Until Brittany Maynard told her story.
If you recall, Brittany was the young woman diagnosed with glioblastoma, an aggressive and terminal brain cancer. She wanted the right to end her life on her terms and on her own timeframe, but her home state of California (mine as well) has yet to allow death with dignity, otherwise known as aid in dying.
She and her husband uprooted and moved to Oregon, one of the few states which allows terminally ill, mentally competent individuals to receive a prescription from their doctor for medications to self-administer to aid the dying process. Read Brittany's story here.
 |
| Brittany, her husband and parents, visiting Grand Canyon, fulfilling one of her dying wishes. |
Seeing Brittany's videos and hearing her profound words resonated with me. Especially when she said, "I would not tell anyone else that he or she should choose death with dignity. My question is: Who has the right to tell me that I don't deserve this choice? That I deserve to suffer for weeks or months in tremendous amounts of physical and emotional pain? Why should anyone have the right to make that choice for me?"
I know there are people who are firmly and steadfastly against aid in dying. And to them I say, "Then don't do it. But don't deny me the right to do it."
Over the years in my state of California, the issue of death with dignity has been debated, proposed, defeated, and proposed some more. Brittany's story has again brought it to the table, and it will be reviewed again in the near future.
This time, however, it's personal.
In a nutshell: People who don't know me will be deciding how I die.
Yep, it's that simple.
BD (Before Diagnosis), this was purely a rights issue for me, albeit an abstract one: something that I supported, but something that would affect and benefit "other people."
AD (After Diagnosis)? It's a whole 'nother ballgame.
I know terminal diagnoses. Both my parents died from shitty-ass cancers (lung and ovarian). They were from the generation that didn't dispute what doctors said. If your oncologist said that at 77 years old, you needed a second round of horribly devastating chemo, you didn't argue. You just went along with it. And suffered terribly. My mom ended up bedridden, diaper-clad, and uncommunicative for months before she was finally free. Had the option been available to her, I know she would have chosen to make a lucid and peaceful exit long before that.
Right now, I'm lovin' life, and life is fabulous. But I know there will come a time when it's not. And I want to move on to my next adventure as Brittany did: on my own terms and on my own timeframe. And I don't want to have to uproot to another state to do it.
Which is why last week I wrote old-fashioned letters, mailed in envelopes with stamps (!), to ten of my elected officials, ranging from County representatives all the way up to the Governor. I told my story as simply as I could, and urged them to support legislation that would allow death with dignity in the State of California.
Knowing that my letters will at least make it into the hands of support staff of these elected officials makes me feel like I'm doing something to perhaps effect change, not only for me but for other Californians facing a terminal diagnosis.
To learn more about death with dignity, visit the national advocacy group Compassion and Choices: https://www.compassionandchoices.org/
