue, one that was going to kill him far faster than the progressive paralysis. When it came to taking care of the viral issue and curing him, allowing him to live for many more months, not years, he refused the medication. Instead, he wanted to die.... to have help in dying.
Before than, when I was still in high school I had a girlfriend who's uncle, George, actual name this time since I can't think of a third "Bob" style name that isn't ridiculous, had issues a medical issue I can't remember clearly. While we were dating his medical issue was manageable but would kill him in 5-10 years, but he was offered a procedure that would allow him to live a rather long life. The only issue is that this would drastically reduce the quality of his life if the procedure went wrong or failed. So, he made a choice. Rather than live a long and full life of mediocre or worse quality, he would rather live to be 37-43 with a high quality life and be there for his family.
These three instances have gotten me thinking. At what point does quality out weigh quantity? As long as the quality of life is there, the quantity doesn't matter. To live to a young age of full potential, enjoying every moment possible during that time, or rather to live to a ripe old age of significantly lessened potential ... is a choice that I myself wonder at times.
