And Finally: Matters of Life and Death

by Henry Marsh

We often hear the refrain ‘The doctors gave me six months to live, and here I am six years later’, when, almost certainly, the doctors had told the patient he or she might only live for another six months. As for the ones who did die within six months – we do not hear from them.

The trouble, of course, is that if I have a few more years, I will no doubt try to bargain for a few more, once my disease has returned. My urge to go on living is so overwhelming that it will only be overcome by intractable physical suffering, and even then I may well hope for just a few more days. But then again, I might not. I hope not.

A few women are thought to have four opsins.

Apparently, more nappies are now sold for adults than babies – further proof, if needed, of the profound demographic changes taking place in the modern world.

The word euthanasia comes from the Greek and simply means a good death.

Assisted dying is not euthanasia, as euthanasia means doctors killing patients without the patients’ consent.

Assisted dying, it cannot be over-emphasised, is about patient autonomy and choice.

Many countries have now legalised assisted dying – for instance, Belgium, Canada, Spain, New Zealand, Germany, several American states, Austria and the Netherlands.

Besides, my own anecdotal experience is that so often it is the patient who is ready to die but the family who cannot let go. It is they, after all, who will be left behind. Death is not just about the end of an individual life, but also the grieving lives of those left behind.

In England, it is perfectly legal for doctors to prescribe very large doses of opiates to dying patients, even though it is possible that this will hasten death by causing respiratory depression. The intent, it is argued, is not to kill but only to ease suffering, and hence the Suicide Act, forbidding assisted dying, does not apply.

It has always struck me as somewhat illogical that the most passionate opponents of abortion and assisted dying usually have religious faith, with a concomitant belief in life after death. Surely, if our lives continue after death, abortion and assisted dying are not absolute evils?

We all fear death, but for people with religious faith there is the added fear that their faith might be mistaken, that there is no human soul or essence and no afterlife – that death might be final, with nothing to follow. That we are our brains, which like our bodies are made of matter, of atoms and elementary particles, the ashes and dust of stars.

I went to bed feeling rather angry – Kate and I rarely argue. When we do, she is almost always in the right. It can be very annoying.

Like most people my age, I am haunted by the thought of what kind of future awaits my granddaughters, and the ruined planet my generation might well bequeath them. But we have a duty to be optimistic – if we are not, and therefore do nothing, then the worst will certainly happen.

Why is it that only in old age, and closer to death, I have come to understand so much more about myself and my past? We are like little boats that our parents launch onto the ocean, and we sail round the world, full circle, to return finally to the harbour from which we started, but by then our parents are long gone.

I will probably live for a few years yet, although it can never be certain. This uncertainty produces a little flash of anxiety. But what, I then ask myself irritably, do you want? To live for ever? To become old and decrepit? And once again I marvel at my ridiculous inability to accept the inevitability of my death – indeed, its necessity.