Assisted dying – a different perspective

Assisted dying/euthanasia, call it what you will, is yet again under the news spotlight. At least it keeps the subject in our collective consciousness, and that has to be a good thing.

Euthanasia appears to be a word that makes many of us feel particularly uncomfortable which is probably why the softer, lead threatening concept of ‘assisted dying’ has become the preferred language.

So is a society that embraces the ‘E’ word an enlightened, caring and compassionate society or one that is cruel and dehumanised?

It’s an immensely difficult debate and we naturally come at it informed by our religious and moral upbringing, as well as by our life experiences, particularly when we’ve been part of the suffering of friends and loved ones who may not have had a ‘good’ death.

Few of us would argue against the concept of the sanctity of life. Life is sacred, every moment of it. But does that mean life should be preserved at all costs, in all situations regardless of the circumstances? I sometimes wonder whether some of the clergy who cling to their religious doctrines do so without the experience of seeing someone close to them suffer in the way that some of us have done at the end of life. Would that experience not cause those of the strongest faith to reconsider?

Two of my uncles were actively helped out their terminal suffering as long as forty years ago by doctors empowered to ease their pain. My uncles, several years apart, asked for help when the pain was too much and the situation was agreed to be medically hopeless. 

Their decision was discussed at length with their wives and their doctors while they themselves were in full control of their senses and faculties. Following a period of reflection they died as the intended result of medical intervention, with their loved ones around them. Let’s not beat about the bush here: they were put out of their misery. Is that really so bad?

How did this situation arise? We were in Holland where euthanasia has been tacitly tolerated for many years and more recently formally accepted.

It’s one of those issues you’ll have a view on whether or not you’ve ever been affected. When you are involved, directly or indirectly, you tend to rethink your viewpoint. 

I’ve long since accepted the notion, providing the safeguards are firmly in place. I know it’s never as simple as that but my own upbringing, established belief system and experiences tell me that the notion of euthanasia – alright then, assisted dying if you must – is one that our society should at least tolerate and accept, if not embrace and encourage.

Would I take the option if I found myself in such an unimaginably black and hopeless place? That’s not once I can answer right now. I feel I might be too much of a coward in those circumstances but that thought stems from a 62-year-old who is in pretty good health and intellectually incapable of conjouring up such a scenario.

The issue came to affect me more personally in the last couple of years. My aunt had been unwell and had been diagnosed in her mid eighties with cancer, having already been affected by other ailments that left her disabled and in constant pain. She was the last of the father’s seven sibblings and we were quite close, as I was with her son, my cousin.

It became all too personal rather suddenly with a call from my cousin in Rotterdam one Monday evening. “Mum will be dying this Wednesday,” he told me with quiet emotion. “She would like you to come to the funeral on the following Saturday and wants an opportunity to say goodbye. Could you call her and have chat?”

It was a shock. It’s not a situation I’ve ever been faced with and it was, I’ll be honest, shocking and uncomfortable even though I’ve lost parents, been with a number of people at their last moments and seen plenty of death at close quarters in my time as a newspaper reporter.

It was agreed that my cousin would call me on the morning of my aunt’s last day of life in two days’ time so that I could ‘say goodbye’. I couldn’t sleep at all that night: what a surreal situation. What do you say to someone under those circumstances? I’ll admit to feeling very uncomfortable about what was to come.

The call came. My cousin handed the phone to my aunt. She led the conversation. I wasn’t to be upset, she said. She had had the most wonderful life, was tired of taking without, as she saw it, being able to give any more, and was fully content with the decision and what was about to happen within the next couple of hours.

I explained that I really didn’t know what to say to her. With calmness and even serenity, she just invited me to wish her a good journey. 

It was at that point that I had a real epiphany. One of those moments that really does change your life for good, and for the better. I suddenly realised the only thing left to say to anyone in those circumstances, and the only thing that really matters and means anything at all, is that you love them.

That’s what I told her. I thanked her for the love she’d shown me and my children over the years, and that I would never forget her. Two hours later, after a cup of coffee in the comfort of her own bed in her own flat and with her son by her side, two doctors arrived and within half an hour she was dead: on her terms, in her time.

A police surgeon arrived soon after to ensure that all the necessary ‘rules’ had been fully complied with.

Let’s be clear about this. She didn’t fall asleep or pass away. She died. It’s better to be up front and honest with our language in these and all other circumstances, in my view. She died and I have no doubt from what I felt during the conversation and at the subsequent funeral that she died easily, accepting and fulfilled. It was right for her and I accept that.

A few years later, my father - my hero - became very ill and suffered what I still consider to be an obscene death in the Intensive Care Unit of a local hospital, kept alive in his late eighties through medical intervention, completely unnecessarily and inappropriately in my opinion, although by the most caring and committed group of people I’ve ever met.

I counted no less than 13 tubes going into him with most of his functions maintained on his behalf and he having been sedated to a state of deep unconsciousness. He wouldn’t have wanted that. His family didn’t want that and it was clear that the staff felt he should have been allowed to go - no, to die - at a much earlier stage. As it was, and because of the circumstances that had been allowed to arise, it was left to my sister and I to take the decision to cease intervention. That wasn’t a difficult decision at all.

I have no doubt knowing my father as I did that he would have much preferred to have been spared that ordeal in favour of a more controlled death with choice and dignity. There was certainly no dignity in that hospital bed, though plenty of love and care.

By all means let’s debate, argue and disagree but let the debate be led by compassion and humanity rather than dogma and discrimination.