Euthanasia
And those who survive a suicide attempt should be sentenced to death.
Sorry for the levity; I know how emotionally and morally exhausting this topic can be. My mother asked me to "help her along" when she was living in agony, dying from terminal cancer, nothing more than a skin covered skeleton. I was unable to oblige but have carried that cross ever since... you help or you don't, either way the one doing or not doing the helping takes a hard hit.
My father faced the same thing. My grandfather (after having been slowly dying, in constant pain for months, and slipping in and out of consciousness due to massive doses of - sometimes ineffective - analgesic drugs) asked my father for euthanasia. Obviously, neither my father nor the medical staff could comply. And the doctors were actually seriously suggesting surgery to deal with his stomach cancer.
He was 94 years old, his agony was causing both my grandmother, my father and my aunt to break down crying, he obviously didn't want to live and he was severely emaciated to the point where he was barely recognisable. And they considered surgery, but not euthanasia? While everyone else in my family was crying, I was *furious*... I lost a little bit of faith in humanity on that day...
Anyway... he died a few hours later, likely due to an "accidental" overdose of analgesics.
My mother had become bedridden for several months. Double incontinent, vomiting all the time and unable to walk. She looked exactly like those people you see in photographs of Jews liberated from WW2 concentration camps. A few days after my mothers request a McMillan nurse came to stay with her overnight. She died a couple of days while the nurse stayed. My father and I were very suspicious that the nurse had overdosed my mother to release her. Personally I was relieved but my father was angry about it. There was no autopsy - apparently there never is when a person is terminally ill as the cause of death is assumed. I was just glad it was all over. Six months of hell for my mother and similar for the rest of us.
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I've left WP indefinitely.
To my way of thinking (and this is a personal ethical view, I don't pretend to speak for the whole medical profession), being a causa sine qua non makes me equally responsible for the death of the individual, as the person who actually administers (or self-administers) the drug. One of my responsibilities as a physician is to be mindful of the potential abuse of medications that I prescribe to my patients. Where I know that a potentially lethal dose is going to be used for precisely that purpose, I do not believe that I can shield my participation behind the fact that the drug is being administered by another person.
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--James
[youtube]http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tD1_sGZz8yo[/youtube]
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Shatbat
Veteran
Joined: 19 Feb 2012
Age: 31
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To my way of thinking (and this is a personal ethical view, I don't pretend to speak for the whole medical profession), being a causa sine qua non makes me equally responsible for the death of the individual, as the person who actually administers (or self-administers) the drug. One of my responsibilities as a physician is to be mindful of the potential abuse of medications that I prescribe to my patients. Where I know that a potentially lethal dose is going to be used for precisely that purpose, I do not believe that I can shield my participation behind the fact that the drug is being administered by another person.
I see. Although I wouldn't go as far as "equally responsible", I'd still say the causa sine qua non has still a huge part of that responsability (provided they were fully aware of the consequences of their actions) and that's close enough. Even then, is death, and causing it, always necessarily bad? In the case you mentioned: if I had to provide someone with the means to commit suicide, and that person had a very good reason to seek ending their life, and that person later succeeded with the means I provided; then although I'd accept the not-at-all small part I played into it, I wouldn't have particularly strong ethical issues with it because I'd know that was their wish, and that I helped do what that person considered to be the best for themselves. Having a "very good reason to seek ending one's life" is the problematic part for me, but chronic, extreme pain and suffering with no expectations to recover is certainly one of them.
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To build may have to be the slow and laborious task of years. To destroy can be the thoughtless act of a single day. - Winston Churchill
I'm an RN. Death is not always a gruesome thief. Sometimes it is a kindly rescuer. People who are suffering should be allowed to end their lives, and if they are incapacitated for good, their loved ones should have the power to make the decision, assuming they made their wishes known beforehand.
And those who survive a suicide attempt should be sentenced to death.
Sorry for the levity; I know how emotionally and morally exhausting this topic can be. My mother asked me to "help her along" when she was living in agony, dying from terminal cancer, nothing more than a skin covered skeleton. I was unable to oblige but have carried that cross ever since... you help or you don't, either way the one doing or not doing the helping takes a hard hit.
That is why there should be people to help with assisted suicide (legally). Takes the burden off the family at least.
People are the rightful owners of their bodies and their time on earth. A person not only has the right to defend his own life against attack but he has the right to suicide provided he does it in such as way as not to endanger or impose costs on other people. If a person want to kill himself, let him arrange for the disposal of his own body and engage the services of people who can assist him to die.
ruveyn
I watched my mother die of metastasized cancer-- it started in her kidney; by the time she died, her brain was all that was left.
She had several good years, despite pursuing every treatment no matter how debilitating.
The last year, however...
That year, she tried to kill herself twice. Once, while she could still get around, I walked into the kitchen and found her trying her damnedest to drink from a bottle of morphine. I thought, at the time, that she had taken leave of her senses and ran for Grandma, who pried the bottle from her hand while she sobbed "Please, Mom. Please-- the baby."
She had been forced by circumstance, a few months earlier, to abort a baby that had been the result of a rape she'd suffered while staying in a hotel to undergo a last-ditch course of experimental chemo. So in addition to the fact that she knew she was dying and was in a huge amount of pain, she was also suffering massive grief, and wanted nothing so much as to end her misery and go find her lost child.
The second time, she could no longer get around on her own, but she did manage to drag herself about 4 feet from the toilet to the head of the basement stairs. She was standing in the doorway, holding onto the doorjamb with both hands, teetering at the top of the stairs-- I thought she had tried to get herself back to bed, run out of "go" at the head of the stairs, and was stuck there, so I grabbed her around the waist with both arms and yelled for Grandpa.
At 11, it was fairly easy to dismiss her attempts to get loose of my arms. By my mid-teens, not so much. I do not ever believe that anyone should be pushed, pressured, or encouraged to end their life-- and, knowing what I now know of human nature, I do believe it would QUICKLY go from permission to pressure. With that said, though, I profoundly wish I had had the insight and wisdom at 11 to tell her that I loved her, sit down beside her, and keep my damnfool mouth shut.
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"Alas, our dried voices when we whisper together are quiet and meaningless, as wind in dry grass, or rats' feet over broken glass in our dry cellar." --TS Eliot, "The Hollow Men"