Reflections on the Dying Bill

There’s a pivotal moment approaching as MPs prepare to vote on the next stage of a bill that many see as a chance to create meaningful change. Back in June 2018, I underwent a bone marrow transplant due to osteopathy in my marrow shaft. My consultant, who had a good rapport with me, didn’t think the transplant would succeed. The two years post-transplant were tough; my quality of life took a hit, and I’ve been living with a chronic health condition since, requiring ongoing monitoring. Still, despite everything, I’ve actually managed to live quite well over the years.

If I’d been asked about my perspective on death and dying three or five years ago, I likely would’ve responded differently. My thoughts were heavily influenced by pain, the mental toll of illness, and the loneliness that often accompanies it. I felt, in a way, like a burden on those around me, and there was this gnawing guilt regarding the NHS resources I was consuming.

It’s interesting how medical opinions can vary. We really see how patients are treated differently based on their presentation—things like mood, tone, and even how we articulate our thoughts all play roles. In a society with so much inequality, how do we make sure that choices regarding death aren’t overly swayed by bias or outside influences?

The concern is that choosing to end one’s life could be seen as a noble or selfless act, but that choice might disproportionately impact the most vulnerable among us. The current social empathy towards those in need could erode if aid in dying becomes an alternative to investing in compassionate palliative care options.

Moving on, it seems there are serious concerns from professionals in the field. Royal College of Psychiatrists announced recently that they can’t endorse the dying bill, stating it underestimates both the protection mechanisms and the capacity of terminally ill individuals to make informed choices about their lives. The bill, as it stands, applies only to mentally competent adults with a terminal diagnosis and a prognosis of six months or less. It has established safeguards ensuring that choices are made without the influence of unaddressed mental health issues. Suggesting otherwise seems to undermine our expertise while simultaneously denying individuals the autonomy to make decisions about their own bodies at such a crucial time.

Healthcare autonomy is so fundamental. Each day, patients make significant choices, including opting for surgeries or declining specific treatments. To treat end-of-life scenarios differently feels not just inconsistent, but deeply unfair.

From my 25 years of experience supporting families during their hardest times, I can say that compassion needs to coalesce with clinical rigor. Some other countries have demonstrated the ability to provide ethical systems for terminal patients. Unfortunately, in this country, it seems like only those who can afford to go to Dignitas have the option for this kind of choice. It’s not a safety measure, really; it’s more like an elitist injustice.

Interestingly, as the debate around the dying aid bill evolves, a number of MPs are shifting their views—at least five have chosen to support the bill as of May 14. In the House, it could be presented as a straightforward “for or against” question, but real decision-making tends to be muddled. It’s not just about “yes” or “no”; there are nuanced positions like “yes, if” or “I really don’t know” that often get overlooked.

The lines of opinion cut across various groups—governments, health professionals, communities, and of course, families. They even traverse individuals facing terminal illnesses. Perspectives shift; people often change their minds.

Discussions around the legislative process regarding dying aid seem to have been frustratingly hampered, particularly with private members’ bills in play. Without the constraints of Congressional schedules, it seems there could have been more fruitful discussions. When it comes to laws like these, it should spark a broader, more deliberate national debate. Sometimes, it feels like the cart has jumped ahead of the horse.

I want to be transparent: I live with an incurable illness. Since my diagnosis, I’ve held the firm belief that assisted dying isn’t the right choice. Media discussions often paint a bleak picture, overshadowing the genuine complexities that come with end-of-life considerations. It’s imperative that we don’t lose sight of the process; we need to aim for improvement.

I’ve appreciated the thoughtful work Lucy Webster has done on assisted dying. There’s a genuine concern that people with disabilities are at risk from this legislation. Living with complex health challenges, like multiple sclerosis and cerebral hemorrhage, makes me wary. If this bill passes, it might create a precarious situation that sets a concerning precedent.

As we’ve seen rights for those with disabilities come under fire from various governments, I worry that what seems “economically inefficient” might be deemed a burden over time. Personally, I’m not financially inert; I rely on independent payments and do my part in society. I often find joy in life despite my limitations. It’s unsettling to think that there could be a future where individuals like me are pushed aside as collateral damage.