By Zoe Clarke
Earlier this year, my grandfather almost died. Not from an accident or a terminal disease. He almost died because he wanted to.
My grandfather is a very tough, and very loving, person. He spent many years bossing around cattle on his farm with his wooden cane, but anyone could make him start tearing up if you got him talking about how much he loved his family. He had a laugh that could light up a room, which we all got to see at family birthday parties and get-togethers.
About two years ago he was diagnosed with prostate cancer, and it would eventually spread to his spine. He was prescribed many drugs to try to combat the further spread of the cancer and treat his chronic heart issues. Various medications were destroying his appetite and impacting his memory, causing him to wake up in the middle of the night confused. After several months, he started saying that he wished we could just take a gun and shoot him — put him out of his misery. It was devastating. My grandfather had stopped enjoying life, and that incredible laugh of his was gone.
After watching my grandfather struggle severely for over a month, my parents helped him arrange for Medical Assistance In Dying (MAID).
In Canada, when somebody decides to end their life through MAID, they must first qualify based on various criteria mostly related to their level of suffering. They then meet with multiple healthcare providers who ensure that it is the right decision for them. On the day of their final treatment, nurses and doctors help set everything up wherever the patient chooses to die, before the patient gives their consent and presses the button that ends their life. Throughout this experience, doctors and nurses are looking into the eyes of their patients, trying to see if they harbor doubt or regret. If the individual gives any indication that they want to stop the process, this can be done immediately at any time.
About a week before his MAID appointment, my grandfather stopped taking all of his medication except for his pain relievers. Miraculously, day by day, he started feeling better. Nobody knew this was going to happen — not us, the doctors, or the nurses. The day of his appointment, the nurse looked into his eyes and asked him several times if he was sure he wanted to go through with this. One of those times he said no, and everyone involved in the procedure went home. My grandfather is still with us today.
My grandfather's story obviously has an underlying message about the potential pitfalls of overmedication, or about optimizing for quality of life rather than length of life. But that’s not the part that sticks with me. For us, on that day, we were all trying to go forward and help my grandfather make the best decision that he could for himself on a personal level. And in Canada, we have the freedom to do that.
