I’m ready!
“But what now if all the peace, the comfort, the contentment were to come to a horrible end?” – Franz Kafka, The Metamorphosis.
I have a good life. How can I complain when I had drawn the lucky stick, being born in a rich, middle-class family? My parents had professional careers: dad was a surgical doctor and mom, a corporate lawyer. I never had student loans to finance my first-class education. Upon obtaining my MBA, I was hired immediately as the Vice-President of Finance of a major bank in downtown Toronto. Because of my executive position, I became a member of several Boards of Directors. So at the end of the year, I was pulling in six figures. That’s why I could afford to live in a rich neighbourhood.
I have three grown children who have their own families as well. My eldest daughter lives nearby; while my two sons put their roots in Vancouver and Halifax. Every year we get together during the Christmas holiday and everyone takes turn hosting the event. We get along pretty well.
Three years ago, my husband died of a heart attack. My eldest daughter helped me a lot to ease my grief. Still it’s difficult to be alone. That’s when I joined the Sisters for Companions, a spiritual and prayer group comprising of women of different backgrounds. Our mission is to provide companionship to women who are suffering medically, physically and emotionally. We visit them as a group and organize a session of prayer and spiritual development through bible reading and discussion. We also help in any way we can those suffering from terminal illness by ensuring that the house is in ship-shape.
Five years later I suffered a heart stroke. I recovered but it affected my mobility. For a year I could still manage to live independently. Then everything went downhill after two bad falls. I now need a wheelchair to move anywhere and a nurse to look after me around the clock. My group sisters come to visit me every day. But once they leave, I succumb to my helpless situation and get easily upset and depressed. As suggested by her friend, my daughter brings a therapy dog every time I start acting up crazy. The dog just calms me down.
For a while I was okay but my physical condition keeps worsening. While I still have my senses I ask my daughter about medically-assisted death. She finds out that in Canada there’s a program called MAID which stands for Medical Assistance in Dying. The whole thing has a process. First, the triage nurse asks for the history of my health. If I qualify, a doctor, who fits well with my circumstances, will be assigned in about two weeks. There will be two doctors actually who will do the interview separately. These two doctors will determine if I meet the “foreseeable end of life” criterion and will ask me if I am consciously requesting MAID. Then I sign a form that I personally request MAID. I need two witnesses who are neither members of my family, my care team, nor my beneficiaries of my estate. After the form is legally completed, I will wait for 10 days to ensure I have made the right decision.
My group sisters found out about my intention of dying with dignity and rushed to my house to confront me about my decision.
“Sister, don’t do it. It’s against God’s commandment.”
“I’m too familiar with it, sisters, as you should know. But I can’t stand the pain any longer. This slow death is just too much for me to handle right now.”
“But sister, you’re condemning your soul to eternal damnation. Why not suffer more for the greater good.”
“I swear if God would grant me the strength and relief to withstand this unbearable pain I would like to live a longer life. But I am just drained out completely. Whatever few days He wants me here on earth won’t compensate for the hardships I have to suffer daily and constantly. I am happy to end it now while I still know what I’m doing.”
“But, sister, God’s law is absolute. You just can’t break it like that. He will find a way to alleviate your pain. And we are here to help you go through it.”
“Absolute is God’s sole attribute but not for us. As imperfect species, we view everything in relative terms. Look, we allow justified killings to save us from greater harm. In wars, we kill our enemies and we have the church’s blessings. In peace, the state sanctions the execution of serial murderers and the church is not adamantly opposed to it. Even the church itself committed murder by burning the heretics. Sins are everywhere and can never be washed away with moral righteousness and indignation. So why not die with dignity when the quality of life is over? I’ll take my chance of violating God’s sacred commandment and hope He will understand and be more forgiving.”
My group sisters stopped visiting me. However, the doctor assigned to my case set a date to see me. I asked my three children to be present. The doctor arrived on schedule and walked us through the procedure. He said he would administer three injections: a sedative, then another to slow the brain activity that governs breathing and the last one to stop the heart. He asked me again if this was what I wanted, and I said, “Definitely, yes.”
When the doctor left, my children were having second thoughts about the whole thing.
“Mom, by agreeing with your wish, we seem to be complicit in hastening your early death. We will have this guilt mark on us forever.”
“Children, this decision is mine alone. You’re not at fault because you’re not agreeing to anything. You are here only to support me. And if you can’t do that, I don’t want you to be here. You will never know how I feel each day. So my decision to end my life early, contrary to anybody’s expectation, is not a question of guilt, it’s rather an act of compassion – the true basis of any religion.”
The day has come. All my children are here, including their spouses and my grandchildren. We all go out to a fancy restaurant to have a brunch – a way to memorialize my life in my presence. Everybody tries to act normal. We reminisce and have good laughs of some awkward family moments in the past. The grandchildren are well-behaved and listening quietly to the adult conversations. They are soaking this moment for reason of their own. We leave the restaurant all in good mood.
The doctor arrives and goes straight to the room where the death procedure is to be administered. I am left alone to gather my thoughts and prepare. To help me face my death calmly, I console myself that all of us will die someday. It’s just a matter of time. I’ve been thinking a lot about the words of Richard Holloway from his book, Looking in the Distance: The Human Search for Meaning: “So we should live the fleeting day with passion and, when the night comes, depart from it with grace.” I then announce emphatically and without regrets to my family: “I’m ready!”
One by one my family lines up to say goodbye. They all hug me without tears. I don’t allow crying and forewarn them about it. It’s a joyous occasion and not something to grieve about.
Then my daughter and I go into the room where the doctor is waiting for us.
