death and dying: terry pratchett's choosing to die

Across the media this morning, folks are talking, writing and blogging reactions to Sir Terry Pratchett's documentary which aired on BBC2 last night (Monday 13th June.) However, I feel like adding my insignificant two cents, as it is a subject which has always had a profound effect.

Sir Terry, himself suffering the onset of Alzheimer's disease, is personally conflicted. On one hand, he is in favour of the legalisation of assisted suicide in the UK. On the other, on travelling to the Dignitas clinic in Switzerland, he does not see it as a black and white issue.

Terry Pratchett is to me, as to many, a literary and creative hero and inspiration, and this was an compelling piece of film making. Really, you might ask? Well, for example, I believe this could have been a very one sided programme. But rather, I felt that, although he himself clearly had an agenda in making it, the documentary gave a strong voice to both sides of the debate around the morality of assisted suicide. Sir Terry spoke about the horrors of covering suicide as a journalist, and how repulsive he had found it; how he would not wish such an ending on anyone. His PA, Rob, clearly expressed how difficult he found the idea; though loyal to his employer and friend, he came across as strongly opposed to the notion, voicing a clear moral opposition, and from a secular standpoint.

And yet Sir Terry was, himself, exploring and considering his own desire to choose how he should die. Clearly fearful of the loss of his capacity to communicate in particular, he expressed his wish to set and predestine his death. He met others in similar situations; in particular, the charismatic and gentlemanly Peter Smedley, whose death it was which was aired at the climax of last night's programme. In his seventies and beginning to suffer the severe onset of motor neurone disease, he had chosen to complete the Dignitas procedure: we watched as he was examined over the course of a week to ensure that he was capable of making such a decision for himself; as he was asked, repeatedly, if he was sure that he did not want to leave and go back home; and, at the last, as he was allowed to take the two 'medicines' required, and slowly slipped off into a deep sleep as his body was prevented from respirating by the concoction. It was

I don't wish to spend time giving a full airing to both sides of the debate; much of the BBC's airtime on radio and television this AM is dedicated to that, and I commend them for it. (Even Stephen Nolan is currently presenting what is actually a balanced debate on the subject, which must be a first for him.)

But from my own perspective, I struggle greatly with assisted suicide. Dignitas's founder was convinced by the UN Convention on Human Rights that people do indeed deserve to choose how they die: after all, that charter enshrines Article 8: The Right To Self-Determination into law. I then realise that my personal faith contradicts this: in one sense, I have no conflict over the issue, as I do not believe that the moment at which I die is my decision to make, but rather that of the God who made me. And yet even in that, it is not a simple, harsh point to be made.

Most of us have met or know someone who passed away, seemingly confident that they were 'ready to die'. At the funeral of the grandmother of a close friend a few years ago, it was clearly articulated that she had felt she was ready to die for years, as she had suffered a lot of physical pain and exhaustion in later life. Our response to this is one of appreciation: we do not question her statement. And yet we would not offer her the opportunity to decide to do just that prematurely.

There was a fascinating moment last night when Terry Pratchett spoke to a doctor, who was employed by Dignitas to assess the mental capability of clients to make their own decisions. If she had said no, for example, Peter Smedley would not have been allowed to access the toxins required to kill himself. This is reasonably common practice across Western Europe, where in many countries assisted suicide is legal in certain situations. And yet this same doctor articulated that she could never actually administer a lethal dose herself, and that she would be completely morally opposed to it.

Rob, Sir Terry's assistant, kept coming back to his point that as clients at Dignitas had to be mentally and physically capable of kiling themselves, they were therefore all in situations where they usually had many years left to live. Surely, he insisted, did they not want to live those years? When Andrew, a 42 year old man with heavy MS, spoke the day he died of still wanting to explore parts of Zurich, where he had only just arrived, Rob blurted out, "Well, let's go then! Let's go see these places tomorrow," Andrew merely shook his head, resigned to the decision he had made to take his own life instead.

I fear death. I don't think I fear anything as much. That may sound hypocritical from someone who increasingly bangs on about a God so much, but it is nonetheless true. And of all the possibilities for my later years (assuming that I get that far) I don't believe I fear anything more that a death plagued by Alzheimer's, dementia or similar. I feel I would rather be physically incapacitated, but still have my mind, than the other way around. And so I appreciate greatly that a relief, any relief, even the starkest, from this is so tempting for someone in Sir Terry's situation, or in that of any of those featured last night. And yet I know that regardless, with or without faith, I thoroughly believe that we should squeeze as much out of this life as possible. But I cannot currently imagine ever saying I would be 'ready to die'.

And I fear greatly for some of those who would. It was very telling, as Rob told us in last night's show, that according to Wikipedia,

'21% of people receiving assisted dying in Dignitas do not have a terminal or progressive illness, but rather "weariness of life".'

Having known some who have attempted to take their own lives in the past, and often the regret they express afterwards, or the battles with depression others have faced, I am terrified of this possibility being available to anyone.

I fear that this is a debate which is growing. I have some confidence that, certainly in my lifetime, some form at least of assisted suicide will be legalised in the UK. I do not know how I will face it if I ever encounter it amongst anyone I know. I am 99.5% against, for moral, spiritual and practical reasons. And yet that 0.5% of pain remains, as my heart goes out to those faced with the possibility of ending their own suffering. We owe it to ourselves to deal with dying better.

In truth, if you or I am opposed to assisted suicide so strongly, we need to make our case: not in words or statements or even articles of religion, but in comforting, in dedication, and in sympathy for those how suffer. How far we are, as a society, from being able to do that, I can only begin to imagine. The vulnerable and the suffering need a reason to keep living, and only we, their fellow humans, can show it to them.

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