Death. That state, or rather that lack of state, is one which comes to us all; of whatever class, race, religion, status, wealth, we are all the same when it comes to dying. I remarked in a previous post on the death of my eldest brother that I would remember the times with possibly a glass of wine, along with my favourite music, but the most vital thing is that we do remember. The vast majority of people on this planet will not know of their impending demise until they are advised by the medical profession, and perhaps it is a good thing that we cannot know for certain, because of the worries that knowledge may cause.
But an infinitely-small number of people long for death, primarily because of the anticipated relief from agonising pain, or the lack of sensation, as in ‘locked-in syndrome’. Such a case is that of Tony Nicklinson, who went to the High Court to get a change in the Law so that he might receive a lethal injection to end his ‘suffering’.
Now don’t get me wrong, I do believe that Mr. Nicklinson suffers badly, and we have his thoughts for proof, but I, for one, don’t feel much sympathy for this man, despite his well-publicised problems, because the way out, with death as the reward, is already with him. He can refuse all sustenance, which means starving himself to death, in the same way as our legendary ‘caring’ NHS professionals adopt with their ‘Liverpool Care Pathway’, he could also refuse all water, in which case he might last for a week; or he could get his wife to wheel him onto a train to Switzerland, and kick his personal bucket at Dignitas, the suicide clinic.
But he chooses to try and get the Law changed. But the Judges, quite rightly, stated that Parliament should change the Law, because they would not.
Methinks he doth protest too much!