Full Stories

Personal Life Experiences

List of stories:

• Alana Bourke shares the story of how her mother suffered terribly before she died, and the promise she made to her. More...
• Stephen Clarke talks about how the new Australian euthanasia communication laws prevent his terminally and painfully ill mother from receiving advice by phone.
• Shirley Nolan OBE who co-founded the world's first Bone-Marrow Register, claimed her right to die with dignity at the end of a 25 year battle with Parkinson's disease.
• Businessman and adventurer, Dick Smith, speaks of his his former employee at National Geographic Magazine, Chris Hill was denied the right to die as he wanted to, surrounded by the people he loved.
• Anon (Name supplied) tells how her mother, in pain and with an unacceptable quality of life at age 80, suicided in the path of a train.
• Sandy Williamson, a Motor Neurone Disease sufferer says she must attempt to take her own life while she is still able. A 60 Minutes interview with Ray Martin.

• Meg Wolk talks about husband Paul who died of Motor Neurone Disease.
• June Halls talks about her father who finally succumbed to pneumonia after 16 months suffering, and doctors giving him antibiotics in spite of his wish to die.
• Jillian Patterson talks about her mother's long battle with cancer. All she wanted in her own words “was to die and end the pain”.
• Anon (name supplied) tells of her father 92 who asked for, and had his artificial feeding cease but another doctor restarted the feeding in disregard of the patient's wishes.

Shirley Nolan OBE

Shirley Nolan co-founded the world's first Bone-Marrow Register, claimed her right to die with dignity at the end of a 25 year battle with Parkinson's disease.

Parkinson's Disease has slowly debilitated me for some 25 years, leaving in its path, an almost unrecognisable parody of my former self.

No-one has assisted me to end my life and the detailed account of my deplorable condition will affirm its necessity and blessed release.

Here today, my last day, I am an advocate of Death, yet for over a quarter of a Century, as Founder of The Anthony Nolan Trust I have worked with fervour and determination to give to children and adults throughout the World, suffering Leukaemia and related diseases, the greatest gift of all, THE GIFT OF LIFE.

YET, as valuable as that life is, when shown it no longer has quality reduced to intolerably cruel days and nights of pain and suffering, I have always believed in THE RIGHT TO DIE - WITH DIGNITY

Shirley Nolan

Below is a more extended note that Shirley left:

TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

MY LIFE AND MY DEATH

I have battled Parkinson's Disease for more than 25 years to the stage of losing control of my body. Now, at times, I cannot even move, speak or breathe. I am further demeaned by staggering, shaking and falling, appearing to be inebriated. It is easy to appreciate the loss of self-esteem in Parkinson patients when they see the look of disgust when observed by the unenlightened.

Parkinson's Disease becomes increasingly degenerative. I am beginning to stoop, my muscles too weak to hold my body upright. My feet claw like talons and recently, my hands cramp and become exceedingly painful.

My muscles are almost constantly in spasm, i.e. rigid, heavy and aching. Most of the time in this latter stage of the illness, I find it impossible to relax sufficiently to read a book, view TV or even lie on my bed. I can no longer even control my body temperature. I hover between a state similar to hypothermia and menopause. My face can be hot and perspiring and my feet blue and icy. Passing from one room to another of a different temperature causes me to freeze, i.e. rendered completely immobile and helpless.

Those blocking research for Parkinson's (and other neurological conditions), should experience the indescribable terror of this paralysis. They should experience the slow erosion of self-confidence, self-worth, freedom and independence; the inability to even walk alone; leave one's home unassisted; go to a movie, dine out, visit friends - those few stalwarts who remain.

It is a life without quality. It is a living hell. I place what is left of mine on the altar of compassion in the hope that my death will highlight the plight of others and thus, serve some purpose.

I pray for the speedy success of a change of the law to allow people like me to have assistance to die. Meanwhile, I must take my release into my own hands. I have already exercised my legal right to take my own life but, unfortunately, I botched it. Consequently, I have now planned with greater care and I hope fervently that I will succeed the second time.

Shirley Nolan OBE

(Shirley Nolan dedicated over a quarter of a century to establish a life-line to save children and adults suffering immune deficiencies, leukaemia and allied diseases. The Anthony Nolan Trust owes its existence to her determination, when in 1974, in an attempt to save the life of her only child, Shirley with Dr David James, founded the world's first Bone-Marrow Register.)

June Halls

Talks about her father who finally succumbed to pneumonia after 16 months of suffering and doctors giving him antibiotics despite his wish to die.

My father was a professional musician and competent wood-worker. He read a great deal and was largely self-educated, taking a great interest in politics and world affairs. He and my mother initiated the formation of a senior citizens club in their suburb; he became the first president of this club and after his retirement from the theatre devoted much of his time to developing activities for the local retirees. In this manner he became a respected member of the community.

At the age of seventy-two, he suffered a severe stroke which left him hemiplegic and thus began a term of hospitalization in a series of institutions and nursing homes. The first blow to his self-respect was to be addressed by members of staff by his given name, followed by his failure to respond to physiotherapy techniques. He suffered a personality change, as he slowly realized that there was no future for him outside the walls of the nursing home. I used to take him out in his car, but he showed no interest in his surroundings. He was unable to read, even the large print books I borrowed for him, nor did he enjoy listening to music, which had always been such a great joy to him.

After a few months, he began to ask my mother and myself if we could help him to end his life. We understood his feelings – we wept – we knew that at that time and in that climate, there was nothing we could do to help him. Gaol sentences would have been almost a certainty for our “crime”, and we had others to think about. I have always regretted that I failed to end his suffering. I used to lie awake at night and think “I wouldn’t let a dog suffer like this”.

He used to say “I hope I get pneumonia – the old fellow in the next room died with pneumonia this week – lucky devil!”. I said to the doctor “I don’t want you to do anything to prolong his life.” He did not answer me.
When at last after sixteen months of misery he did contract pneumonia, he was given antibiotics in an attempt to save his life. Fortunately he did not respond and died within a few days.

It is because I have such vivid memories of this tragedy that I support the aims and work of the Voluntary Euthanasia Society of Victoria.

June Halls

Jillian Paterson

Talks about her mother's long battle with cancer. All she wanted in her own words “was to die and end the pain”.

My mother had a long battle with cancer that started in her kidneys and ended up with her death from secondary lung cancer.

I am an only child, and my father and I were “the Family” responsible for looking after her, and at her request she wanted to be at home for as long as we could physically cope with looking after someone with a terminal illness.

Egg flips became the only food she could manage and towards the end she could not even keep those down. Finally it became necessary to make that journey from home to hospital as we could no longer control the pain and she could not eat.

Throughout these months she was in constant pain, nothing stopped it, drugs just merely masked it and the pain would never cease – all she wanted in her own words “was to die and end the pain” One of the hardest things for me was seeing her lose weight until she became a virtual living skeleton and to this day I find it very hard to remember how she looked in good health, as that awful image remains.

Catching pneumonia was the best thing that ever happened as it hastened the end after seven long months in hospital lying in pain.

Writing this is upsetting me tremendously as I have never got over seeing my mother in that terrible pain and not being able to do anything to stop it.

As you can imagine it had a terrible effect on my father to lose his life’s partner in this terrible prolonged death – it certainly wasn’t living.

If I were in a similar situation I would want control over my life and my decision would have been for a peaceful death with dignity.

Jillian Paterson

A Palliative Care Nurse

Talks about her experience in a hospice for ten years.

As a palliative care nurse, in a hospice for ten years, I witnessed many deaths – the majority were what is termed “good deaths” and the minority, about 5%, were deaths without dignity or comfort. The formal process of review seemed to produce no helpful results for these 5%. Throughout those ten years I remained disturbed and angry about those bad deaths; those feelings were intensified by the personal experience of seeing a personal friend die a “bad death”.

My friend “Fluff”, also a nurse, mostly in Intensive Care Units and Coronary Care Units, succumbed to cancer last year. She had been on the merry-go-round trying all avenues for cure, then just life extension until she got so uncomfortable that all she wanted was some relief. This discomfort, due to secondary cancer in the liver, manifested in many symptoms such as grossly distended abdomen, that only grew despite many ‘taps’ to reduce the size. As we were both midwives, the term that we applied about the size of her abdomen was that it looked like that of a woman at full term with quads. Normal activities of daily living were so difficult and often impossible.

“Fluff” was admitted to a Palliative Care Unit two days before her death. At this time she was breathless on exertion and at rest, had intermittent faecal vomiting, not eating, unable to be comfortable in any position and becoming increasingly restless exhausting any strength that was left. Her pain control was “OK”, as she put it. On the current morphine dose but she was so damned uncomfortable.

Sedatives gave short bursts of rest, but it wasn’t enough. It seemed that use of this drug had to be justified for every dose given instead of complying with the patient’s wish to sleep. “Fluff” was in and out of bed with this terrible restlessness trying to get comfortable and begging to sleep. At one stage she looked at me and said “I never knew palliative care was like this”. I felt rightfully accused.

My friend died an awful death, in a hospice. She was sitting on a chair trying to get her breath, trying to sit anyway that would make her comfortable, staring wide-eyed, clutching at her friends, and calling out as she took her last breaths. The Pastoral Care Worker (of some 15 years experience with the dying) who was there at the time of death said that her death was a shocker, and that no one deserved to die like that.
Patients in “Fluff’s” position, who can’t have their needs and choices met, are also at the mercy of those who deliver a bias of care instead of a standard or model of care. Why should it matter who is on duty as to the efficacy of the delivery of care; “if only so-and-so had been on duty, it would have been different” should never be considered or heard.

Anon (name supplied
and withheld by request)

Anon (name supplied)

Tells of her father 92 who asked for, and had his artificial feeding cease but another doctor restarted the feeding in disregard of the patient's wishes.

My father is 92 years old and had a massive stroke on 3rd December 2000. After surviving pneumonia, he was told that he would never regain his gag reflex or use his limbs. My father is a highly educated man – holds numerous degrees including a Ph.D. He was actually re-writing his text books as well as updating other publications right up to when he had his stroke. Not one to act hastily, father wanted to think about his predicament and ponder over the loss of his quality of life, so he agreed to have a “PEG’ inserted in his stomach so that he could be fed.

After much thought, father decided that his prospects of any kind of recovery were extremely slim, that he would have no quality of life, and that he preferred to die. He asked his doctor to stop feeding him and began his quest to die. A couple of weeks into this exercise, his doctor went on a week’s holiday. During this time I received a phone call from a doctor, who we had not authorized to treat father, who indicated that a staff member had complained that it was difficult for her to look after somebody whose family refused to feed him. Father had already told me that he had fantasized about food, but confirmed that he did not want to be fed. He was accepting only water. The doctor and I argued, and I asked him to contact father’s doctor – he did not and commenced feeding father via the PEG. On the return of his usual doctor, father asked him to cease the feeding.

That was 5 weeks ago. In the meantime we have moved father into a nursing home where people have more respect for his wishes. However father would have liked to die without having to starve himself to death. For my mother (aged 91) and the rest of the family, it has been the most cruel situation we have ever witnessed. That a person should have to go to these lengths to die is incredible. Father remained lucid until last Friday when they started ‘token’ doses of morphine. Father is still lingering on and all of us are extremely traumatized. It would not surprise me if mother (who is blind) collapses soon – she is at the end of her tether. Dad just wants to go – why can’t he? We love that man so very much and watching him suffer fills us with frustration and guilt.

When I visited my father last Monday night, his despondency was masked on his face. Nobody could look at that face and be able to say he was not suffering – it silently screamed his emotional pain – his grief, his loneliness, his frustration. Even though he had been given some morphine, his eyes revealed an alert mind trapped in his useless shell of a body that he was unable to discard. I had been told that he was in a ‘coma’ and unaware. I told him that we would look after mother and that it was OK for him to go – that he needed to let go in order to regain his freedom. Father mercifully passed away on the morning of Tuesday 27th February after starving himself for 5 weeks.

Heather Christensen

Anon (Name supplied)

Tells how her mother, in pain and with an unacceptable quality of life at age 80, suicided in the path of a train.

My Mother died in 1991 aged 80. It was not a dignified death as she had wished. She'd had a number of heart attacks. Her quality of life had deteriorated to an unacceptable degree — she wished to die.

After her last massive heart attack she found herself in hospital.She was in terrific pain that did not abate for a number of days. As a member of DWDV of long standing Mother knew exactly what her wishes were and communicated them clearly to the medical staff. She wanted to be free of pain regardless of the consequences.. I was there when she was told that she would only be offered adequte pain relief if she agreed to have an operation- a quadruple by pass. I so wanted my Mother to live I am afraid I too urged her to have the operation. Finally she gave in, hoping, she told me later, to die on the operating table.

Well, she didn't die on the operating table. Instead, she became even more adamant that she would not allow this to happen again. She confided in me that she would soon take her own life. I knew she'd hoarded all kinds of pills in preparation for this event but didn't want to think about this as she said she was worried that if she took all her pills the other residents of her hostel woud not be trusted with being in charge of their own medication ever again.

And so my frail, diminutive mother,ever thoughtful of others' well-being decided against that plan. But it didn't occur to her that the train driver would have to live with the memory of a small, old lady just standing there in front of his train with her hands covering her eyes, waiting for the end to her misery.

(Name supplied)

Meg Wolk

Talks About Her Husband Paul Who Died of Motor Neurone Disease.

Introduction (by Dr. Rodney Syme, President DWDV):

Paul Wolk talked to me during the early stage of his illness, but unfortunately did not make contact when he reached the later difficult stage. This was a pity because DWDV can provide valuable advice to DWDV members with difficult end of life problems that may avoid such tragic deaths. So please do not hesitate to contact us if you feel you need some advice, and do not wait until the situation is desperate.

Meg Wolk Continues:

Paul Andrew Wolk was a larger than life character. When we first started dating I found his crazy sense of humor and love of life infectious. He worked so hard to keep in great shape and took so much pride in his appearance. I told him once jokingly “I’ve never met anyone so self absorbed!” He was a perfectionist. Circumstances were difficult for our relationship to begin with, Paul had two girls 5 and 7 years, I had two boys Shaun 5 and Ashley (disabled) was 7. Paul found dealing with my disabled son quite daunting, he had not been confronted with the “disabled” lifestyle. A home full of helpers coming and going, the 24 hours of care involved.

Our relationship began with him taking me away from my “caring” role, showing me how to live life again. Every second weekend when we were “childfree” we had so many wonderful adventures. Fishing, shooting, AFL, Horse racing, camping just living in our own world as “best friends” and “lovers” for 2 days of every 14 he took me away from reality and showed be how to have fun and laugh again.

At the end of the football season of 2001 Paul was struggling with groin injuries and weak left foot, after many tests there were no conclusive results. Maybe it was due to the fact he had had previous surgery on his groin and knee. May 2002 Paul became concerned, he had seen “60 Minutes” a story on Motor Neuron Disease and Euthanasia he was certain that he had the systems of MND. We discussed Euthanasia and both fully supported the right of a human being that is facing a terminal illness to choose to die with dignity.

We made an appointment with a Neurologist and after numerous tests our worst fears we realized. The Doctor announced that Paul had Motor Neuron Disease, the prognosis was 3-5 years... No Treatment... No Cure!!! As we walked to the car Paul said to me “I want to give you the opportunity to walk away, you already have a son who is disabled, you don’t want to watch me become a cripple.” I loved Paul so much that nothing could stop me from being by his side we had to make the most of the time we had, not waste a minute.

From that day on we lived life to the max. Disneyland, Las Vegas, Hawaii, Vanuatu, Bali, fishing and camping. All the things we thought we would have a lifetime to enjoy had to be squeezed into 2 years. We had tough times the stress was unbearable sometimes. For such a brave, “self absorbed” person to deal with firstly a leg brace then a walking stick then a wheelchair and finally ‘home help” was heart wrenching. I had to be supportive when it was against his character to be dependant on others. We got so tired mentally, physically and emotionally, Paul knew this battle was one he couldn’t win. Without the support of our friends and my family we would not have been able to do what we did and make the most of our limited time.

In June 2004 we organized what we knew would be our last holiday. Paul had trouble eating and sleeping were both exhausted. We flew to Bali, our favorite holiday destination. A friend of mine came along to help out. I had to feed Paul and help him drink his cocktails, he loved sitting on the beach in his wheelchair, bargaining with the locals for watches and gifts for the kids.

He seemed so relaxed, he knew everyone in the resort and with me helping him communicate, they all made a point of having a chat and a laugh with him. He was spotted speeding down “Legian Street” on a number of occasions with me trying to keep up. We had a ball! Our last night was beautiful, sitting on the beach with friends watching the breathtaking sunset. We were teary because we knew we would never be here again together. I am so glad we got to enjoy that holiday we felt so at ease, no stress, so in love...

Paul said “when we go home, it will be cold, I will be stuck in the house”. We had already made contact with “Dignatis” a legal Euthanasia organization in Switzerland and had been planning to travel there after Christmas. On Saturday we loaded onto the plane on the red eye flight, it was uncomfortable but we got back to Melbourne then drove home to Wodonga. The kids were more than happy with all their “Bali presents” we were exhausted but it was a trip to remember, something special.

After a couple of days recovering and getting used to the cold weather again, Paul’s eldest daughter helped me put Paul into bed on the Tuesday night, he was uncomfortable and after laying down complained of chest pain. I had to sit him up the pain was unbearable. I suggested we go to the hospital to my surprise he agreed. When I had mentioned the hospital before he had said “If I go to hospital, I’m afraid I’ll never come home”.

We went to casualty and he was admitted with Pneumonia. On Wednesday more tests showed fluid on the lungs, he was treated with I.V. antibiotics. On Thursday a change of position and his lung had almost collapsed. He had trouble breathing and monitors were showing a decline in his Oxygen saturation. The Dr suggested a trachea. Paul looked at me and said “No, but I need to see my girls”. I rang our families and his daughters (10 and 12) they all came to his bedside. The room was full of his loved ones.

Between shallow breaths and loosing color he went around the room and managed to tell each his last wishes and goodbyes. Lastly he turned to me, by his side, holding his Oxygen mask. He didn’t have to say anything, our love was so strong. We both knew we had been blessed to have known that type of love and devotion. The nurse checked the monitors and he turned and said to her “I’ve had enough”.

There was nothing anyone could do, it was time, he had said his goodbyes, I love you’s, he didn’t want to live any longer.... He started to gag and struggle for breath, they asked me again if he wanted to be tubed. I got close to his ear and whispered “it’s alright my darling, if you want to stay. I will be here for you.” He squeezed my hand and shook his head. The Dr and nurse suctioned him with a tube down his nose. Slowly the color came back into his face and he started to breathe a little easier. He said to me “don’t let me choke, I don’t want to choke to death”. What could I do?

From Thursday afternoon till Saturday evening so many friends came to visit. The Critical Care Unit had never seen visitors lined up. Paul had lived such a busy life, he was loved by many. Paul had trouble being understood, he had so much to say to his friends and family, we were both extremely worn out. I fell onto my stretcher bed in his room at about 1.00am, the nurses woke me at 1.20am to tell me Paul wanted me. I got up and went to his side he said “I couldn’t wake you, I was scared”. So for the next 5 ½ days I was in the chair next to him so he could reach me. The Reverend and a close friend came in to comfort him daily.

On Sunday more visitors, some traveled miles and miles to say “Good Bye”. He told the doctors that afternoon “Take everything out, I just want morphine” they told him he wouldn’t last long without fluids and medication. He said “I’ve had enough”.

The next four days were heartbreaking. He was in extreme pain asking for more morphine. Paul spent most of Monday making me take notes on all last minute details for his funeral (I think he would have been impressed with the service and approx. 900 people who attended). I had to list some special things to be given to his friends. This got harder and harder, I was taking notes, giving him oxygen, keeping his mouth moisten turning and massaging his dehydrating body. His muscles were wasting away in front of my eyes.

The hospital staff were very kind and started to worry about my health, but I was sure that the time was coming soon and I would stay by his side, I’d cope somehow. He was getting agitated and frustrated because I was finding it very hard to understand what he was trying to tell me. He had so much to say, so much to organize. The visitors were stopped, neither of us had the strength to see anyone. Early in the hours of Tuesday July 6th, I told Paul “it’s your birthday, 38” we cried, nothing happy about this birthday, it would definitely be his last. We used a spelling board to take some more notes, but he was extremely weak.

Wednesday, Thursday and Friday Paul was slipping in and out of consciousness he was in intense pain when awake and developing bedsores. By now I had not slept for 7 days and eaten little, I didn’t know how much longer I could hold up, my eyes were sore and crusty and I was emotionally and physically drained. How much longer does he have to suffer, Paul was the bravest person I have ever known.

Midday Friday 9th of July 2004, as Paul dozed off again I sat to read a magazine in the chair beside him, I was straining to read with only a streak of light coming through the curtain. A few minutes later, a woman knocked and brought a food tray in to the room. I thought it was strange because I hadn’t ordered food for a week. As I looked across Paul’s bed to watch her set down the tray I instantly knew Paul had gone. The color was already starting to drain from his gaunt face.

I couldn’t move for a few moments, I was relieved but in shock. I finally reached over and cradled his delicately frail body and held him. I cried tears of pain, sadness and relief. His suffering had finished. I called the Charge Nurse, Cause of Death: MND, Pneumonia, heart failure. I think the death certificate should also have mentioned bravery. I rang our families, I knew that Paul’s friend would take care of the Funeral arrangements. I needed to get out of that room, the darkness and grief was overwhelming.

Our memories are so special and will always be in my heart, a part of my heart will never recover from the pain we both had to face during those last days in hospital. Only those that have experienced watching their loved ones suffering could understand... It is so hard to deal with the grief of loosing someone so close, but to try to push those memories of suffering and pain aside to make way for the “wonderful memories” is a struggle. Pain is inevitable when diagnosed with MND or any other terminal illness, but suffering should be optional.

It is so cruel and inhumane to watch someone die like this. Someone would be jailed if they let it happen to any other species. Euthanasia should be the right of any human being that is faced with a terminal illness. Paul was a member of Voluntary Euthanasia Society of Victoria Inc. and Dignatis (Switzerland). He strongly believed in Euthanasia, but was never allowed the privilege.

Meg Wolk
Removed address

Sandy Williamson

Extracts from a Ray Martin interview with Sandy Williamson, a Motor Neurone Disease sufferer, and her two sisters (Carmen and Sue) on 60 Minutes.

Sandy Williamson's last wish was to die with dignity. She was determined to take her life whilst she was still physically able to do it. Read the full interview at NineMSN

SANDY:"...the law says you have to do it yourself. And for me, that means that I have to use my hands and right now, I'm very, very rapidly losing the use of my arms and my hands. I tried to brush my teeth last night and I couldn't make my right hand work. So if I lose the ability to end my own life, then I will be trapped.....

RAY MARTIN: How about the difficulty for you two women that you've got — Victorian law says that you can't be with your dying sister. I suspect in the same room when she dies, that that's against the law.....

CARMEN: It's incredibly unfair. It's incredibly unfair. She should be allowed to have whoever she wants with her. I want to be here. I want to be here for her.

RAY MARTIN: You want to be in this room when she takes it?

CARMEN: I would want to be like, you know, holding her in my arms if that's what she wanted. You know, to make her feel as loved as possible......

RAY MARTIN: A few days later, Sandy took the pills, but she didn't die. Instead, she dropped into a deep coma, into a twilight zone where she has been for the past five days. Rushed to hospital by her family doctor, Sandy is now back home but still in that coma. While her sisters Sue and Carmen wait and wonder why things went wrong.....

CARMEN: The system could have worked so much better for her. It would have been so much more pleasant. She could have had everybody she loved around her. They could have held her hands, held her. She had to do it alone......

Footnote: Sandy Williamson died 4 days later in a coma in the Alfred Hospital in Melbourne.

Shameful Country That Makes The Old Suffer So — Stephen Clarke

My mother is dying. At 83, she is 30 kilograms below her fighting weight, too weak to get out of bed unassisted, permanently nauseous and unable to eat more than a few mouthfuls without retching and often gripped by dizzy spells even while lying supine. She reckons she's had enough.

She's done her level best, a tough best conditioned by an orphaned childhood, in the backblocks of the Riverina during the Depression, accented by a long spell in calipers with her polio, and raising children in the guest house she helped run from the age of 20, when Dad was away at sea for most of the year.

She's endured all the prescribed medical interventions: drugs and ECT for the nausea accompanying the anti-depressants, the whole dazzling pharmacopoeia that the industry has assembled to keep the elderly in a fit state to pay bills as long as humanly possible - knee replacements in her late 70s and the excruciating, useless rehab that went with that, long lonely stays in depressing private clinics where the doctors had trouble bringing her name to mind, and major surgery last year to install the aortic valve of a pig. As I say, she's done her best, but now she just wants to go.

She could just give up her medication, but she dreads the prospective outcome, a stroke that fails to carry her off and leaves her even more miserable than she already is.

She's beautiful, dignified and courageous.

In all this she's never been seen to shed a tear of self-pity - humorous and reassuring to all of us who love her and have to watch this dire process. What she desperately needs is appropriate care from a doctor, the same reluctant but loving care that veterinary surgeons extend to cats and dogs every day.

But she can't have that. She couldn't talk about it on the phone without becoming a criminal, for God's sake - even if she were able to get to the phone. The same Government that has abjured so many services to the living on the grounds that self-help, market forces and freedom of choice are sacrosanct, has decreed that Mum, dying, can't make this decision for herself, and that we who love her must also stand around and watch the consequences on pain of losing our own freedom.

Shame on us all for bowing under the hypocritical, mindless yoke of this dismal administration, both champions of laissez-faire and double-speaking thought police as it suits them.

Stephen Clarke