the Monday Musings column from that consultant bloke

As much as I abhore the current version of the Labour Party, and have reservations about their motives for doing this, I support their interest in some form of legalising assisted suicide.

Both of my parents suffered prior to their deaths, my mother, in her late 80s lingered for around 8 months, and my father, in his mid 50s, for around 2 years. In neither case would I have allowed any of my cats and dogs to have gone on suffering, and I would not want to have to wither away like they did myself.

I do understand that, especially in the case of my father, that he may have survived because the will to live was strong in him. My mother had forbidden me from telling him that the doctors had told us that he was doomed, and it may be that he didn’t know that he was terminally ill, but he was not a stupid man and I doubt that he was unaware of his plight.

He had been diagnosed with lung cancer. A biopsy operation had left him with a would like a fishes gill around the right side of his rib cage, and this never healed. By the time he had got to his last months on earth my mother could carry him to the toilet on one arm. He looked like one of those unfortunates liberated from Belsen.

In my mother’s case, she was already showing signs of dementia when a distraction burglary resulted in the need for a walk to the bank to sort out her account. On the way home she tripped, knocked herself out, and, during the resultant spell in hospital, full on dementia took her. A few months later, she just gave up and died, a terrified and confused old lady who, depending on the day, thought of me variously as my son, her husband or some other male from her past. But never as me.

I have, in the last 11 years, four myself at death’s door three times. On all three occasions I was pulled back from the brink by my medical teams, aided by a very strong desire to keep going on my part. I recovered more quickly that the doctors predicted every time, so there was no thought, on my part, of seeking a quick exit. But if I had been diagnosed with something that would have resulted in a slow decline, then I would have had no hesitation in seeking a way out.

Having seen family members wither away, I understand what it is like. Death is never a problem for the one who has died; they have ceased to exist, or, if you religion supports the view, they have gone to a better place. All of the grief sits with those they have left behind. If the one dying would like to put an end to it all, then why should they be denied that choice?

If the option is available, then I would like it please.