Knot My Line

On Saint Patrick’s Day in 1977 my step father Walter Niermann came down with Guillain Barre Syndrome. Walt and mom were living on 1st street in Mesa, Arizona. They had just watched the Saint Patrick’s Day parade which had marched down the street in front of their apartment.  Mom went in the kitchen to prepare lunch and Walt went and sat in the living room to read the newspaper.  When lunch was ready mom called him and after a few minutes called him again. After a few more minutes he called her and asked her to come help him.  She went in the living room and he was rubbing the calves of his legs and had a puzzled expression on his face.  “I can’t feel my feet” he said, “Help me stand up”. But she did not have the strength to help him. “I don’t have any feeling below my knees” he said. So she ran next door and got the barber from the barber shop to come and help. But that was of no use either, so she called for an ambulance. By the time the ambulance arrived, the paralysis had reached to Walt’s hips and he had no feeling or movement in any part of his legs. The ambulance rushed him to a nearby hospital, along the way they paramedics had to give Walt a tracheotomy and assist his breathing. Within a short time after arriving he was heavily sedated and on a respirator. Within a week or so he had been transferred to the Phoenix veteran’s hospital where he remained until April 29th.  

Walter William Niermann

On April 29th I flew to Phoenix, got a rental car and drove to mom’s place. She and I then drove to the veteran’s hospital where we saw Walt.  Seeing Walt and his condition was extremely disturbing. He had been a large robust strong man who now had remained on life support for 43 days. He had lost well over a hundred pounds and was a shell of his former self and almost unrecognizable. He also was totally unresponsive and had been for the entire time. For all of these long weeks my brother, sister and I had been urging mom to discontinue life support. She had declined at the advice of her minister. I have had a grudge against him ever since.

We had his doctor paged and sat with him.  I asked him if my father was dead or alive. He said he had no idea. Startled by that response I asked him why he didn’t know. And he responded that it was impossible for him to tell because of all of the machines that he was on and in order to determine if he was dead or alive the machines would need to be turned off. My Mother, finally and to my relief, immediately said, “Then I give you permission to turn the machines off and find out”.

The doctor entered the cubicle where Walt was and closed the curtain surrounding it. A minute or two later he parted the curtain and walked toward us. Turning to my mother he said he was sorry but that Walt was dead.  Filled with the emotions of both grief and anger I wanted to ask him how long Walt had been dead, but decided against that since that would be an accusation against my mother and her minister more than the doctor and it would serve no useful purpose.

My step father was a wonderful man. He was a veteran of both World War I and World War II. He had remained a bachelor his entire life until he met, courted and married my mother. Since their marriage occurred after I graduated high school and left home, he and I were never very close. But I had the utmost respect and affection for this soft spoken and kindhearted giant of a man. Our society and its inhuman religious culture of life support at all times and at all costs did a monumental disservice to this fine man. They desecrated his body and mutilated it just to support an ignorant religious belief.