For me, the euthanasia bill before
is not just a government issue. It is a personal issue. Think of me as Schrödinger’s cancer patient: living and dying at the same time. Nothing is more important than the imminent arrival of the latter to give the former momentum and urgency. In the two years since my diagnosis, my cancer-ridden body has allowed me to live surprisingly well, from a comeback 100-mile ultra-run to a two-month walk from John o’Groats to Land’s End. I have found new meaning in life and campaigning for better NHS treatment has taken me to 10 Downing Street. The Prime Minister has said that I inspire the work of his government and, more importantly, my father is proud of me. My sister calls me her hero.
But despite these two life-affirming years, only 10% of people with my condition can expect to survive five years; whether I am ready or not, death is coming for me. Yes, between chemo and surgeries I have maintained a very good quality of life, and there have been times when the cancer, although incurable, was almost gone. Yet I feel myself getting weaker, and as I approach my end, this is what dominates my thoughts. For me, death is not an abstract concept, but a reality that looms large in my future.
How do I die? Pain? I am no stranger to pain. When my primary tumor caused a bowel obstruction and the epidural failed after emergency surgery, I was tormented not just by days but weeks of pain. Even my internal monologue was reduced to a pitiful whine and even though she had been dead for years, I called out to my mother. What kept me going? The prospect that “this too shall pass” was all I could hold on to, but it was enough. I do know this: this pain humbles me and if I were to be condemned to it permanently, I know for sure that death would not be the worst outcome.
And what about dignity? My biggest concern is financial independence: working-age people with terminal illnesses are twice as likely to die in poverty as pensioners. And of course I worry about losing control over my bodily functions; living with a stoma has given me a taste of what it will be like and you get used to it. But if I take this line of thinking to the end, and I lose the ability to move, to communicate, and to find joy or purpose in life, then I will honestly have a hard time going any longer.
So yes, there are circumstances in which I would welcome the option of euthanasia. But this isn’t just about me. In the fall of 2011, I lost my fiancée Holly to cancer when we were both 25. The last days and weeks of my first love’s young life were without a doubt some of the most terrifying for me. There is a whole new level of fear reserved for seeing the pain in the eyes of a loved one. The trauma of watching Holly’s life disappear will never leave me.
There are so many circumstances in which the morality of euthanasia is questionable. But I have seen one that is not: that point in the dying process when loved ones exchange a meaningful look and perhaps even say out loud, “He’s gone, isn’t he?” When they are still alive, but you realize that you are beginning to grieve. I would gladly sacrifice all my proudest achievements, joys, and happiness so that this final part of my end would be mercilessly cut short. Don’t let this senseless night watch drag on for weeks or months, for the sake of my family. It’s bad enough that they’ll probably lose me before I’m forty, and they’ll carry the emotional burden of my early death with them for the rest of their lives. The idea of “being a burden” is often mentioned in conversations about euthanasia. I guess I want to dissuade everyone from trying too hard, but my duty and desire to alleviate the suffering of those I leave behind makes that phrase sound like the most gross oversimplification.
These are incredibly complex issues – emotionally and intellectually. Who decides? Doctors, lawyers, my family or me? What if, by the time it is clear that euthanasia is the right thing to do, I can no longer make that decision myself? Can I leave instructions? How would that happen? Who would pull the plug or administer the lethal injection – and who would be responsible for doing so? Does our struggling NHS system have the capacity to deliver this? Where do you draw the line? What about coercion? Will there be safeguards? Are these safeguards subject to erosion, as seems to have happened in Canada? Will the “normalisation” of intentional killing lead to a higher suicide rate?
I don’t know – I am just one person hoping for a “good death”, whatever that is. But the MPs and gentlemen who are drafting and debating the Euthanasia Bill have a huge responsibility. There are so many stakeholders involved and countless lives will be affected by this free vote. They have the power to alleviate the suffering of the most vulnerable in society through carefully considered legislation. But if one person dies when they shouldn’t, that is surely one too many.