Euthanasia – Has My Position on Assisted Dying Changed?

Over the past few months, a surprising number of people have asked whether my views on assisted dying have changed now that I have reached what many describe as the “hard” stage of Progressive Supranuclear Palsy (PSP). It is not a question I have wanted to answer publicly. It is deeply personal, highly emotive and, until now, one I was content to leave alone.

But I also recognise that I am no longer discussing this as an observer. I am living it.

If the statistics are to be believed, I am now in the stage of PSP where life expectancy becomes impossible to ignore. I spend virtually all of my time at home. I use a wheelchair full-time. I have experienced levels of pain that I could never previously have imagined. I live with a disease that has no cure, no treatment that alters its course and no realistic expectation of recovery.

For the first time in my life, I have understood why someone might choose assisted dying.

That sentence is not easy for me to write.

Before PSP, I could understand the arguments intellectually, but they remained theoretical. Today they are not theoretical at all. They are painfully real. I understand the fear of losing independence. I understand the exhaustion that comes from relentless symptoms. I am very scared of what is to come. Most of all, I understand the desire not to watch those you love carry the emotional weight of your illness or feel that their own lives have been placed on hold because of yours.

That understanding has given me far greater empathy for those who reach a different conclusion from mine. I cannot judge them because I have not lived their exact story.

Yet despite understanding the argument more deeply than I ever have, my own conclusion has not changed.

The first reason is my faith.

I have chosen to follow G-d throughout my life, not only when life has been comfortable but also when it has been painful. My belief is that every human life possesses intrinsic sanctity. Because of that belief, I have completed my End of Life documentation, which has been filed with the government. It makes clear that I do not wish for my life to be deliberately shortened, while equally requesting that it should not be artificially prolonged beyond what Jewish law permits. I know that may involve intense suffering. I do not pretend that prospect is easy. But it is consistent with the beliefs that have guided my life until now, and I cannot abandon them simply because they have become more costly.

The second reason is perhaps more surprising.

Despite everything, I still genuinely enjoy living.

Not every hour. Not every day. But enough.

Only yesterday my married daughter and son-in-law came over with ice cream to cheer me up. We played chess together and laughed. I am preparing to lead the prayers on the first day of Rosh Hashanah, something that carries enormous meaning for me. My youngest daughter last night played me the latest song she has been learning on the guitar. I loved every minute of it. And my son still cannot quite work out why I bought him a dancing chicken. I rather enjoy that he is still wondering.

Those moments are ordinary.

They are also priceless.

PSP has taken away much of my independence, but it has not taken away my ability to love, to laugh, to think, to pray or to enjoy being with the people who matter most. Nor, I hope, has it taken away the joy my family still finds in spending time with me.

That is quality of life.

It may look different from the life I imagined a decade ago, but it is still life. It is still meaningful. It is still worth living.

I hope that remains true until my final day. Even if communication is reduced to the squeeze of a hand, a smile or simply knowing that someone I love is beside me, there is still something profoundly human and precious in those moments.

I do not claim to have all the answers. I have not yet completed this journey, and I recognise that others endure circumstances very different from my own. I understand why some people conclude that assisted dying is the right choice for them, and I cannot honestly say that the thought has never crossed my own mind. There are moments, usually in the darkest hours, when I fleetingly think that the “Switzerland option” would make everything easier.

But those moments pass.

What remains is something stronger.

My love for my family.

My faith.

My belief that every day still contains something worth living for, however small.

Living with PSP has changed my understanding of assisted dying and I don’t judge others. It has made me far more compassionate towards those who choose it.

But it has not changed my choice.

Until G-d decides otherwise, I choose life.