Kay Henderson’s final days: a swim, some cuddles, then freedom from her pain
Kay Henderson knew exactly how she wanted to spend her last day before dying: in the ocean with her family and friends. It was, said the voluntary assisted dying advocate, ‘the best day’.
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Sitting waist deep in water, the sun beaming down on her, Kay Henderson was having the perfect afternoon with her “best, best friends” when she said something typically inappropriate.
Fussing about her fresh leg tattoo in the salt water, worried about the healing process, she stopped for a second and said: “Oh who cares, I’ll be dead tomorrow.”
“We all just laughed and laughed and laughed for about 15 minutes,” Ms Henderson said the next morning, reliving her beautiful day in the sun at Coffs Harbour.
“It was just an awesome day, it was exactly what I wanted.
“Best day. Best day before today. We laughed and laughed. It was so much fun.”
“Today” was Friday — the day she rubbed cheeks with her cat Byron, told him “mummy loves you”, then lay on her bed with her mum by her side, drifting away to the sounds of Flame Trees, just like she’d planned.
Minutes earlier she was still laughing, gently teasing relatives, including one she thanked for finally giving her that “kiss on the lips”. “It’s taken me to die to get it”, she joked.
Conversations over sandwiches and bubble tea kept drifting back to the day in the ocean.
“It was so, so good, exactly what I wanted, so much fun,” Ms Henderson said.
“There were three carloads of us, my next-door neighbour even came with her newborn baby. I rolled onto the sand in one of those beach chairs with the big wheels.
“I used it to get around. I’m a bit old and grey these days and I was already buggered by the time I got out of the car.
“I just wanted to dive in and go for a massive swim but I wasn’t allowed to do that because of my ports (implanted to give IV treatments directly into her veins) but it was absolutely beautiful.”
And so began the beginning of 46-year-old Ms Henderson’s perfectly planned ending.
She woke the next morning feeling “sore but excited”.
She sat on her recliner as friends, cousins, nieces and nephews, aunts and uncles wandered in and out.
As Flame Trees played through her speaker on her crocs, the lyrics “everything within its place, just makes it harder to believe she won’t be around” never felt more poignant.
What made the day easier, though, was Ms Henderson’s infectious laughter and dry sense of humour.
As she sat rubbing healing cream into her newest tattoo she was so worried about in the ocean the day before, she matter-of-factly reminded herself, “why am I doing this, it won’t matter tomorrow”.
Next she wondered, had she drunk enough water for doctors to find a vein to administer the three drugs — one to calm her, one to put her to sleep and one to shut down her vital organs.
They’d have to inject through her toe if they couldn’t find one, she said.
“If it takes longer for me to go than the length of Flame Trees, then I want you to play Landslide, the Dixie Chicks version,” she ordered.
Under NSW Voluntary Assisted Dying laws Ms Henderson had the choice of whether to take the medication herself orally or for it to be injected by a doctor.
“So many people still don’t know you can do this in NSW,” Kay said in her final hours, allowing The Sunday Telegraph into her home for the emotional family gathering.
She wanted to let people like her, who have spent years in intolerable pain with just months to live, know they too can choose their own departure.
“I’ve got followers from all over the world who are sending me the most beautiful messages and they’re asking me questions. They want to understand,” she said.
“I answer all their questions and I say to them ‘no, it’s not sad’. ‘It’s my time and I’m so glad I have the choice’.
“I know this is right for me, I know I will be a spirit, and I’ll have lots of friends up there, it won’t be hard to find a friendly spirit.”
Ms Henderson had hoped to reach 50,000 followers on TikTok before she passed. In the hours before her death she hit 60,000 and was “ecstatic”. By Saturday, with her account in the safe hands of her adoring niece Necole Macey, the number hit 80,000.
“I’m crying while I’m writing this but I promised I would keep KK’s Voluntary Assisted Dying (VAD) legacy going,” Ms Macey wrote to The Sunday Telegraph.
“From her side and from our family’s side it was honestly so beautiful and so peaceful.”
Ms Henderson’s only rule on social media was “never to talk about religion. That’s not what I’m about, I just want people to know their options and do what’s right for them”.
Religious beliefs were a key reason the assisted dying legislation had such a troubled passage through parliament, with NSW becoming the last state to pass the laws.
The bill had been rejected by all major faith organisations and may argued it sent the wrong message to those contemplating suicide, “particularly the young, elderly and lonely”.
The legislation finally passed in May 2022 after a marathon debate and six months after the bill passed the lower house.
Spearheaded by independent MP Alex Greenwich, the law limits access to voluntary assisted dying to people with terminal illnesses who will die within six months, or 12 months in the case of a person with a neurodegenerative condition experiencing unbearable suffering.
The person must be found to have capacity to make the decision to go ahead voluntarily without duress, and the application has to be assessed by two medical practitioners.
Ms Henderson was approved within weeks.
Experts and Australian suicide prevention organisations agree VAD should not be described as suicide because conflating the two can be damaging.
Ms Henderson is now one of 400 NSW residents who have chosen VAD. For her, the decision was only ever about ending the pain and exhaustion.
Born with Marfan syndrome, a genetic disorder leading to problems with the development of connective tissue, Ms Henderson had experienced pain and health complications since her teen years.
It was 17 years ago that she took a major turn for the worse, suffering a major heart attack “that was like an implosion”.
She had never been the same since, and in the last few months her agony became debilitating.
Watching her in the water on Thursday — giggling, singing and joking with her friends — it was hard to comprehend how she could not “stick around” for one more swim next weekend, one more birthday party in March, one more squeeze of her little nephew who she held so tightly in the minutes before her death. “I love you mate you’re such a good kid,” she whispered in his ear.
“She hides it well, she’s so strong, she doesn’t let people see just how bad she’s suffering, how much pain she’s in”, one of her friends said.
“She’s had to really dose up on medication to get through this but it’s what she wanted.
“She looked so happy in the water, the old Kay, it was so worth it for her, for all of us,” the friend said through tears.”
As for Kay’s mum Coralee Wells, she knew her daughter was completely exhausted from the long and gruelling fight and agreed it was time for her daughter to let her body rest.
“She’s always done things her way,” Ms Well said.
“I’m sad, I’m very sad. Watching her light up with her friends around, watching her in the water.
“Yes, I’m sad, today is sad. But I’ll be all right. My daughter needed to do things her way.”
Getting up off the lounge, and wandering across the room full of loved ones to find her daughter Ms Wells said: “Where’s my baby? Can I have one last kiss and a cuddle with my baby?”
Then she said to the children in the room: “Kids, Aunty KK will come to you when it’s quiet, look out for her.”
Next there was a knock on the door. Ms Henderson took a deep breath then uttered the words everyone knew were coming.
“Ok, it’s time. Let’s do this,” she said.
“I’m going to sit on the left side of the bed. People can sit on the right side of the bed or on the end of the bed, or just be in the room.”
Next came more lyrics from the song that will forever remind so many people of fun-loving, cheeky, brave and kind Kay Henderson.
“Who needs that sentimental bullshit anyway, takes more than just a memory to make me cry.
“And I’m happy just to sit here at a table with old friends …”
Originally published as Kay Henderson’s final days: a swim, some cuddles, then freedom from her pain
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