Euthanasia

Friday, September 2nd

As I entered the Civic Hospital, an old man with a wheeled walker asked for my help. There was a ramp, and he was worried he would fall. Could I lend a hand?

“Sure thing,” I said.

“I don’t mean to be an inconvenience,” he apologized.

“Not at all. I booked the day off work. I have all the time in the world.”

I positioned myself in front of him, putting a hand on his walker, so it wouldn’t wheel away. He then began to walk. He’d take two baby steps, stop for a break, and then take two more steps.

“If euthanasia were legal, I would be dead right now,” he told me, casually.

I laughed a little nervously.

“I’m serious,” he said. “I talked to my Member of Parliament about it. I said, ‘If you walked like me, like a dog, you’d want to be dead too.’ He just laughed.”

And he scowled at the memory.

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I didn’t say anything. All I could think was that I walked to the hospital – an hour walk in the hot sun. I’d enjoyed it, reading a book as I walked. How long would it have taken this man to make the same walk? Days?

“I’m here to visit my sister,” he told me. “She’s my only living relative. We only have each other.”

We took a few more steps.

“I’m sorry I’m so slow,” he said. “I’m in constant pain. My neck. My back.”

“This ramp seems to go on forever,” I said, smiling.

There were four small steps. The ramp, on the other hand, twisted and turned endlessly, like a cruel, simple-minded maze.

When we reached the end of the ramp, the man thanked me. Our journey had taken maybe three minutes.

It was only then that I noticed someone was waiting for access to the ramp, going in the opposite direction. He looked like an orderly, or possibly an ambulance driver, and was smiling in a way meant to indicate endless patience, which revealed just how impatient he was feeling. This orderly had a massive cart next to him, and perched on top, in a reclining position, was a little old lady. She was tiny, eyes closed, either drugged, deep asleep, or dead.

Was he taking her out for some sun? Or taking her to an ambulance to be carted to another hospital? Or maybe to a funeral home?

Distracted by the little old lady, I lost track of the old man with the walker. He baby stepped past me, looking for elevator B, which would take him to his sister.

For the rest of the day, my thoughts kept coming back to the old man who wanted to die. What should I have said? Should I have offered more help? Maybe we could have spent the day together.

When I described this meeting on twitter, someone replied:

“You must not know a lot of old people. They all talk about how they want to die.”