Diane Rehm - When My Time Comes: Conversations about Whether Those Who Are Dying Should Have the Right to Determine When Life Should End

Barbara Coombs Lee,
President, Compassion & Choices

Lori Wallace-Pushinaitis,
a terminal cancer patient ,
and Dr. Catherine Sonquist Forest,
Clinical Associate Professor of Medicine, University of California, San Francisco, Natividad Medical Center, and Loris end-of-life-care doctor

Christina Puchalski,
board-certified palliative-care physician, geriatrician, and internist, George Washington University School of Medicine

Dan Diaz,
widower of Brittany Maynard

Martha Kay Nelson,
Director of Spiritual Care at Mission Hospice & Home Care

Heather Massey,
death educator

Rev. William Lamar,
Metropolitan African Methodist Episcopal Church, Washington, D.C.

Dr. Roger Kligler,
a supporter of medical aid in dying

Stella Dawson-Klein,
widow of Mary Klein

Dr. Katalin Roth,
Professor of Medicine, George Washington University, and Mary Kleins end-of-life care doctor

Mary Cheh,
Professor of Constitutional Law and member, District of Columbia Council

Eric Luedtke,
Delegate, Maryland House of Delegates

Alexa Fraser,
a Death with Dignity supporter

Father John Tuohey,
a Roman Catholic priest

William Bill Roberts,
a terminal cancer patient and friend of the authors

Dr. Lonny Shavelson,
Director, Bay Area End of Life Options

Deborah Gatzek Kratter,
attorney at law, a patient of Dr. Lonny Shavelsons

Dr. David Grube,
National Medical Director, Compassion & Choices

Gizal Rachiti, Frankie Buruphee, Somia Monuputi, and Charlie Hartley,
Four students who attended Dr. Grubes lecture

Dr. William Toffler,
National Director, Physicians for Compassionate Care;Professor Emeritus, Oregon Health & Science University

Allan Christopher Carmichael,
Retired Associate Director of Collections and Horticultureat the UC Botanical Garden, widower of Terry Stein,
and Dr. Stephanie Marquet,
Terrys palliative-care physician

The Honorable Selwa Lucky Roosevelt,
Chief of Protocol in the Reagan administration

Benjamin Zide,
Sophomore, Dartmouth College, grandson of Diane Rehm

Not long after I finished law school and hung out my shingle, I was surprised one day to find a real prospective client in my office. Since I had so few visitors in those early weeks, I welcomed her to my quiet little cubbyhole and poured us some coffee. We eventually drank an entire pot.

She was fifty years old and her hard life had taken a tragic turn. Through tears and anger she told me about her son, a young man in his twenties who had been permanently injured by incompetent doctors at a large hospital, at least that was her version. She described him as being brain dead, comatose, a vegetable, unable even to open his eyes, though he occasionally grunted and groaned as if in pain. His body could do little more than breathe just enough to sustain him, so a respirator was not being used. She fed him through a tube. He weighed eighty pounds at his last checkup two years earlier. She had decided to skip any more visits to the doctor because she couldnt afford them. Besides, the doctor had given up. He told her that her son might possibly live for years in his condition.

As a hungry lawyer, I had to suppress my excitement at the thought of snagging such a lucrative case. Since I had no experience with medical malpractice, or any other specialty for that matter, I knew I would have to associate with a skilled trial lawyer to negotiate a huge settlement. Imaginebarely out of law school and already hitting a grand slam! I admit that these greedy thoughts kept creeping into my mind as I poured coffee and listened to her.

For the past six years her son had been waiting to die. The entire family had been waiting, or what was left of it. Her husband had abandoned her when he realized their lives had been reduced to unpaid caregivers. Not a word from him in two years. An older daughter avoided them too.

She lived alone with her son, in a small country house on two acres owned by her parents. Because she couldnt leave her son, she couldnt keep a job. They had no money, no income, no assets, and lived off the generosity of some neighbors and two small churches.

During that long initial meeting, we never talked about a lawsuit. I was too shy to bring up the subject and didnt want to appear too eager, plus I figured we would get around to it sooner or later. She invited me to her home to meet her son and get a firsthand look at their plight. I have always wished I had declined.

Larry lived in an old hospital bed, and if there were eighty pounds of him I couldnt see it. He was a skeleton, gaunt, depleted, pasty white with shaggy hair. He hadnt left the room in six years. His mother had tucked the sheets up to his waist and his bare chest hardly moved when he breathed. The feeding tube ran to a port in his stomach just below his protruding ribs.

I had expected to be shocked and saddened and I was, but I was also dumbstruck and couldnt think of much to say. I couldnt force myself to bring up the lawsuit.

She gently exposed the tube and added some formula to it. As she held it, she began crying and said, So many times Ive wanted to just pull this thing out and let him drift away, let him go ahead and die with whatever dignity he has left. Wouldnt that be a good thing, Mr. Grisham?

There was no doubt the answer was yes, but I couldnt utter the word.

And I reckon if I did pull out his tube and he died then somebody might say something and theyd have me up for murder, dont you think, Mr. Grisham?

I doubt that, I managed to say.

It dont seem right keeping a person alive when they should die naturally.

Its not right, I agreed. Not right at all.

If you pulled that tube out I wouldnt tell anyone, Mr. Grisham. I swear. Ive wanted to many times but I just cant do it to my boy.