This article was published by Mercatornet on May 17, 2021
By François TrufinEuthanasia: Searching for the Full Story: Experiences and Insights of Belgian Doctors and Nurses would be a bargain at any price, but it is free to download from the website of Springer, the publisher of many medical journals.
Euthanasia, though legal in Belgium, is opposed by some healthcare
professionals. This collection of essays contains insights and
thought-provoking stories from the authors’ professional experience.
The authors are ten Belgian health care professionals, nurses,
university professors and doctors specializing in palliative care and
ethicists who fear that euthanasia has become normalised and trivial.
Far from being polemical, the perspectives in this book present
another side to the narrative of patient autonomy. As Margaret
Somerville, an Australian bioethicist and Wes Ely, an American critical
care specialist, observe in their forward, there is a dearth of
literature about the societal ramifications of legalising euthanasia.
They write that:
“The case against euthanasia is much more difficult to
promote, not because it is weak—it is not—but because it is much more
complex. This case requires looking not just to the present but also to
our ‘collective human memory’—that is, history—for lessons from the past
and to our ‘collective human imagination’ to try to anticipate the full
and wider consequences of legalizing euthanasia.”
The following is a selection of reminiscences by François Trufin, a hospital emergency nurse in Belgium.
Euthanasia, a stage in accepting one’s illness
A request for euthanasia is not the end of the road. We need to look
at it as a new phase, among the other stages of grief, on the way to
acceptance. At the end of this process, we hope that the person, with
the help of the palliative care team, will be able to die a natural
death, having lived their life to the full till the end. A patient who
requests euthanasia is usually in the thralls of dread: fear of
suffering, of dying, of being a burden… Euthanising them in that
distress deprives them of the time to ease their worries and find
answers to their questions. Furthermore, it confirms a failure and
denies them the hope to overcome it.
The health professional who is aware of this possible care pathway
will no longer feel apprehensive around a patient requesting euthanasia;
they will take them by the hand and walk alongside them to the end of
the road.
[Once] a patient arrived in our department accompanied by her
husband. She was about 50 and had so far been living at home, taking 32
medications a day. Convinced that she was a burden to her husband and
her two children, she repeated day in day out: ‘Let me go, I want to
die, please don’t give me any more medication’.
She attempted suicide four times. On the fourth attempt, she pushed
herself down the staircase in her wheelchair. Her husband, who loved her
deeply, was totally overcome. He was devastated at the thought that he
could not prevent her throwing herself down the staircase. To the GP it
was clear that she wanted to die and he referred her to the hospital for
euthanasia.
When she came in her husband shouted: ‘Don’t let anyone get in our
way, she is to be euthanised’. The team started to panic. I went to see
the patient and we had a 4-hour conversation with husband and wife. We
argued and as I was not agreeing to go ahead with euthanasia, he wanted
to take his wife back home and have her referred elsewhere.
I told him: ‘The choice is up to you, but right now, your wife cannot
be transported; any movement is extremely painful and we need to take
care of her pain first. I guarantee you we will do all we can to make
her comfortable. When she is, you can still decide whether you want her
to be transferred in order to be euthanised’. Thus, the situation calmed
down, the husband decided to leave his wife in our department and we
worked together.
Seeing how, with the combined use of painkillers and controlled
sedation, his wife rested peacefully in bed, he became convinced that
palliative care was effective. A very tactile man, he appreciated the
massages with essential oils we gave his wife. We encouraged him to
bring the CDs they listened to together.
The two children, both young adults, followed suit, even though they
were ill at ease at the start. They feared they might betray their
mother’s resolve who had been adamant from the start that she wanted
euthanasia. We reassured them saying that she was receiving no more
medical treatment and we did nothing to prolong her life, only to make
her comfortable.
This lady died peacefully in her husband’s arms, listening to the
music they had played at their wedding. After a week, her husband came
back, asking to see me. He thanked me with a box of chocolates… and
asked whether I could keep a place for him in our palliative care ward
when his time came!
The sad thing is that it took 32 medications and four suicide
attempts for this woman to be heard and cared for, rather than be the
object of therapeutic obstinacy.
Euthanasia as a wake-up call from indifference
During the Christmas holiday, a 75-year-old lady, whose convalescence
after hip surgery was difficult, suffered several falls at home.
Feeling relatively well but no longer able to live alone, she was placed
in a nursing home—which happened to be cruelly understaffed—by her
overworked children.
In the home for a whole month, she witnessed people being left in
bed—even for meals—three or four days running during long weekends, for
instance, when the staff was reduced. Sometimes residents’ cry for help
to go to the bathroom would go unnoticed, and the like.
Fearing she might end up in a similar situation, she preferred to end
her life right away. She stated her wish to the GP, completed the
documents in due form, and was given the all clear to be euthanised. The
nursing home sent her to the hospital.
Since she was not imminently dying, there needed to be, by law, a
month’s delay between acceptance of the request and the actual
euthanasia. During this time, she was cared for by our palliative care
team, even though her condition did not warrant it. The psychologist saw
her regularly.
When I overheard the following sentence, it rang like thunder to my
ears: ‘Did you notice? I had to request euthanasia for people to start
taking an interest in me’. Indeed, she had several visits a day,
received proper care, saw the psychologist, some people would bring
chocolates… Even people from the nursing home came to visit the star she
had become. And this all came about after she had volunteered for
‘death’s corridor’. It was a very unhealthy situation where it appeared
that requesting euthanasia became an ‘open sesame’ to receiving proper
care and support.
That patient caused a professional electroshock for me! She made me
realise how important those moments at a patient’s bedside are, when we
give them our time to talk or even play cards, and simply to be human.
Her experience spurred me to call together a group of volunteers who
give of their time to go and sit at a patient’s bedside. It also taught
me that, whether a euthanasia request comes from the patient or a family
member, it is worth checking whether they want to test the medical
world. I have been positively surprised to realise that when we say
calmly: ‘No, we do not practise euthanasia, but we have something better
to offer you’, people are willing to listen. And when we explain that
pain will be relieved and that their quality of life is our main
concern, the euthanasia request quickly fades away. Relief from pain and
being treated as a human being is what most patients and families long
for.
When trust meets professional integrity
But I do not despair. Even if today many are trained for euthanasia,
believing it to be a part of patient care, I am convinced that there
will always be enough people to look reality in the eye and not run away
from life’s tragedy. And I hope that they may discover by themselves
what I was brought to understand.
One day I was travelling home after having dealt with a particularly
difficult situation. I was in total turmoil, at the end of my tether .
Driving home from the hospital takes me about half an hour, across
beautiful scenery. That evening, the sun was highlighting the autumnal
colours, and suddenly it dawned on me: ‘Fortunately nature does not
react like us humans… What if the leaves said at the end of the summer:
“I want to die. Soon, there will be no more tree sap, so better end my
life right away”. If this were the case, we would miss out on the
autumnal beauty. As early as July many still green leaves would litter
the ground and there would be none left to display their colours in
fall.
The richness of autumn lies in the time leaves take to let the vital
juice dry out and die. In spring and even more in summer, all the leaves
are green, but in fall an extraordinary variety of colours is
displayed.
Similarly, a human being in the twilight of life lets go of their
masks and reveals their true self. In everyday life, running after time,
we all have green leaves and, sometimes, it is not until the end of our
lives that we realise that, beneath the green, there is a wide array of
warm and exquisite colours.
Palliative care is the autumn of our life; it is the time the leaf
takes to gradually detach from the tree. Even though the sun is not
always shining and there are difficult times of heavy showers and wind
storms, the leaf holds on to the tree with all the colours it has left.
Could we imagine a year with three seasons only? Could we go from 35 °C
in summer to -10 °C winter without any period of transition? No!…
However, that is what happens with euthanasia’.
I have met all sorts of people during my career, from the humblest to
those who are used to being in the limelight. For each and all of them,
masks come down at the end of life. No doubt this is very difficult for
the person, but it is also very beautiful to watch. They reveal their
deep inner self and remind us that they are unique and irreplaceable. We
see a person readying themselves to leave this life. For sure, their
body is often falling to pieces, and their mind is slowed down, but what
is being said, what is being experienced, is of a beauty and intensity
that remind me of the autumn leaves…
François Trufin is a hospital emergency nurse. He is secretary of
the palliative care platform of the Belgian German-speaking Community
and Vice-President of the Belgian Chamber of German-speaking Nurses.