A right to die

In my last post I said that after we arrived in Cuba, my mum told me my aunt had passed away.  Whilst a surprise that it happened just then, it wasn't  entirely unexpected that she might die before my return, as she had made it very clear that she wanted her life to end.

I realise that this may seem an odd thing to write about in a travel blog, and it may not be easy to read, but I am writing it because I believe the issue of a person having the right to choose to die is important. It certainly was to my aunt, both on a personal level and in principle, and she was keen to bring the issue to people's attention.

My aunt had a disease called Distonia and as a result became a wheelchair user at the age of twelve, also developing increasing disabilities in the use of her arms and with her speech.  For many years she lived with her parents and was cared for by them; later she moved into a Leonard Cheshire residential home.  This was good, as she was able to take advantage of the activities that the home offered, and so she improved her quality of life somewhat.

As well as participating in arts and crafts, computer studies and therapies in the home, she was able to go on trips to theatres and sporting events, and to take holidays.  She became involved in improvement activities for people with disabilities, representing her peers at national meetings and writing to MPs and the media on issues such as the mobility allowance that she relied upon to enable her to make trips out of the home.  She took the opportunities to live and enjoy her life despite her disabilities.

However those disabilities were gradually making her life more and more difficult particularly as her speech made it harder for her to communicate with people in the way that she would have liked, making her feel isolated and, at times, lonely.  She knew it would only worsen, and a few years ago she made it clear to us that she did not want to go on living.

She started to look into the right to die.  With the help of a solicitor, she drew up documents saying that she did not want to be resuscitated or fed intraveneously, but rather she wished to be allowed to die. Of course that would only work if a life threatening situation arose.

Not wishing to just wait for that, she thought about taking her own life.  She had discussed it with my mum, and we were all very clear that this was not just a bad phase but what she truly wanted.  So we agreed to support her right to decide.

Someone else may have just been able to take their life.  But it was not that simple for my aunt.  She lacked the physical capability that is required for many forms of suicide, and the opportunity for most others.  She could perhaps have driven her wheelchair in front of a train, but understandably that kind of approach that could be dangerous and distressing to others is not one that she would have wanted to use.

And it is not a task that someone else can help you with.  Suicide itself is not illegal in the UK, but assisting someone else still is.  Whilst the Director of Public Prosecutions has given some helpful indications that they will not automatically prosecute someone who they are satisfied was genuinely acting in line with the wishes of the person, at present it would still be an illegal act.  So it would very likely cause significant difficulties even if, in the end, no formal prosecution happened.

So my aunt looked into the Dignitas Clinic in Switzerland where, in well defined circumstances, it is legal for a trained nurse to assist you.  It is costly, and my aunt had limited funds, so family would probably have had to help her financially, as well as in getting to the clinic for both the initial consultation and then the act itself.  It is unclear whether even just that help would still have been illegal.

There also was a risk that they may not accept her.  The problem is that the method of suicide is poison, which you have to take by yourself.  My aunt drinks through a straw and had difficulty swallowing quickly, so may have been unable to drink it herself, or worse, may have only managed to drink some, and do herself terrible internal damage but yet not die.

So if she decided to go ahead, this would be a difficult and anxiety ridden route for her to take, but she was actively considering it.

Then three days before we set off for Cuba, I went with my mum to visit my aunt at the residential care home where she lives.  When we arrived, we found that the home had called the GP out to see her, because they were concerned about her.

Without going into a lot of unnecessary detail, it was clear that she was not well, and the GP took it upon themself to call a non-emergency ambulance and have her taken to hospital.  Even though it is especially hard for my aunt to speak when she is ill, while we waited for the transport to arrive, she made it absolutely clear to us that she did not want to be treated if, without treatment, she could die.

When the ambulance came, they told us that even with the documents that she had, they were not permitted to withhold lifesaving treatment should the need arise, and that once at the hospital, a specific form was required, which could be signed only after she had been seen by two doctors.  And the form is only valid for three weeks.  We were astounded firstly that no one had told my aunt this previously, and that secondly the paperwork would have to be renewed so regularly to be valid.

Thankfully we made it to the hospital and got the proper paperwork done, but my mum and I repeatedly had to reiterate to the staff that my aunt was refusing to be treated until we knew whether what she had was life threatening.  

On a couple of occasions it had certainly looked like she was terminally ill, but she rallied.  By the early hours, they had decided that what she had was not life threatening, so we explained this to my aunt.  She was disappointed, but agreed to have the treatment.  We had been assured though that if at any point it became clear that her situation was potentially fatal, treatment could be stopped.

When I left for Cuba, as far as we knew she was not going to die, and in fact they were thinking of releasing her the next day.

Instead, she took a turn for the worse and stronger treatments were required to save her.  At which point my mum had to get into an almighty battle with the doctor to prevent him from treating my aunt against her will.  Despite the paperwork and despite my aunt's wishes, because she could be easily treated, and it was too difficult for my aunt to communicate clearly to him at that time, he was determined that he must save her.

My mum on the other hand, was equally determined that, despite how hard she found it personally, she would ensure that my aunt's wishes were adhered to, and she fought them all the way.  They referred it higher, and eventually decided to respect what my aunt wanted.  They made her comfortable but gave her no treatment, and in due course, she passed away.

So my aunt did get what she wanted, and whilst we are sad that she is no longer with us, we are glad that she did.  It is just a shame that it has to be so hard for someone with full mental competence to be able to do so.

Of course this issue is a complex one, and there will always be dangers that any system could be abused.  I am in no way advocating a system that allows someone to be coerced into ending their own life; it should only be on the clear and tested wishes of the individual.  And it should not be a replacement for good palliative care, just an alternative for those who wish it.  Because for some people, the quality of their life is more important than the quantity, and they are the only people who can judge whether or not they are content with the quality.

It seems wrong to me that we are prepared to let an animal be put to sleep in order to avoid it suffering, but we are reluctant to give people the ability to make that decision for themselves and help them to find a simple, peaceful and dignified way to achieve it.  Had there been a legal process in place in the UK, my aunt could have chosen her time to go, having said her goodbyes to people, and my mum would not have had the horrible situation of having to demand that her sister be allowed to die, when really all she wanted to do was to be able to support and comfort her in her last hours.

Another change of plan

The plan from Havana was to go to the Cayman Islands to spend some time with the same friends that we had met up with in Havana.  They had kindly said they would put us up for a couple of weeks, though when we got the Antarctica trip, we had reduced that down to just the one week with us then going via Miami and Buenos Aires down to Ushuaia.

Then the day after we arrived in Cuba, I got a call to tell me that my aunt had died.  Whilst I had seen her just before I left, and my family would have understood if I had chosen not to, I wanted to go back for the funeral.  Regular readers may recall that I had had a distant relative and a good friend die the previous year and had found it quite hard to come to terms with not attending the funeral, and as this was a close aunt, I felt it was right to return.

We managed to arrange the funeral for the week that we were due to be in Grand Cayman, so we agreed that we would get there as planned, then Nic would stay with our friends, and I would fly via Nassau to the UK for a week, then meet him in Miami en route to Antarctica.

We got to the islands, I checked in for my onward flight, and then Russell collected Nic.  In the downtime, I took advantage of some free wifi to log on and get back up to date after our relatively Internet free existence in Cuba.

Just as well I did, as I soon discovered that our families were trying desperately to contact us.  Rather tragically, Nic's sixteen year old niece had also died that day.  As I am sure you can imagine, a death at that age is especially hard to deal with, so the family were hoping that Nic would be able to come back to the UK too.

What followed was a very frantic hour, during which I eventually managed to contact Nic - people really should answer their mobiles - and get him back to the airport.  After some failed on line attempts, I also managed, with quite literally about thirty seconds to spare, to buy him a ticket on the same flight as me.  We even managed to get him into the seat next to me.

It was a very strange flight back.  Not only was it a journey made for two very sad reasons, but it had all happened in such a rush, and with so little time to think, that neither of really had taken it in.

Of course while we had my aunt's funeral during this week, Nic's niece's would not be for a while.  After much discussion ourselves and with Nic's mother and sister, we decided that we would still leave the UK and go to Antarctica.  Despite the circumstances, I think it is fair to say that no one wanted us to miss such a wonderful opportunity to achieve our desire to get to the Weddell Sea; in fact this very sad situation reminded us all that, even whilst remembering those that we've lost, we should be living and enjoying our lives to the full.

But we decided that rather than continuing on to South America as planned, we would then return once more to the UK, so that we would make it back in time for the funeral, and then stay with family until after Christmas.  We would then head off again in the New Year, and go to the USA and then to Canada.

Did we make the right decision to go back to the UK not once but twice.  Yes I think so.  Obviously it has cost us a lot of money, with additional air fares and insurance, as well as not getting in our cheap stint in South America, but when it comes down to it that wasn't really the point.  Clearly we can't always come back if something happens, and perhaps another time we won't.  But on this occasion, in the particular circumstances that we and our families faced, it was the right thing for us to do.

And of course both of them remain in our thoughts.

Long distance goodbyes

This isn't the happiest of postings, but I said that I would include some of the lows of our travels as well as the many highs, and this certainly counts as one.

In the just over six months that we have now been away, I have now had two people pass away.  The first was one of my mother's cousins.  He wasn't a close relative, and in fact I have only known him at all for the past seven years or so, but I liked him. Had I been in the UK, I would have gone to the funeral, and it seemed strange and a little sad that I couldn't.  Others in my immediate family did go though, so we were represented, if I can use that term, and so it didn't seem so bad.

Now I have found out that one of my friends has also sadly passed away from cancer.  She was someone with whom I spent a lot of time at one stage, and while changed circumstances meant that we saw less of each other recently, we were still good friends and I am incredibly sad to know that I will not see her again.  Her husband said when he contacted me that he knows I would not be able to make the funeral, and he is right of course.  But I find that aspect of being away very hard.  It feels quite wrong to me that I will not be attending the funeral of someone who was important in my life.

In part I suppose that is about believing that a good attendance at a funeral helps to show that people - and specifically you - cared for that person, and the knowledge that this can give some comfort to those who were closest to them and will feel their loss most acutely both immediately and in the years come.  And to that degree the idea of someone representing you, or the sending of flowers or donations can help.

But in fact there is a far more selfish reason than that.  When we lose someone we cared for we feel a bit helpless, and if it is someone that you do not see very regularly, it can be hard to believe that they are no longer around.  The funeral doesn't just allow you to pay your respects to the person and their spouse or family.  It also gives you a clear point at which you mourn the loss of the person and allows you to say goodbye.  Whilst you may still at times find yourself thinking about the person as if they are still alive, that single point in time is when you start to accept that you won't see them again.  To use that terrible american phrase, it gives you a kind of 'closure'.  I dislike the phrase because it suggests that you no longer give the person any thought, but the basic concept that it brings home to you the fact that they are in fact gone is, I think, very important.

So if I feel like this, have I considered going back to the UK for the funeral?  Well yes and no.  In the first place, Nic and I agreed when we came here that realistically we could not go back for funerals as a rule, and that probably we would have to limit it to our immediate family - always hoping of course that it would never happen.  So that should have ruled it out straight away, but it didn't stop my imitial thought being that I want to go.  But then I also considered what my friend's response would most likely have been.  She was about living life, not following conventions and the expectations of others, and I feel fairly certain that she would have thought it mad to go back.  Maybe that is just what I want to believe to feel better about not going, but I don't think so.

So I have decided that I won't be going back, but I know when the funeral is, and I will join in with them here in my own way to mark her passing and say my own goodbyes.

Lastly, while it is times like this that most make me wish I was back in the UK, it is also times like this that make me remember how important it is to take the opportunities to do the things that you want to do while you still can.  My friend took some time away from work a while ago to have a bit of a holiday and to write the book that she always wanted to.  It makes me glad that she achieved that and I like to think that it gave her and her husband some comfort that she achieved it too.  And you never know, I might see her name on the bookshelf yet if her husband decides to publish it one day.