The doctor, not Kevorkian, but ahead of his utilitarian bioethic time, saw the opportunity. He was not usually in the room where the straps were attached and the button pushed down. He seldom saw that ten year old body jump as all the muscles tightened at once. Technicians and nurses saw these jumps and put the rag in the ten year old mouth before they button pushed. They would come out then reporting, the patient is responsive, nauseous, disoriented but remarkably calm They would tell him that the button had been pushed two, three, perhaps five times and he had prescribed. His staff was well trained.
Today, he was in the room. Two years of electro-convulsive shock therapy had not cured this one. Carefully monitored jolts had not broken through the delusions that plagued this one. This male child still claimed to be a she. Yet the doctor had pledged to cure this child. That strong and healthy body should not forever be the vessel of a poisoned mind. The doctor demanded much of himself and his staff. He demanded a cure.
He was in the room when the button was pushed and stuck. He saw an opportunity when the ten year old body jumped , clinched and kept on clinching. He grabbed that opportunity with all that he had. He grabbed the wrist of a nurse as she reached to pull the clip from the head strap connector. He explained his reasoning as the body relaxed, the eyes stayed open. Doctor and staff, they waited six minutes to pull the plug from the wall.
Some of the skin over the temples pulled away when the head straps were loosened. The doctor seized his opportunity but then the child breathed a shuddering breath. One breath and then another, so the opportunity slipped through the doctor's fingers. The child's parents were entitled to a perfect body untroubled by a poisoned mind. They needed an end to this torture and worry. The doctor needed closure. They weren't going to get it. The child still breathed. .
