I witnessed my first Medical Aid in Dying (MAiD) death recently. This dear friend – a neighbor, and all-around great guy with a curious mind always surprised me when he shared bits and pieces of his life. I was not surprised, however, when he decided to utilize MAiD.
Dan chose a day in October. That day slipped past as he was feeling better, and he changed his mind. He chose a date in November. That day slipped by as well; he wasn’t ready yet. Recently, he called to say that THIS was the day. He chose to be in the ‘she-shed’ at his daughter’s home for his final breath.
We arrived at his daughter’s and he settled into the small, but comfortable space. The bed was made up with dark blue sheets and a cozy comforter. Soft music of his choosing was playing in the background. The lights were dimmed. He had the ingredients for his medication – juice and the prescribed medicine. The two had to mixed and swallowed quickly. Instead of the sorbet as recommended, he snuck a little bite of red licorice to soften the bitterness of the medication. The seven years of testing, labs, doctor visits, education, and outside-the-typical treatments for pancreatic cancer, and everything else he tried, had come to an end.
Dan was ready. He drank the solution and slipped under the covers, falling asleep within minutes. He gently snored while his wife stayed at his side. I asked her to alert me when she felt he had taken his last breath. Two songs bookmarked his last moments – Every Breath You Take and My Heart Will Go On. I will forever remember him when I hear these songs and anything by Joan Baez, his other favorite.
His wife came out to let me know he stopped breathing. I checked his pulse. Nothing. I listened for a heartbeat. Faint, and then gone. Dan left us after about two hours. This was a gentle leaving. It was quiet. His wife could be with him and see that he wasn’t in pain, emotionally or physically.
We waited for the hospice nurse to arrive and declare him deceased. The county coroner approved the release of his body, still slightly warm but starting to cool. The mortuary arrived and wrapped him in a beautiful quilt. He left after one last sweet kiss from his wife.
He leaves behind a community who got know and love him; we learned how to face a cancer diagnosis with strength, curiosity, and tenacity. We also learned it was ok to say ‘this is enough’.
I feel incredibly honored to be invited into this sacred space and witness this beautiful person decide his own ending. He chose to be educated about his options and understood that Medical Aid in Dying would allow him to have the person-centered death he desired. MAiD is not for everyone, but for those who choose it, there is a sense of order and agency when most things have spun out of control. We hear it referred to as an ‘insurance policy’ for when things get too difficult and painful with a terminal diagnosis, we have an option.
My thoughts as his doula – I knew from the start our friendship would be short. I knew I could serve in a capacity that hospice nurses and hospital staff couldn’t or wouldn’t. I appreciated his inquisitive mind and thorough research. On our way to his daughter’s home, I confirmed that he knew he was doing this to hasten his death. No one coerced him.
Living in Colorado (and many other but not all states), residents have an option of hastening death’s call by utilizing the law that was passed in 2016. With specific guardrails to prevent abuse, the law created an off-ramp for people with a terminal diagnosis and less than six months to live. Many folks will complete the process to apply for this option and choose not to use it. For others, the decision is simple and can be planned in advance. For Dan, it was his choice and his timing. To me as a doula, it was a privilege to witness his final hours and know that he left this world on his terms.
Thank you, Dan, for being such a thoughtful teacher and guide. You are truly and deeply missed.
Adeste LLC 