How would I like to go out? On my own terms

Like so many Australians, seeing my parents near the end has left me thinking about our euthanasia laws and wondering how it is that so many people could really be against passing such a law, writes Margaret Wenham.

When he was still hale and hearty as well as being hail fellow well met, Dad was fond of saying that when he could no longer live his life in the way he wanted, he’d “walk into the sea”.

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In the face of our (mum, my sister and I) leg pulling about this, he was adamant. If he couldn’t get up on the roof to clean out the gutters and regularly repaint them to keep them gleaming brown, mow the lawn to within an inch of its sunburnt life and dig up our seemingly often blocked sewage pipe always to emerge triumphant waving a tangle of roots and “women’s things”, then to hell with it. And, especially, if he couldn’t continue to have his Saturday evening parties in his fully kitted out bar where beers and laughing it up and, later, foxtrotting to Frankie, Bing, and Vera Lynn were mandatory, well, life just wouldn’t be worth living.

A great life doesn’t always mean the longest one. Picture: iStock

He loved his bar, The Palatine, named after one of the pubs his family owned in Liverpool, as he did keeping active on the weekends — apart from the odd 40 winks stolen after lunch on a Sunday.

Then, rolling disaster struck.

First, in his late 50s, Dad had a mild heart attack. This was followed by a back problem requiring surgery. Then an operation for prostate cancer. But these blows paled into relative insignificance when he was diagnosed with bowel cancer.

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So serious and advanced was it by the time he finally fessed up he had a problem that his surgeon, the recently deceased John Herron, warned Dad would quite likely end up with a stoma, if he survived the surgery at all.

At this point Dad, then 62, clearly articulated to Mum, my sister and me, his desire not to have surgery, to be willing to take his life and his fate in his own hands.

A young Margaret Wenham with her father, John. Picture: supplied

Margaret Wenham's father, John, with Margaret and sister Helena. Picture: supplied

As my sister and I wailed our objections, Mum, an experienced nurse and ever practical, set about convincing Dad living with a stoma and bag would be a doddle and she’d be there, loving and capable, by his side every step of the way to help him.

In the face of the onslaught, he capitulated but I remember the resignation on his face and knew this wasn’t a happy decision for him, though he never raised it again.

Well, he did nearly die on the table, after an epic eight-hour operation during which his entire large intestine was removed. He nearly died after, as well, several times.

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He eventually left hospital a shadow of the man he once was but, thanks to the 24-hour, tip top care provided by Nurse Mum, his health did gradually improve. Until, that is, his worsening tremors led to a diagnosis of Parkinson’s disease.

It was only due to my mother’s perseverance and expert attention that Dad made it to 80. But all her loving care was brought undone when he was admitted to a Gold Coast private hospital in October 1996 as a precaution after a bump on the head.

I’ve previously written about his medical mistreatment in this hospital and re-reading that piece now, to remind me of his medical history, triggered rage and tears as it always does.

A frail wisp, Dad finally died in early 1997.

Margaret’s parents, John and Betty Hetherington, on their wedding day. Picture: supplied

I’ve been thinking about Dad’s life and his long period of increasing debilitation recently in the context of the Queensland Government’s inquiry into voluntary assisted dying, among other aged and end-of-life and palliative care issues.

Also figuring in my thoughts is the hell my brother went through before his truly awful death in a NSW hospital eight years ago, the gut-churning details of which — including his shouted pleading for someone to bring him a gun so he could shoot himself — I’ve written about twice before, most recently in January last year as I added my voice to the growing chorus in Australia calling for Voluntary Assisted Dying.

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Mixed up in with the memories of Dad’s and John’s deaths is the here and now as I witness my once indomitable mother’s decline, accelerated by a terrible, traumatising fall she had through a window in her care home room in February.

Dementia had already been relentlessly devouring her cognition, but now her capacity to engage or her interest in doing so is almost extinct.

As many Australians watch their parents near the end, it’s time to reconsider the VAD debate again. Picture: iStock

A couple of times, not that long ago but before the fall, Mum — who for many years in her later years was a vocal proponent of end-of-life and palliative euthanasia and who made sure she has a detailed Advanced Care Directive — whispered to me, as I chided her for no longer making any effort to mix with her friends in the activities centre, “I’ve had enough.”

Victoria legislated for VAD in late 2017, but its law is restricted to those in an advanced state of terminal illness. Western Australia, like Queensland, is in the throes of seeking public input.

So far in Queensland around 2000 submissions have been received. On the website, as at yesterday, only 461 had been uploaded. Of these 305 were submitted online and I counted 279 in favour of VAD — 90.5 per cent.

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I think it’s inevitable all jurisdictions will eventually heed the wishes of the majority to have VAD available to them if they chose it. The question is, can Queensland trail blaze to a place where it is not restricted to those suffering intractable and unbearable pain, or from pressing terminal illness.

I truly think that if, by some marvel of science, Mum could today regain her cognisance long enough to articulate her wishes, she would again whisper to me, though this time imploringly, “I’ve had enough.”

And that, as I’ve told my sons, is when I’d like to die too — when I’ve had enough.

Submissions to the Queensland Government inquiry close Monday.