On a brisk day at a restaurant outside Chicago, Deb Robertson sat with her teenage grandson to talk about her death.
She’ll probably miss his high school graduation. She declined the extended warranty on her car. Sometimes she wonders who will be at her funeral.
Those things don’t frighten her much. The 65-year-old didn’t cry when she learned two months ago that the cancerous tumors in her liver were spreading, portending a tormented death.
But later, she received a call. A bill moving through the Illinois Legislature to allow certain terminally ill patients to end their own lives with a doctor’s help had made progress.
Then she cried.
“Medical-aid in dying is not me choosing to die,” she says she told her 17-year-old grandson. “I am going to die. But it is my way of having a little bit more control over what it looks like in the end.”
That same conversation is happening beside hospital beds and around dinner tables across the country, as Americans who are nearing life’s end negotiate the terms with themselves, their families and, now, state lawmakers.
My mom was an RN and spent time doing basically everything. She said her time in oncology, geriatrics, and hospice made her never want to treat cancer or undergo prolonging, because the chance of it extending the quality life was slim and quantity isn’t worth it when it’s miserable.
She died of cervical cancer when I was 23 (it was stage 3 by the time she went in for dx, so she knew something was wrong and chose not to do anything about it) and the only treatment she got was oxycodone and having me get weed for her for the intense nausea that comes from smoking cigarettes on oxycodone. She was in hospice though.
I, similarly, probably won’t undergo treatment if I am similarly afflicted, unless our treatments evolve from a toxic cocktail to something with more chance of working and fewer horrible side effects.
yeah if we get crisper vaccines then great but radiation and chemo well there better be like a 99% chance of reversal.