Do you support euthanasia?

I woke up in the middle of the night to growling bowels.  This was when I learned that growling bowels in the middle of the night is a sign.  A terrible sign.  I got to the bathroom and couldn't decide which end to put over the toilet first.  My head won and my underwear lost.

Wasn't I empty yet?  How could there be more?  The consistency and color changed, but it didn't stop the heaving and churning.  I lost a concept of time, knowing only my traitorous body.  When I finished heaving, I would kneel before the sink and rinse my burning mouth.  Eventually, I couldn't get up high enough to reach the water taps.  I no longer cared about the cleanliness of the bathroom floor, the toilet or myself.  I wanted the agony of my quivering digestive system to end, and I didn't care how.

My head lay on the curved carpet that hugged the front of the toilet.  I made bargains in my head.  Please don't let me throw up again.  Please calm down.  Please don't open me up and flush me out again.  If I hold really, really still, will you stop?

24 hour flu.  One day of my life.  I lay there, shaking my head slowly from side to side, willing my body to obey, but my thoughts were detached, too.  If I had to feel like this all the time, like a cancer patient in treatment, could I make it?  Would I want to?  My frightened, honest voice said I would rather die than feel like this.

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Her hair was lifted by the wind and the strange updrafts that swirled around the building.  She held the edges of the open window, ducking a little as it wasn't quite as tall as she was.  One foot in.  One foot out.  She looked back into the room and smiled a transcendent smile, and took her last step.