By the time they testified, there was a fairly large audience, including a few members of the press, some of our family and friends—and Brian Schiavo, another of Michael’s brothers, who was then called to testify. At this, several people in the courtroom stood up and yelled to Pam, “He’s been sitting here the whole week long! He’s heard all the testimony. He can’t testify.” Pam asked that Brian be disqualified, and Judge Greer upheld her objection.10
Michael’s side called other witnesses. One was a neurologist, Dr. James Barnhill, who said that Terri was PVS and would not get better. (It made me all the sadder that Pam had advised us not to have a doctor examine Terri for purposes of the hearing, so that Barnhill could be refuted.) Another was Beverly Tyler, who had taken a “regional poll” for a research center in Atlanta and found that most people said that if they were like Terri, they would not want to live in her condition.
Such polls—and there were many conducted about the case over the next five years—made us furious. The responders did not know the specifics of “her condition.” And who can say what they’d do in actual circumstances? It’s easy to talk about giving up life if you’re healthy enough to answer a poll. But at what point in an illness, or at what degree of pain, do you say, “That’s it”—an irrevocable decision? “I wouldn’t want to be a burden to my caregivers,” many respondents say.11 In Terri’s case, we know that she would have wanted to live, because she would have found her life surrounded by the people who loved her, and because she would know how much we wanted her with us.
A different witness upset us profoundly. On the second or third day we came to the courthouse, Bob approached a Catholic priest, Father Gerard Murphy, sitting outside the courtroom and, thinking the priest was there to offer us support, thanked him for coming. But Father Murphy had arrived to testify on Michael’s behalf. He had never spoken to anyone in our family, had never gone to visit Terri, and did not know that Terri was a practicing, faithful Catholic who had gone to Mass the day before her collapse. He had gotten all his information about Terri from Felos, who introduced him at the trial as the official spokesman for the Roman Catholic Church on end-of-life matters—in fact, I didn’t think he could appear without permission from his bishop, Robert Lynch.12 It didn’t seem to bother him that Michael had been cohabiting with someone for five or so years, just that Terri was disabled and wouldn’t want to live with her disabilities, though of course he never heard her say so.
He testified that part of his ministry work was visiting old-age homes and nursing homes to comfort and bless the people who were dying. The church, he announced, condoned the termination of a human life by removing life support and would indeed permit the removal of Terri’s feeding tube.
We had not known Father Murphy would testify, or how he would testify, for we could have produced a dozen priests who would have refuted him. But attorney Campbell called no one and did not ask for help.
After the hearing was over, we all went to see Bishop Lynch himself. Bobby pleaded with the bishop to say that Father Murphy was wrong about church teaching, that his testimony set a false legal precedent, and to publicly speak out about what was happening to Terri. Bishop Lynch refused. We believe that if he had intervened, if he had testified that the church opposed the taking of life in any form, if he had asked his priests to mobilize the hundreds of thousands of parishioners in the St. Petersburg area to say that Terri was a human being even though badly injured, the entire trial might have ended differently, and Terri might be alive today. But Bishop Lynch ignored us. He turned his back.
Catholicism had been ingrained in me from the moment I was born. Now I felt betrayed, not by Catholicism itself, but by its representatives in St. Petersburg. Bob, Bobby, and Suzanne were enraged at the bishop for his hypocrisy. I was saddened. It seemed to me that the church was deserting my daughter, and it was only God Who could tell me why.
Much later, Bobby put together an editorial regarding the bishop’s disregard for the Catholic Church’s teaching and his responsibility, as Terri’s chief pastor, to defend not only her life but the sanctity of all human life:
I am a professed Roman Catholic man striving to be a good Christian. I believe in the teachings of the Catholic Church and I have a deep respect for our Holy Father, Pope John Paul II. However, I struggled profoundly with my faith and trust in the Church after Father Murphy’s testimony in which he stated that to remove my sister’s feeding tube depriving her of nutrition and hydration, causing her death, was morally acceptable according to Church teaching. Furthermore, our local bishop of the Diocese of St. Petersburg, Bishop Robert Lynch, refused to correct this grave misconception of Church teaching and basically said, “It’s Michael Schiavo’s decision to make” and stated that the Church would not get involved.
I was devastated and angry. How could this be? I may not be a theologian or Church scholar, but I know that to remove my sister’s feeding tube deliberately to cause her death is euthanasia and is forbidden by the Church as stated in our catechism . . . Why did Bishop Lynch not rise to Terri’s defense? Why did he not defend her inherent right to life? How could he stand in direct conflict with the clear teaching of the Catholic Church, and how can he remain as a bishop after having done so? Terri was a practicing Roman Catholic woman, and he should have been the one to shepherd and defend her. “He is her Bishop!” I thought to myself. “How can he abandon her?”
It wasn’t only Bishop Lynch who disappointed us. In 2004, my family sent a letter to every Catholic bishop of every diocese in the United States asking them to publicly speak out about what was happening to Terri. We received only three affirmative responses.
When Felos spoke of Terri as though he knew her, or knew what she wanted—as though they were friends—it drove Bobby crazy.
“I’m sitting there thinking, He has no idea who Terri is. None whatsoever. I got so mad one time that I stormed out of the courtroom, and I hit the door so hard I actually snapped my watch in half. If Terri had known what was going on, she’d have been the first one to tell Felos to go to hell. She’d have been fighting just as hard for us as we were fighting for her. The notion that Felos and Terri had some type of alliance—that he knew her mind—it was absolutely the furthest thing from the truth, and so infuriating that I thought I’d get thrown out of the courthouse.”
Felos called another witness, Judge Greer’s appointed guardian ad litem, Richard Pearse. “If you had known that Scott Schiavo and Joan Schiavo had heard Terri Schiavo’s request to have her life ended under extreme circumstances, would you have reported as you did?” Felos in effect asked Pearse. “If you had known of Beverly Tyler’s poll or Dr. Barnhill’s findings, or Scott and Joan Schiavo’s testimony, would your mind have changed?”
His answer was disturbing. “My mind would possibly have changed.”
Reflecting on the hearing later, Suzanne summed up what we were all feeling:
“As the week went on, we became more and more frustrated, more and more upset. I mean, we went through a week of hell. In the beginning, we were concerned, but we still felt pretty good. But when it was over, I felt like we were all run over by a truck. I mean, it was a hellacious week. Hellacious in that we heard testimony from Michael’s sister-in-law and brother—and then the priest—that was just incorrect. We were all blown away by the priest. We couldn’t believe it.
“It’s frustrating to hear people saying things you know are untrue and you can do nothing about it. You want to stand up and say, ‘That’s not true,’ because you know in your heart that it’s not. And they’re people taking an oath on the Bible!”
Like Suzanne, Bob was stunned at the testimony of Michael’s relatives. “I kept thinking, Right will prevail, because everything we said was true and everything they said was dishonest. I believed in the theory that honesty and truth prevail. Greer’s a judge. He’ll rule in our favor. But these people put their hand on the Bible and immediately said things we’re sure weren’t true. I couldn’t believe that was actual
ly happening.”
Bobby suffered as much after the trial as during it. “There were moments when I thought there was no way we were going to lose, and there were moments when I thought, He’s going to rule against us. I hardly slept for two weeks. The night before the decision, I didn’t sleep at all. It was just a horrible two weeks, waiting for the decision to come in. And I must have talked over the phone every day for probably hours at a time, just rehashing the case over and over with my dad. I didn’t know what to think. I remember just going back and forth. I remember what my parents said: ‘Our family’s made a lot of mistakes, but the one thing we don’t do is lie.’ I was asked, why not testify and lie that Terri had expressed a wish to live? I said no, because if we had, we would have been like them. In point of fact, we turned away a man who offered to produce an unimpeachable forgery of Terri’s living will in which Schiavo’s claims would have been contradicted.
“I taught in a Catholic school, and I taught my students that honesty is everything. I think we all like to think that at the end of the day, because we were truthful and honest, we would prevail based on that. And that the judge would see we were being honest. But it didn’t happen.”
I saw the trial somewhat differently. Of course I was unhappy with the way it went, them lying and me knowing they were lying. But at the end of the trial, I thought to myself, I know all this happened and I know the trial didn’t go well, but there is no way that anybody is going to starve a human being to death.
That’s all I kept thinking. Over and over, that’s all I kept thinking.
CHAPTER 9
The Fight for Terri’s Life
We tried to keep up our regular lives. Suzanne was a stockbroker for TD Waterhouse by day and a wife and mother at night. Bobby taught at Tampa Catholic High School. I was working at the Hallmark store on St. Peter Beach. Bob was working under contract for an engineering firm. But the suspense of waiting for Greer’s decision pervaded every minute of all our lives.
Just after noon on February 11, 2000, two weeks after the trial ended, Bob got a call from Pam Campbell’s paralegal, Teresa Muhlstadt, asking us to come to Pam’s office in the Alexander Building in St. Petersburg. Greer had made his decision, and Pam wanted to tell us about it in person. It’s a ten- to fifteen-minute drive from our house, and I don’t remember either of us saying a word. Neither before nor after, in the entire time frame of our daughter’s ordeal, can I remember being so anxious, so scared.
When we pulled up in front of the building, to my astonishment there must have been eight or nine cameras poking at us, and reporters’ indistinct questions buzzed around us like mosquitoes. By this time, to the local press at least, Terri’s fate was a big story. The media presence was like a dress rehearsal for what came later.
Teresa had come outside and held the press back. I looked at her face. She said nothing, but her expression gave her away. We had lost.
No! my heart screamed. I couldn’t believe it. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe Pam would have good news. I couldn’t look at Bob. Had he guessed what I guessed?
Teresa led us upstairs to Pam’s office. She had also notified Bobby and Suzanne that the decision was coming. Bobby was already in the office, having gotten there with his childhood friend Steven Meyer just before the fax came announcing Greer’s verdict. Suzanne arrived moments after we did. Pam turned to us and shook her head. “He’s allowing the feeding tube to come out.”
At first, I was numb. Then, quickly, I started to cry and couldn’t stop. I cried and cried as if the dam I had built inside me had broken and nothing could build it back again. I thought I would cry forever.
Pam and Teresa were crying, too. My family was beside me, and they must have been crying as well, but I was only conscious of Pam and Teresa. Pam said, “Don’t worry, don’t worry. We’ll appeal, we’ll appeal.” That’s all she kept saying for a long time.
I hadn’t thought of an appeal. I thought that the judge had ordered the feeding tube removed, and that would be that. That Terri’s tube would be taken out that day. I mean, I was hysterical. Pam said, “It’s not going to happen today. It’s not going to happen tomorrow. Just settle down and don’t worry.” Then she tried to explain what the process would be, but I could understand none of it, not even that there was still hope.
Bobby was in almost as bad shape. “Before the fax came in, my anxiety was so profound I felt I was going to faint. When it did come, it was an absolute shock. I didn’t know what it meant. I mean, I did know, but I didn’t know the time frame. I didn’t know how long we had. I didn’t know if we had a week, a month, a year—I just didn’t know. And that’s what was most scary: I just didn’t know.”
Pam sat there and read Greer’s decision to us, but to this day, I’ve never read it myself. I’ve read sections of it, but never the whole thing. I can barely even look at a copy. When I see the date, I relive the day, and no one should be asked to do that.
After we had quieted a little—when I could breathe again without choking—Pam told us we’d have to look for attorneys better able to handle the appeal process. We were all relieved. Pam is a fine, sympathetic woman. Her newly established law practice was like that of a medical general practitioner, whereas what we needed now was a specialist, someone who specialized in euthanasia cases like Felos.
We left her office, incapable of further discussion or of making plans. Bobby and Steven stayed behind to handle the media so they could thank our supporters for us. But for me, the moment Judge Greer rendered his decision, the future became a black hole.
The day after the decision, we went with Bobby, his girlfriend Lori, Suzanne, and her six-year-old daughter, Alex—to whom we had promised the outing—to the Florida State Fair. I remember thinking, How do you explain to a six-year-old that a judge ordered her aunt to be put to death? Terri hadn’t committed any crime. Alex had visited her. She had seen her smile and laugh. She knew she was sick. I thought it best not to tell her anything, to let her enjoy herself at the fair.
I don’t remember anything about the fair itself, except that I was afraid I’d never make it through the day. My legs were weak, and a couple of times I thought I was going to faint. Bob remembers walking through the fair but, overwhelmed by thoughts of what had happened the day before, nothing else. I was trying not to think at all, to blank my brain to stop Pam’s voice, the memories of the trial, the visions of Terri, from creeping in. It didn’t work.
On that day, Bob got a call from a woman named Jana Carpenter, who had introduced herself to him during the trial, which she had attended for its last two days.
“It was a Saturday when the call came in,” Bob says. “Jana told me she belonged to a group of doctors, nurses, caretakers, and attorneys. ‘There are some doctors who would like to visit Terri at the Palm Gardens nursing home,’ she said. ‘Do you think you could arrange it?’
“Three doctors showed up and spent an hour with Terri. Based on what they saw of her, each filled out affidavits confirming that Terri could swallow and that she was not in a persistent vegetative state.
“I should have been happy, but to me it was a case of locking the barn door after the horses had fled. They gave the affidavits to Pam Campbell,1 who immediately filed an emergency petition with Judge Greer. Meanwhile, I got another affidavit from a retired bishop, Thomas Larkin, Bishop Lynch’s predecessor, who, I guess, had come to the trial after hearing of Father Murphy’s testimony. He was accompanied by Monsignor Thaddeus Malanowski, a retired army general and Roman Catholic priest.2 Bishop Larkin’s affidavit stated that Father Murphy had misrepresented the Catholic Church’s position on end-of-life matters, and Pam included that in her package to Greer.”
The motion for rehearing, which was heard by Judge Greer on March 2, 2000, asked for a review of the case and for Greer to allow medical tests for Terri to determine her capabilities and true neurological condition. On March 7, he denied all motions in the petition.
By then, though, the depressed lethargy we were battling
had lifted. We were mad. Our energy returned. We renewed our commitment to Terri that we would get her the therapy she so desperately needed. By God, we would fight for our daughter’s life! If she had to die, we would not let it happen quietly as we suspect our adversaries had planned.
Michael was fighting, too. Shortly after our doctors examined Terri, he filed a petition to prohibit us from seeing Terri or, if that wasn’t granted, to be allowed to severely restrict our visiting hours.
True or not, we felt that this was an act of retribution. The cruelty of it bewildered us. The Michael who had worked with me, sweated with me, loved Terri with me, had disappeared. In his place was a man I prayed Terri had never seen.
His attack spurred us on. The husband of a teacher at Tampa Catholic advised us to contact a renowned lawyer named Joseph Magri, who, with his partner Robert Merkle, specialized in appeal cases. He had known about our troubles and immediately agreed to represent us on a pro bono basis. Still, he’d need the transcript of the January 2000 trial, which would cost us in the neighborhood of $10,000 to obtain, money we didn’t have. Magri, who looks like an elegant Paul Sorvino, impressed us from the start. Bob and I liked his honesty, his ability to tell us tough news gently but straightforwardly, his knowledge of the law, and his professionalism. For the first time, we felt we had a powerful ally. As he told us himself, the appeal process would be difficult. But at least it would be held in a different court with a different judge. We had a chance!
A Life That Matters Page 8