'I thought dying was easier': Assisted dying should be a human right

I thought dying was easier.

Those were the last words my father said to me before his death.

The day he retired was meant to be the first day of a new life for him and my mum.

For decades they had put every penny into an education and happy childhood for my brother and I.

Now, with the retirement age finally under his belt, dad was going to take mum on their well-earned dream holiday to Mexico.

But he never did.

On the first day of his retirement my dad collapsed on the living room floor and was rushed to hospital.

Numerous tests confirmed the worst fears - dad was diagnosed with cancer. Blood cancer. Leukaemia. In its late stages.

Emergency blood transfusions didn't work, and because of his age dad was not eligible to receive bone marrow transplants that could slow the process of the cancer slowly destroying his blood and with it his body.

His only hope was for doctors to be able to find a few good cells in his body, reproduce them in a lab and then reintroduce them into his blood in the hope to overpower the cancerous cells with the good ones.

I vividly remember the day prior to the procedure.

The bright white hospital room was filled with people in equally white gowns.

The day was filled with hope.

Ten years, they said. My dad would be graced with another ten years of life thanks to the procedure. Ten more years that he would get to spend with his family, doing all the things he's wanted to do after retirement. Ten years to cram in a lifetime of living - and a trip to Mexico.

But within days, the ten years were cut short.

Dad's body had rejected his new blood cells. All the good cells had been killed by the cancerous cells. All our hopes were dashed.

Instead of ten years, dad was given six weeks to live.

And those six weeks - which turned into eight weeks in the end - will forever be etched into the memories of those who loved my dad.

You might think eight weeks is better than nothing.

You might think at least we had a chance to say goodbye compared to those who never had that opportunity when they lost a loved one in a sudden accident.

You might think at least we had a chance to make peace with the situation.

But reality is - our family endured an excruciating eight weeks of suffering.

Nothing is nice about watching a loved one die.

But there is nothing worse than watching a loved one suffer in discomfort and pain, in a long and dragged-out, slow process, begging to be allowed to die.

You see, assisted dying wasn't a thing back then.

While we are kind enough to put animals out of their misery instead of letting them suffer when they are ill, we force patients whose bodies have already given up on them to wait for death to finally come and end the senseless suffering.

The minds of some of those patients are still capable of understanding the full extent of the cruelty of not being allowed to die with dignity.

My dad was one of those unfortunate people.

During his working life he was an acclaimed engineer and leader, who never stopped studying and learning new things that he could pass on to the next generation.

He was a celebrated "brilliant mind". And this brilliant mind was still fully functional when his body slowly gave up.

At first his legs stopped working, leaving him bed-bound.

Then his arms refused to cooperate, forcing him to have someone feed him, wash him and wipe his tears.

Most of his other body functions went soon after.

Food went in - and out of - his body via tubes, and his lungs were kept functional by machines.

For eight weeks we watched helplessly as his body failed more and more, despite being connected to new machines and drips every day, while his mind vividly endured every week, day, hour and minute it took for death to finally let him rest peacefully.

His repeated pleas Please just let me die will forever be etched in my memory.

You might be young - and healthy - enough that you don't think too much about death, and I hope for that to be the case. But what about your loved ones? Your parents or grandparents, caretakers, family members and friends.

What if they suddenly found themselves in a position where they are trapped in a failing body.

What if they were restrained to a "life" in a white bed in a white room, left with no hope of improvement or healing, faced to endure a slow, prolonged process of dying.

Maybe you live in a place where voluntary assisted dying is available to those in need.

Consider yourself lucky.

Where we live, in Australia's Northern Territory, people are still forced to suffer and wait for death to finally provide salvation.

While the NT Government acknowledges that "every Territorian has a right to receive compassionate, high quality and accessible palliative care at the end of their life", only in December 2022 the 'Restoring Territory Rights Act' started the process which will allow the Territory to consider legalising voluntary assisted dying.

Community consultations are underway, and the NT Government will be working on a framework. A panel, made up of community members, will make recommendations.

A written report with those recommendations isn't expected to be tabled until July 2024.

Until then, and until a decision has been made in favour of legalising voluntary assisted dying, the only hope people in the Northern Territory have is for a quick and painless death.

Sadly, until a decision will be made, many more people and their loved ones will be forced to suffer through a prolonged process of painfully slow dying.

Until my dad mumbled those last words I thought dying was easier, it had never occurred to me that there were worse things than death.

But a death that doesn't come even though a life has already ended, is the most tragic and traumatising way of seeing a loved one leave this world.

Let's hope the NT Government decides in favour of all the people in the Territory who deserve the right to die humanely and with grace.