My Taphephobic Friend

How far does one man go to insure he isn't buried alive? Very very far...ridiculously far.

My  Taphephobic  Friend

 

Taphephobia: the fear of being buried alive as a result of being pronounced dead in error.   I first heard of the phenomenon of being buried-alive watching a televised interview of a psychologist who had written a book on the subject. I’d read and enjoyed Poe’s  “Premature Burial,” but I was completely caught off-guard when I learned that my friend John suffered from this condition.

-Tell me again. You invented a device?

-Yes, it will enable people above-ground to monitor my vitals; pulse, respiration, heart rate. Basically to make sure I’m dead and not buried alive in error.

-Are you for real with this?

-For the hundredth time, I have taphephobia. This device is my only hope of escape from the grave…if escape is what needs to happen.

-It’s a pretty rare condition, right?

-I’m taphephobic, Mark!

-Okay, okay…chill.

-I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in years.

-How long have you had…taphephobia?

-It started progressively getting worse about five years ago. Now it’s a living hell.

-What about cremation?

-What about it?

-I was just thinking, if you were cremated wouldn’t it insure that you were really dead? Wouldn’t that solve the problem?

-Stop and think that through for a minute.  I’ve been pronounced dead, in error, by some quack. I’m sent to the crematorium, still alive, mind you. Then my flesh starts to burn. Naturally I scream, but no one can hear me inside the crematory oven.

-At least you wouldn’t suffer long.

-I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.

-So why are you telling me all this?

-I have a favor to ask of you. I’ve put it in writing.

-Let me guess: to help make sure you’re really dead when they bury you?

-To absolutely make sure.

-You’re serious about this.

-Listen, what if some idiot doctor pronounces me dead and I’m really just in a coma? Or maybe I’m only concussed? Or I could be in an unconscious state for some other reason? 

-Have you so little respect for the medical profession?

-It’s not that, I just…

-Okay, so what do you want me to do?

-I need you to do daily readings of my vital signs. My vitals will be regularly transmitted, via electrodes, to a meter hidden in the marble vase next to my headstone. I’ll show it to you tomorrow.

-…

 -If there’s a sign of life, you should take steps immediately to exhume me and start resuscitative measures. There will be an adrenaline injector next to the meter.

-Won’t digging up a grave get me in trouble?

-I have the appropriate legal documents for you, plus an exhumation kit.

-You’ve gone to a lot of trouble.

-Mark, you’re the only one I trust to do this.

-What about Mary? Does she know about this?

-No. And she won’t be in the right frame of mind when the time comes. She’ll be in shock and grieving the loss of her husband.

-Don’t get mad, but have you thought about therapy or medication?  Phobias can be treated very effectively these days. Taphephobia is a phobia, right? An irrational fear?

-All the therapy in the world won’t negate the fact that I could be pronounced dead…in error…and buried alive…plain and simple.

-I guess so.

-I’m asking you as my best friend. Will you do this?

-Yes I will, but only on the condition that if I screw up, your family won’t sue me.

-There’s a signed waiver guaranteeing your immunity in the event of any lawsuit. It totally insulates you from any possible legal challenge.

-How long do you want me to monitor you? You know… before I consider you absolutely, positively dead?

-One year. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I can show you cases where people have been revived from a vegetative state after a much longer time than that. If I’m truly deceased you’ll get some of my insurance money. I want you to have it…for your trouble.

Hugs are exchanged

-Thank you so much, Mark.

(It’s been ten years since that conversation. My friend John is healthy, in his sixties, and chugging right along. But I’m ready when the day comes to begin my year of monitoring. Recently, during a quiet reverie, I wondered what John would do if I were to die before him. He would find someone else, I’m sure. Anyway, that’s his problem. I’d be dead…or would I?)