And how, precisely, am I supposed to tell random fucking jackoffs like in the story?

None of you fucks even know what a DNR is, means, what it looks like, and not a single one of you cunts could be expected to uphold it even if you were told.

You don’t get a special bracelet. This isn’t the ‘life alert’ infomercial. Tattoos mean absolutely nothing to medical professionals.

You literally have to have a DNR on file, active, in your county of residence, and they have to look it up. Which will not happen until you’re already admitted.

And if you get sent to a hospital in a different county? Because you’re visiting family or something? You’re fucked. You’re on a machine, keeping you alive. As long as your shitty relatives feel like it.

I have no desire to die incoherent in a hospital with no concept of what’s going on other than everything is uncomfortable. And with the united state’s version of healthcare, I will have to make sure I die somewhere else.

When I die, it isn’t fucking about you