MORE SCHIAVO
Why not kill all the severely autistic children, too?
March 18, 2005 - 14:14 (Z-05h)
Since I wrote the article about Terry Schiavo, more and more evidence about the case has come to light. I no longer think she is a potted plant. Ms. Schiavo is technically severely autistic with mental deficiency. She is marginally communicative, if that. Whatever sounds she makes is repetitive (echolalia). She has repetitive motions. That's three out of three common symptoms of autism.
It is, of course, a fiction, just like the fiction that says Terry Schiavo wanted to be taken off of life support. One good fiction deserves another.
But fiction abounds in this case. One being fostered by Mr. Schiavo is that she has been thoroughly examined by many, many doctors, and has been found to be a vegetable. The only thing that the doctors have said is that they have examined a privately done EEG and CAT scan and, according to this one set of exams, she is a veggie.
There are several problems surrounding this interpretation. Only the worst sort of neurologist would do just a CAT scan and EEG. Most would do an entire battery of tests, including a closed MRI (the awful claustrophobic test with the loud banging noises) and something called a close compatability cognitive examination (you get right up in their faces and have three observation modes). Since six of the country's best neurologists happen to practice in South Carolina, this truth can be easily discovered by anyone in this state. Don't take my word for it.
And in any case, vegetative and severely autistic/mentally deficient people are impossible to differentiate. Nobody knows WHAT Terry Schiavo knows or doesn't know.
If you can kill Terry Schiavo, why not kill ALL of the severely autistic children? There is no difference between the two, physically and morally, for all intents and purposes. Especially the ones that can't communicate or feed themselves.
In the end, the only moral to take away from this disgusting tale of human stupidity is to watch out who you marry.
Sad. Sad. Sad.