Proof That Sacrilegious Communion Is Punished! Cradle Catholic Bob Quarteroni Announces His Intention To Murder Himself Publicly On Facebook.
"Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of profaning the body and blood of the Lord. Let a man examine himself, and so eat of the bread and drink of the cup. For any one who eats and drinks without discerning the body eats and drinks judgment upon himself."
More Bad fruit from the New Mass:
By Bob Quarteroni
I am dying.
I have ALS.
Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis.
Lou Gehrig’s Disease.
Lucky me. One of the select 16,000 Americans to get bitten by this evil bastard every year.
When you’re diagnosed with it at my age, life expectancy is about a year.
Since I’ve had symptoms for three months – how long it takes to diagnose this plague – and since I seem to have a particularly virulent strain, I’m thinking six months.
That WOULD be if I was going to ride this dragon to its horrible, horrible life-in-death end.
“Gradually the patient becomes paralyzed, unable to walk, talk, move their arms, breathe. The end result of this progressive muscle weakness, if the patient doesn’t die of pneumonia or related illnesses, is a condition called ‘Locked In Syndrome’ -\-\ a state where patients can’t move or speak, but their minds remain clear.”
Not if I can help it.
But it isn’t easy. If I were a dog or a cat suffering as I am – and I am – any humane owner would take his beloved pet to the vets, where his life would be ended with compassion and dignity.
But since I’m not a beagle or a tabby, no such consideration awaits me.
For me it’s locked in or find my own way out of this hell.
And It is a relentless hell. From some mild left arm weakness in November, today my left hand and arm are practically useless and my right side is just slightly better: I am typing this with two quaking fingers, at a snail’s pace.
My hands now specialize in dropping things, literally hundreds of time a day, and they are so weak I can’t even open a single packet of sugar at Dunkin, which I can only get to with a cane, a helping arm and a ton of trepidation, having already fallen and flopped around in the parking lot, like a diseased crab or Gregor Samsa, unable to get up without assistance.
Yes, balance is a dream from a former life. Bouncing off walls, falling – often spectacularly – shuffling along with baby steps, seeing 50 feet as an endless journey, crying in frustration, that’s the new, degraded me.
My knees are perhaps the worst, feeling as if they are going to buckle at every step, but only doing so when the can cause the most damage, or humiliation, as when I fell and got tangled in a Cybex leg machine at the Y and it took three people to disentangle me.
But it’s a great disease for losing weight. Down from 178 to 162 no matter how many Boosts I drink.
Hell has found me and it’s here to stay.
Especially since death with dignity is so hard to attain.
Several states, including California and Montana, offer assisted suicide, but only to residents.
Similarly, several nations, including nearby Canada, offer it but, again, only to residents.
Assisted suicide is the suicide of a patient suffering from an incurable disease, effected by the taking of lethal drugs provided by a doctor for this purpose.
Only in Switzerland is hope offered to the suffering foreigner.
I’ve contacted Lifecircle, based in Basel. They believe that “persons from abroad should not have to travel to Switzerland in order to redeem them from incurable diseases. They should have that right in their home country. As long as this is not ensured, we offer assisted voluntary death not only to Swiss citizens, but also to persons from abroad, according to Swiss law.”
But it’s a long, cumbersome, tiring and expensive – and very, very rigorous -\-\ application process, and there’s no guarantee I’ll be accepted.
Even if I am, they have a three to four month waiting period and I’m not sure I’d still be able to travel that far down the line.
But it’s my best, last hope.
And my entire extended family supports me in this, especially Leanne, who as a dietitian in countless nursing homes has seen far too many ugly, painful, merciless death struggles to want to condemn me to one.
If I get accepted, she’ll accompany me to Basel and be at my side for the last rites.
In a quiet, peaceful room, at a time of my choosing, I’ll be able to surrender the spirit with my dignity and humanity intact.
“He/she can either drink the lethal medication or take it by an intravenous drop. Falling asleep occurs within a few minutes, death usually
follows within half an hour.”
And my journey would be at an end.
But if this falls through, then the puritanical laws of the commonwealth – and the lack of help from even a single medical provider – will force me to take matters into my own hands, with uncertain outcomes and the chances for a disaster unavoidable.
So there we have it.
I’ve never feared death but I’ve always feared dying.
Looks like I knew what I was talking about.