Moral or Legal: I Chose the Former

Danny called me a couple of weeks ago. “Our mutual friend (I’ll call her Linda) just called to say she has intentionally taken an overdose of opiates. She is tired of the chronic pain. And, she wants one of us to be there with her when she goes,” he said.

Attending the death of a friend….some call it a “holy experience.” My experience had some holes in it.

I first called Linda to see if what Danny told me was true. “Yes, I’d love for you or Danny to come over and be with me. He can’t come right away,” she said. “So, please come over now if you’re willing.”

At first nervous, Linda calmed me. She held my hand and said “it’s gonna be alright.” Soon enough, it was alright. We talked about faith, the lives we’ve lived, our common values and some fun memories. She relaxed in her bed, with her dog curled up next to her. I held her hand. Sunset came and went; a light drizzle came down, but in her room, with just the amber glow of a reading lamp, peace prevailed.

About 30 minutes passed and there was a knock at the door. The Fire Department had gotten a 911 call. I asked the responders “who?” They didn’t say but insisted on seeing Linda. I resisted for several minutes, saying “She has rights too.” They insisted. Linda, now groggy but lucid, said reluctantly, “Yes, let them in.”

After the EMT’s verified that she was sane and lucid, they had her sign an electronic pad that waived her choice for treatment or transportation. Then they left, alerting me to my responsibility to call 911 upon her death.

Another 20 minutes passed in peace, and the drugs had transported her to a semi-conscious place. Slowed breathing, closed eyes, relaxed. It had been over an hour since I’d arrived, and longer since she ingested handfuls of oxy and ketamine, prescription drugs she had been taking for the chronic pain of Trigeminal Neuralgia.

Linda had been an athlete, a long-time cyclist. Divorced and in chronic pain, she became a shut in, a recluse, a walking skeleton. Her longtime practice of meditation, as part of a local Buddhist community, helped her to rise above her pain. But the added serotonin from meditation was only a temporary stay from the electricity generated in her skull by the relentless ailment that has come to be known as Suicide Disease.

There came another knock at the door. This time, it was the local police. I tried to get rid of them. They were not deterred. “You have to let us in,” the officer said. “It’s the law.”

It was a bit surreal, toggling between being a bedside confidant and a front porch advocate.

“I don’t have to let you in,” I resisted. “She has a valid DNR; she’s written a long note explaining her decision, and she’s been in chronic pain for well over a decade.”

Soon enough, there were four patrol cars, including two Sergeants, a fire engine and an EMT van. The temperature had dropped and I was getting chilled. It was clear: the law wasn’t going away. I hoped that my holding them off might provide Linda enough time to escape.

At one point during the standoff, the Sergeant said, “We’re just talking past each other,” with an edge of exasperation. I put my hand on his upper arm and replied, “We’re talking past one another because you have yet to acknowledge anything I’ve been saying. I’d like you to tell me something of what you’ve heard me say in the last 15 minutes.”

He paused, looked me in the eye, and then said, “OK. Yes, I get it. You’re doing your best to help your friend who has been in chronic pain for years. You’d like to honor her request to take her life, and you think we should be more sensitive to her wishes. Is that right?”

“Yes, thank you,” I said. “That’s right. And I heard you say that when there is an ‘unattended’ death in progress, there are laws that require you access to make sure that no crimes have taken place. Is that right?”

When he answered in the affirmative, I stepped aside and the EMTs hurried in to take Linda away. He hadn’t said that I was in jeopardy of being charged as an accomplice in a suicide, but I understood it clearly at that point.

In the end, she took five days to die in the hospital. Having shown up unconscious, and not having a DNR by her side (it showed up later with a relative), the ER professionals put her on life support. The cost of her care…who knows, but it had to have run into hundreds of thousands.

In retrospect, my years of NVC practice helped me through the ordeal without getting reactive. Having the ability to stay calm when authorities urged me to step aside took some doing. Being able to evoke empathy from the Sergeant instead of letting the situation degrade further was also helpful, and perhaps avoided my being arrested. An officer there complimented me later for my “calm demeanor.”

Danny, who arrived at Linda’s while the EMTs were removing her in a bed sheet, told me it was he who called 911. I felt angry at first but came to understand his decision. He had consulted a medical professional after his call to me earlier, who told him he was required to report a suicide attempt. Caught between honoring a friend’s request and abiding by the law, he chose caution. He later told me that there might have been a better way to handle it, one that would allow Linda’s departure without putting any of the rest of us at risk.

If asked again to be there for a friend choosing to end their life, I’d like to think I would do as I did for Linda. It wasn’t the right thing to do according to the law, but the law thinks in black and white. When it comes to choosing to end one’s life, we ought to have room for a gray area, to allow someone to take their own life without risk to friends who care.