Michelle-Anna Moffat writes:
Nobody understands the attraction of assisted suicide like I do. In 2019, life as I knew it – a busy nurse and mum of four – stopped. Aged 39, I sustained a spinal cord injury and as a result I’m now confined to a wheelchair 24/7. I was forced to retire from the job that I loved. Many patients who register for assisted suicide say they feel they are a burden on their friends and family – and I know exactly what they mean. My husband and kids had to care for me as I once had them. I couldn’t bare it.
So I did what I thought was selfless. I put money aside for a trip to Dignitas – announcing my plans to my husband shortly after my 40th birthday.
I felt that I no longer had anything to offer to people. I was also unconvinced that a life full of physical suffering was going to be worthwhile. Copious medical research shows that those of us living with chronic or terminal illness often have a low value of self, and low understanding of value to others.
The night I told my husband that I wanted to end my life, I genuinely believed that he would support me wholeheartedly. I knew he did not want to see me in pain. I excitedly told him that he could meet a ‘better wife’ and the children would once again have two parents who can take them out cycling. They could be free from the burden I had caused both financially, and emotionally. What happened next shocked me to my core. My husband was so angry. I’ll never forget his seven words: ‘How could you do this to us?’
I truly was shocked. I thought I was freeing myself from suffering, and freeing them from me. This correlates with the clinical evidence – I did not think I had any inherent value, and I did not believe that I had value to others. I didn’t see that I was still wanted and needed – that there was an important role I could play in life. The fact that assisted suicide was not legal kept me safe. There was a legal protection on my life – even from myself.
A society which values convenience over care doesn’t just degrade the vulnerable, it detracts from the meaning and purpose of life for everyone around them. Convenience is not fulfilment.
And despite the propaganda for euthanasia, suicide is not dignified. It’s a cheap way out for the state to stop caring. Take the experience of the Canadian Paralympian Christine Gauthier who was told in 2022 that rather than have the Canadian state fund a wheelchair ramp for her home she could consider assisted suicide. Where is the respect?
The proposed UK ‘assisted dying’ bill which MPs will vote on this week requires the patient to have a six month terminal diagnosis. But we also know that doctors get these estimates wrong all the time. In fact, in one study funded by Marie Curie, over half of patients predicted to die within a predicted time period lived longer than expected. And where such ‘safeguards’ have been introduced in other countries, they inevitably get loosened and widened. Around the world, people are being administered lethal concoctions of drugs because of conditions like anxiety, depression, physical disability, anorexia and more.
I will live the rest of my life in daily physical pain, with the increased risk of multiple health comorbidities, the inability to work in the role I truly loved and without the opportunity to continue my studies in advanced nursing practice. I will never be able to do many things I once could.
However, I have value. I will see my children grow up, and spend the time I naturally have left grateful for what I have. I know they’ll benefit from having me here. And as I’ve adapted, I’ve travelled to places I never thought possible. I’ve volunteered with incredible charities. I’ve given speeches across Europe to encourage those who have similar stories to mine. I’ve canoed the Zambezi river, and delivered medical and school supplies to remote villages in Zambia.
Life is different to before. But life is incredibly worthwhile. With a caring GP who told me that suicide was not the answer – and with the right psychological support – I was protected and dissuaded from the worst choice I could have ever made.
I’ll always be thankful I had my injury in a time and place where these support services were prioritised over suicide. What could have happened if such a death was offered on the NHS when I was at my worst?
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