Last November, Washington State became the second in the nation to legalize physician-assisted suicide. This issue affects all of us, especially in these times as we consider what shape health care reform in our country should take. Do we need to protect our “right to die” – or our right to live? The following article is my response to that question, posed by our local newspaper, the Tri-City Herald, in a community conversation in which I participated.
TRUE HUMAN DIGNITY IN LIFE AND IN DEATH
Does it really matter how we describe Initiative 1000? Can’t we agree on a single term, whether it is “death with dignity,” the “right to die,” or “assisted suicide”? Our community conversation at the Tri-City Herald began with this question. We soon acknowledged that our choice of words matters a great deal. Platitudes about “rights” and “dignity” are very appealing, so proponents of the initiative preferred those terms. Opponents opted for the blunt but accurate “physician-assisted suicide.” The word suicide carries negative connotations, so if our goal is to convey the unpleasant reality of what this initiative actually proposes, that term must be used. When someone, whether they are old or young, sick or healthy, takes their own life, it is suicide. Is this the kind of “right” we really want to fight for? Have we as a society so completely lost our collective mind that we are now defending our “right” to choose death by lethal drugs – and do we really want our health care providers to become dealers in death?
Carefully chosen euphemisms can obscure the truth - that a life well lived to its natural end is a beautiful reflection of true human dignity. When my mother died at the age of seventy-five, she seemed old beyond her years. Long years of suffering from multiple illnesses had taken their toll when a final debilitating stroke left her incapacitated, unable to speak, and near death. The family gathered around her, talking to her, offering her sips of water, and coaxing her to eat. She died with my father at her side, holding her hand. For her headstone, my father chose to have an engraving made from a photo taken on their wedding day, when the two first joined hands in a love that would last forever – a photo of their two hands, adorned with wedding bands.
Love is truly all that lasts forever. Pride melts away, replaced by humility, but this does not rob us of dignity. It is part of our preparation for eternal life, where only love remains. It spoke volumes to me to realize the depth of my parents’ love for one another. What message is conveyed to our children if we choose to dispense with a terminally ill loved one rather than offering them the comfort and reassurance they need at their most difficult hour?
Some years later, at the age of eighty-two, my father was diagnosed with cancer of the esophagus. The tumor caused him great pain when swallowing but because of his age, he was discouraged from seeking aggressive treatment. Finally, he found a doctor who promised that surgery would restore pain-free swallowing. However, complications during the surgery resulted in a difficult recovery. When he was well enough to resume eating, he found it impossible to swallow at all. After a month in a rehab facility with no progress, he was told that he might need feeding tubes the rest of his life and sent home without a glimmer of hope for a normal life. Two more months passed without change, and my father began to wonder if life was worth living. Perhaps if some misguided “angel of mercy” had appeared at that time with a lethal dose of drugs, offering him the “right” to “die with dignity,” my father would be in his grave today. But just one month later, after connecting with the right therapist, he regained his ability to swallow. It was not long before the family celebrated his return to health with a steak dinner at his favorite restaurant.
“It’s on me,” Dad said, “This could have been my funeral.”
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