Anne Heche’s Life Support Will Be TURNED OFF – IOTW Report

Anne Heche’s Life Support Will Be TURNED OFF

Friday, 12 August 2022, 8:15 BFH Uncategorized 30

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  • Actress Anne Heche, 53,  has officially been declared brain dead after her fiery car crash in Los Angeles
  • Heche’s family said she will stay on a ventilator to determine whether any of her organs can be donated
  • After that, she will be taken off life support by medics at the Grossman Burn Center at West Hills hospital
  • It has ‘long been her choice’ to be an organ donor, so she will remain technically alive until check is complete
  • ‘She will be remembered for her courageous honesty and dearly missed for her light,’ they added 

30 Comments on Anne Heche’s Life Support Will Be TURNED OFF

  1. So sad to see people destroy their own lives with drunkenness and drugs.
    Addiction is a choice and does damage to everyone in the addict’s family.
    Satan tricks people and then kills them.

    32

  2. My co-worker’s step-sister’s son-in-law’s friend’s cousin’s brother’s pool boy makes 25 cents giving head!
    You can find him behind the dumpster on Pennsylvania Ave, NW – he goes by the name of Pete.

    11

  4. Dont cry for this leftist bitch, she is over 50 and knew exactly what she was doing. Play stupid games ( driving while intoxicated) win stupid prizes burn in hell bitch!

    9

  6. I’m about as uncaring as they come but I read an article about her home life growing up that was pretty jaw dropping. If true, she was doomed. It was just a matter of time.

    18

  8. Apparently she was on cocaine, apparently her drug of choice when she had her accident. Are cocaine organs salvageable? I’d worry about the covid jab too. I guess if you need an organ you can’t be that picky right? Things I think about…..

    14

  11. I have no sympathy for her.
    None!
    She intentionally drove drink & high at Break Neck Speed through a residential neighborhood. (most likely an irresponsible suicide)

    It is by GOD ONLY that she did not kill any innocent people, kids or even a pet.

    Finally, how would you like to be the owner of the house who now has deductibles to pay & what ever changes to their housing situation?

    I’m with Mark, JP, and the rest who don’t are disgusted.

    Cheers! ( Just don’t drive afterwards. )

    6

  12. As the owner of the house that was destroyed by Anne Heche, I probably dont have to worry about deductibles because Anne Heches estate will cover for that when they sue them

    Im guessing they’ll do that pretty quick, so as to cover up a lot of embarassing stories that would otherwise get out

    3

  15. Mark, I ask you as a stand-in for any who may have hatred for a lost life in these dire straights, as I ask all of you, have you ever been in a room when the family is brought the devistating news that the loved one they see living before them will never in truth return to them?

    I have.

    And I don’t mean “I have” as in my former role as a medic, although that too attained. I know we have doctors and nurses and other medics here who have been there when a diagnosis of brain death is imparted to a weeping family, but that’s not the same thing. If you’re watching it happen to someone else, it’s no one you know and none of those crying people are anyone you know, easy to compartmentalize, too bad so sad say all the usual bromides if you say anything at all, and tip out respectfully, now when’s lunch?

    No.

    I do NOT mean THAT.

    I mean been in that room when its someone YOU know. Someone YOU love. Someone you have done things with, done things for, and had do things for you, out of love and for no other reason. Someone you actually care about, whose passing is devistating for other people you love. Someone who’s a father or a mother, a grandmother or grandfather, daughter, son, in-law, someone who was part of your life for years and didn’t even have the decency to die all at once, or so you may think in your anger and sorrow.

    No, there’s a living, breathing, visibly alive shell of a person lying there, looking just like that person you loved and love still, heart beating, chest rising and falling, just their eyes closed like they are sleeping as the gentle mechanical wheeze in the background blows life through that intrusive tube taped to one side of their mouth. You can touch this person and they’re warm, sometimes they still seem to react, but it doesn’t take super long to realize this isn’t sleep.

    But you want to deny it. Everyone in the room wants to deny it. People start praying with their loved one, whispering in their ear, trying to make bargains with God both in private and in public. They will read to the person just to have something to say, cite half-heard studies about people who hear in comas, come back even years later from comas, and how this or that twitch is some sort of conscious response. In her hope, I even had one of my wife’s aunts who swears to this day that her niece, my sister-in-law, said “Thank You” in response to a prayer for her passing as she lie drowning in double pneumonia from the cancer that killed her but first rendered her unconcious, even though that is medically, physically, pneumatically impossible with an endotrachial tube passed through her larynx.

    It’s like that. I wasn’t about to spoil that story with facts. It would serve no purpose and just be hurtful. And who am I to say a miracle didn’t pass between them.

    It’s like that.

    Then, like with my father-in-law who was down too long with his heart stopped but still technically alive at the hospital, here’s a big, strong man, who yesterday was still doing arduous maintenance tasks at the nursing home that employed him, a former truck driver who was at retirement age but not long past, a doctor comes in after a day or so of this ceaseless vigil, one where his daughter, my wife, would not leave his side even to eat, where his other daughter kept up contact with everyone in the country about him to distract herself from the inevitable, his ex-wives (he was no saint, not a Clinton or anything, but he did mix things up in his life) consoling each other at the distress of a man they all truly loved, at different times and maybe for different reasons, but the shared bond trancending whatever hate may be between them. All these building each other up with tales of hope while I kept my mouth firmly shut except to pray and to console my wife and child, as I knew what I was looking at and they didn’t. I read the report and had the evidence right in front of me, I even did some LOC test on the sly that yielded nothing, snuck a peak at his blown and unreactive pupils that I hoped was just morphine but knew better, so I knew where this was going but didn’t want to destroy hope, not even my own. For I loved the man too, and wanted to deny my own experience.

    Sometimes knowing things about how people live and die means being able to see things you’d rather not know.

    …but soon enough, a doctor walked in. Graphs, charts, test results, etc., all pointing to the same thing. My wife’s father was on anti-seizure medicine or he’d be flopping like a fish before us, he said, although I’m sure in more diplomatic terms. Here, on this EEG, you can see where he has no organized brain activity whatsoever, no responsiveness to any test known to man, no indication of higher brain activity at all, and an immediate history that sadly supported the contention that he was down too long and not breathing too long and as a result his brain was no longer operable. The man they knew and loved that lay before them in a simulation of life, they were told, had in fact left them and was not coming back.

    This is a toughm tough pill to swallow. I am not going to go over everything that happened in that room, what was said, what was done, for many reasons including that this is a very sad memory for me, but ultimately the decision was taken to remove the ventilator and let nature take its course.

    Which was done. But you know what? He didn’t die right away.

    And that just made it WORSE.

    He was clearly not doing anything consciously, his respirations did not vary in response to anything, but he did contine breathing and occasionally gasping, for some time after. Everyone wanted to be there for his last breath, but that was not coming soon.

    While all this was going on, the hospital hit her, my wife, with a donor team. Your father is going to pass soon, they said, but he could still help many with his body. Some parts, like his eyes and heart and lungs, were not usable, but corneas, pericardial sac, major organs, even his leg bones could help dozens of people. Wouldn’t that be a nice legacy for Father? They were sorry to bring it up now, but in order for these parts to be viable they had to be harvested VERY soon after death, which meant they needed permission.

    Now.

    I do not have the words to convey the stricken expression on my wife’s face as these strangers talked calmly to her about parting her still-breathing father out in what could seem a final, painful insult. I myself warred within about whether to encorage her or punch them for bringing it up, even though I knew well the brutal necessity. It was her decision, and I held her hand and prayed with her as she made it, and she chose to donate, as her father was a giving man and would likely have wanted to do so.

    So those peeople withdrew to prepare.

    Meanwhile, Dad gasped on. Clinically, most unconcious respiratory patients if you don’t do anything else will die of an overwhelming opportunistic infection before too awfully long, usually without even spiking a temperature because the hospital keeps pallatives like Tylenol on board. in his case, however, the nurse assiged to what was now basically hospice care said he may be in pain and so he dosed him with morphine.

    Which is a respriatory depressant. More stuff I knew that I wished I didn’t.

    Unsurprisingly, his breathing soon became shallower, and he gasped his last as the hospital looked on with their signed DNR and I fought the urge to intervene myself. Death took its course and a good man was wheeled to the OR for a final time to be reduced still further before his body was disposed of in its entirety.

    You have no idea, not a clue, what that’s like until you live it.

    You do not know the pain, the sorrow, the raw emotions you are dismissing here.

    You do not know what loss is until the death warrant for a loved one needs to be signed by their nearest and dearest.

    You cannot imagine how much strenght is needed to make those awesome decisions.

    I do not know Anne Heche, her family, her friends, anything about her, but it is likely that someone loved her. Someone had to make those decisions. Someone had to look at that perfect mockery of the person they loved and decide they were better off dead.

    Whatever you think of this actress, whatever her politics, whatever statements she said, whatever harm she caused, no longer matter. The person who did them is dead. She has long since gone to where she will answer fully for them, and was gone before today when she had formally been allowed to end her physical existence.

    Hate her as much as you want, if that makes you feel better. It certainly doesn’t matter to her.

    But you might have some consideration for those she left in her wake, those who mourn her, those who have to take up her burdens and bury her with their tears and make whatever harm she has done in her life and its endings right according to the law and their own conscious.

    You may not love her.

    But someone does.

    Certainly God did.

    You may want to have some respect for that.

    And pray God that you are never in a room like that yourself.

    12

  16. That was one mighty expensive drink! This is just another suicide being called something else. Had she not been drinking she probably wouldn’t have wrecked her car, which caught on fire and she wouldn’t be in her current situation. When people drink the way she drank and when people use drugs to excess and then die they are dying by their own hand; they die because of actions they took. Is this not suicide? Maybe unintentional, yet they die by their own hand….

    3

  17. The difference between us and the left is that we are capable of compassion, even for those that we disagree with. God permitting, the majority of us will never know the inner demons that can drive someone to this type of self destructive behavior.

    3

  18. anonQ
    AUGUST 12, 2022 AT 1:02 PM

    This is actually kind of an oddity. In my experience, I usually saw the drunk driver barely injured, and the family of 4 they hit dead.

    Maybe they intended suicide, maybe not. When I was a drunk I didn’t usually think that deeply. Most drunks I knew and most drunks I saw weren’t looking to die, they were drinking problems away but not trying to be permanent about it.

    Only guy I saw that WAS trying to drink himself to death was a Vietnam Vet who at least didn’t put anyone else at risk. He simply sat down at his favorite bar one day and proceeded to try to deliberately absorb a lethal amount of alcohol in as short a time as possible. It’s not his real name, but for convenience I will call him Michael.

    I know he was trying to drink himself to death because he said so. That was his stated, literal intention. He wanted to die, and this was the most painless way he could think of to make it happen.

    …we got there after the bartender cut him off. This was before bartenders were actually liable for “overserving” as its called now, but the bartender knew this wasn’t headed anywhere good, so Michael responded by reasonably, rationally, breaking his current beer bottle (still serving in glass then) and cutting the hell out of his wrist.

    Enter the police, followed by a formal invite for SNS and Company to join the proceedings.

    This was still a fairly new gig to me at the time, so a call for an attempted suicide at a bar was still something of a novelty. I didn’t have a ton to do on arrival because the cops had subdued the guy and our lieutenant responder had bandaged the shredded wrist, so my driver and I strapped him to the cot (which proved beneficial later), wheeled him to the unit, stowed him inside, and I climbed into the box while by driver got up in the cab and radioed the VA for their reluctant permission.

    I had to obtain some data from the guy for this to happen, and other than the risk he was going to puke all over the place he was still surprisingly lucid, so he spat his name out to me along with his former rank and some hysterical laughter, the first part of which I relayed to the driver for permission. They didn’t call it “PTSD” at the time, they called it shell-shock and things like that in my circles, but he was known to the VA as an ongoing client with this and they did accept transfer, so off we went for the long ride in.

    Micheal was not a willing patient, not a sober patient, and not a quiet patient. Most of the time he didn’t make a ton of sense, but he was pretty active and cursed a lot, me, the truck, the road, the world, God, pretty much everyone and everything, while I didn’t spend much time in the jump seat as I had to be ready to deal with it if he puked and also see that his restraints weren’t loosened in his efforts to do so, particuarly on the damaged wrist that I held most of the time so he wouldn’t tear it up in the restraint as we would have to stop, my driver would have to come back, and he’d have to help me restrain him as we would have to loosen his arm to rebandage it.

    This put me right in his face, surrounded by the miasma of many and varied alcoholic beverages and not great breath, where he was telling me at high volumes and frequency that he wanted to walk out the back doors of the truck into highway traffic and end it that way.

    At one point he suddenly stopped struggling, looked me dead the fuck in the eyes as his own eyes cleared for a moment and I could see the madness in them, and he said very carefully enunciating each word as for a child, “Why don’t you understand? I. Want. To. DIE.”.

    Just like that. Didn’t raise his voice or slur his speech or anything. Just calmly, clearly, methodically told me he wanted to die, like we were having a conversation on a back porch and he needed some help with a troublesome stump that he was sure I would provide.

    I was young and stupid and had NEVER had an adult veteran lock eyes with me and spell it out like that. I literally was at a loss, all my bromides fled me, things like ‘Oh, Michael, I’m sure you have so much to live for’, or ‘you know I can’t let you do that, Michael’, or ‘now what would I tell (fill in the blank loved one) if I just went and let you do that?’. Nope, that happy crap just went right out of my OWN mind when confronted with a man who had so much more life experience than me, a man with a demeanor of command (he was some kind of sergeant, can’t remembrer which one), who just out of nowhere stopped foaming and snapping and yelling and stated his death wish as a foregone and immutable fact. I had nothing in MY past to draw on to deal with this particular situation.

    Fortunately, he resumed his struggles to try to make his death happen, and I could bury myself again in the known familiar world of dealing with the physical issue and abandon the psychological theatre that had quckly opened and quickly shut for me, and do something I actually COULD do.

    We got Michael to the facility shortly after that.

    They were not pleased to see him, and curtly told us to move him to the bed and take our restraints with us. We did so but told them about the issues and his statement, plus the absurd quantities of alcohol he was said to have consumed and, while it (fortunately) didn’t appear during our transport and literal death struggles, it was there and looked like it was going to make an apperance at any time, and that he DID want to wander around; but no, they said take your cot and your straps and get out.’

    We decamped to the mostly barren squad room to write this up (a task I normally attempted during transport but couldn’t here for obvious reasons)so we could give them a paper (1980’s) receipt for our erstwhile patient, when we noticed quite a bit of nurse consternation outside the window. We asked and were told the patient we tried to tell them wanted to leave…had left.

    You know, since he was unrestrained, unmonitored, and sucidal.

    …We joined in the hunt but one of the nurses found him in a clean linen closet, where he had vomited all over the sheets and towels.

    We left the Karma callout aside, finished our report, and most gladly booked, grateful it wasn’t US sponging beer and whiskey puke from the corners. That smell can linger, let me tell you.

    I never saw or heard of Micheal again. Our other frequent flyers popped up from time to time, but he didn’t. Perhaps they found him some help. Perhaps he did his drinking somewhere else.

    Perhaps he got his wish.

    I didn’t track my patients, especially the psych ones, so I never found out or heard anything from anyone else who ran with me. Probably for the best.

    I do not know to this day what happened to him, and this side of Heaven, never will.

    But I never forgot that moment I looked into the eyes of a man tormented by his warrior past, and saw only a glimpse of the inescapable hell he lived in, and that was quite enough.

    So I am not qualifed to speak as one who has seen that dragon. Not at all.

    But having looked into his eyes and briefly aided in his struggles, those and some of his comrades in arms, I can pray for him, all that went before him, and all who served after and still do.

    We should pray drunks find salvation too.

    But they have to want it.

    And most don’t.

  26. Hey, I know everyone wants to vent their spleens about the Left right now and to target everyone who identifies (even stupidly) with them, but I’ll just caution you that time is of the essence and if you’re planning on getting right with God, it’s not a good time to play chicken with Him.

    “For with what judgment you judge, you will be judged; and with the measure you use, it will be measured back to you.” Matthew 7:2 (NKJV)

    I’m not saying it’s wrong to judge people who stupidly put others’ lives at risk — or even their own. What I am saying is that it is for God to decide who winds up in Hell and who doesn’t. That is all.

    Keep watch and pray.

    2

  27. The mistakes we all made in the 60’s and since regarding sex and drugs are biting us back with a vengeance.

    We humans keep going down the wrong path in so many ways – the path to Hell. God have mercy on us.

    1

  28. The photo that was taken of Anne Heche just before the crash at the wheel of her Mini just before, haunts me for some reason. She did not appear to be wearing any make-up & she just looked done. Tired. I would imagine being in the Hollywood fish bowl made her that way. She looked like she has been badly used most of her life by many uncaring people & was just ready to be finished with the whole mess. I never saw any of her movies, but, she obviously had demons that she could not control.

  30. Very Sad. Mental illness along with drugs and alcohol also took the lives of Carrie Fisher and Dolores O’Riordan recently in a similar tragic way. Reminds me of the precious gift of life (and sobriety) that is given to some but not accepted by others that is in so many ways beyond our understanding or control.

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