Completing an Advance Directive Can be Fun!

The key to making it fun is to lighten up.

In my career as a registered nurse, I’ve encouraged countless patients to complete an advance directive.

Here’s a typical conversation:

“Do you have an advance directive?” I ask. “Some people call them a living will.”

“Oh yeah, the wife and I filled out a will.”

“No, a will is where you leave your Smurf collection to your great nephew. An advance directive is a document that informs your caregivers what medical care you want if you’re too sick to tell them. You can also use it to plan your funeral and burial.”

“Oh, I’m not worried about that. The wife knows I don’t want any machines to keep me alive, and that I want to be cremated.”

“I’m glad you’ve discussed it, but it’s still a good idea to put it in writing. Did you know that studies have shown that wives are usually more eager to pull the plug than husbands are?”

“WHAT! You’re kidding me! Uh…thanks. You’ve really given me something to think about.”

Despite a natural reluctance to deal with these issues, we still need patients to not just think about it, but to take action.

Then I spoke to a woman who showed me how it could be done. She had not only completed an advance directive, but she told me she had a blast while doing it.

“How?” I asked.

“I planned a spectacular funeral for myself,” she said with a big smile. “I want a party in June no matter what time of year I die. There will be a lobster feed, a keg of beer, and live Celtic music. No sad faces at my final going away party!”

She was so excited that I almost asked to be added to her guest list.

Clearly, the way to motivate people to discuss topics like ventilators, tube feedings, and vegetative states is to make the whole thing more enjoyable.

I asked some friends and family for ideas about how they’d make their advanced directives less scary and more fun. This is what they came up with:

When I can no longer eat solid food? NO applesauce, please. Instead, feed me nothing but pureed chocolate cake.

Somebody definitely needs to destroy my smut stash before my grown kids find it (I keep it in the back of my closet in a file cabinet labeled ‘tax returns.’).

Even when I’m in a coma, don’t forget to floss me! Spearmint is my go-to flavor.

At my funeral, I want to be toasted with these two cocktails: Death in the Afternoon and Zombies.

Once I am bedbound, I want you to entertain me with a karaoke contest. Be sure to include the songs, ‘I Wanna Be Sedated’ and ‘I’ll Sleep When I’m Dead.”

As I die, no prayers, hymns or lamentations. Instead, I want my loved ones to gather around me and binge watch comedies about death: Three Weddings and a Funeral. Weekend at Bernie’s. And of course, Death Becomes Her.

As I approach the end zone, I want Tom Brady at my bedside holding my hand, shouting, “We ain’t done! Get ready to go fast now! We’re bringin’ this sucker home! Touchdown!”

I’ve rigged my personal journals to explode. Just carry the box labeled ‘Top Secret’ out to the driveway, light a match, and run.

In honor of the food that will undoubtedly kill me in the end, I want my ashes to be placed in a pizza box urn and transported to my funeral in a pizza delivery truck. The headstone? A domino, of course!

Once I’m in my casket, instead of placing my folded hands on my stomach, I want one of my arms raised so that everyone who files past can give me a high five.

All kidding aside, if you don’t have an advance directive, you need to get one done. If you already have one and you haven’t looked at it for years, you need to take it out and review it.

Now reward yourself with an evening of eating, drinking, and merrymaking. After all, tomorrow you could be on your way to the boneyard in a pizza box.