A few articles and an editorial in the press recently have focused on the question of euthanasia as an MP hosted a forum on the subject at Parliament House on Tuesday.

“Voluntary” was the word one woman wanted to emphasise. Her great grandmother had died of Alzheimer’s disease and her mother said she didn’t want to go through that herself and would prefer to be put to death instead. But when can a person with dementia make a voluntary decision to end their life?

If I tell my family before I exhibit any signs of dementia that I want to be put to death if I ever get dementia, when should I expect them to act? When I am first diagnosed? I think at that stage I would be telling them to wait a little longer. So when do they do it? When I am so far gone that I don’t know them any more? How will they tell when that time comes? I may not recognise them one day but the next I may be fine. And even if I am not able to remember them for some continuous length of time, how do they know that I have now voluntarily decided that this is finally the time to do the deed? There can be no “voluntary” euthanasia for a person who has dementia.

Dignity is more of a concern when family see a loved one no longer able to control bodily functions. But how do we define “dignity”? There are always those people who exhibit a certain dignity. But for the weak and marginalised, e.g. those with dementia, surely we have an obligation to make sure they, our fellow human beings, have the dignity they cannot exhibit themselves. And surely taking their life when they don’t have an opportunity to say, “No, not yet”, is to rob them of their final dignity.

I was the Chaplain in a dementia ward. I was sitting talking with a patient one day when a newly arrived man stood near us and tried to indicate his family had left him. Because of his dementia, he was not able to find words to express his emotions. I told him I understood that he was sad because his wife had brought him here and had now left without him. He began to cry. I stood up and gave him a bear hug.

The following week when I was back in the ward this same man walked past me, stopped, looked around and a great smile broke out on his face as he tried to indicate he had remembered our encounter the week before. Who makes the decision, and when, that this man’s life doesn’t have enough dignity for him to go on living? His life will have no dignity when his fellow human beings stop giving it to him.

(Banner photo: Ell Brown)