Editor’s note: This story was originally published on HuffPost Personal on July 12, 2024, the day the author ended her life at a clinic in Switzerland.
I am ending my life at a clinic in Switzerland today. This piece was written three weeks ago. I’ve been trapped for decades in a body that doesn’t function the way other bodies do and I am ready to finally be free.
I have severe multiple chemical sensitivities, also known as MCS or environmental illness, which means my body reacts to the world around me in deeply painful, incredibly draining ways. Not only do perfumes and colognes cause unbearable respiratory, neurological and skin reactions, but so do most detergents, fabric softeners, shampoos, deodorants, lotions, sunscreens, smoke, household cleaners, and many other substances.
I’ve been dealing with MCS for 40 years. It was mild in the beginning, but it’s continued to escalate to the point where I’m now sensitive to almost everything. I can’t take medicines — not even something as common as ibuprofen or Tylenol — without a reaction, so pain management is very difficult for me.
I also have fibromyalgia, which is another illness that many people know nothing about, and many others don’t even believe it really exists. It does and it’s debilitating. I can barely use my hands, and my muscles are weak. I experience pain at night, and it’s very difficult for me to sleep.
My issue with my muscles has also been going on for almost 40 years. I used to be very active. I loved playing sports like tennis when I was younger. All of a sudden, in my early 20s, I couldn’t hold the racket anymore. I’d try to hit the ball and I couldn’t.
Because of both of these conditions, I have been unable to leave my home or lead anything close to resembling a “normal” life. I can’t even hug people anymore. That hurts so much because I’m a hugger. I love expressing my love and I can’t. I’m not a part of the world anymore.
It’s difficult to put into words the misery I have suffered but I have tried to make the best of my situation. For many years, I hoped doctors might discover something that would give me some relief, but they never have. There is nothing for someone who can’t take medicine.
Last summer I was diagnosed with breast cancer, which has metastasized to my lymph nodes. I told my doctors, “I don’t want any treatment.” I knew undergoing anesthesia for surgery could kill me, and if I didn’t die on the operating table, I could end up even sicker and in more pain than I already am. I couldn’t tolerate chemotherapy, which my doctors recommended along with surgery, so there wasn’t a path forward for me.
I knew I wanted to end my life within seconds of learning that I have breast cancer. I said, “Thank God, I can go now,” because I knew that in order to qualify for “death with dignity” — or medical aid in dying — in the United States, you must have a terminal illness. Suddenly I was in a position where I could finally stop struggling and go in a peaceful manner — or at least I thought I could. I thought, someone gave me a golden ticket!
My surgeon said he respected my choice, but my oncologist was not receptive to my plan. She wanted me to see a therapist for depression. I told her, “The depression I have is from suffering all the time — that’s what’s causing my depression.” When I asked her nurse for my records, I was told my oncologist “doesn’t support my decision.”
But it’s not her decision. It’s mine.
I began researching options in the United States and discovered not only is there a lot of legal red tape about who qualifies (I wouldn’t at this point because I would have to wait until my body was eaten up by the cancer and, since I can’t take pain medicines, to get to that point would be literal torture), but you’re also required to take the end-of-life drugs orally, which I know I can’t do. I will throw up anything I take — it just won’t work.
I kept researching and found a nonprofit clinic in Switzerland that administers the drugs intravenously, accepts nonresidents, and you don’t have to have a terminal illness to qualify. Fortunately, I do have one, because that clinched the clinic’s decision to approve me.
I filled out a thorough application that asked questions about my condition, my mindset, even my childhood — and provided them with documentation of my cancer, my ultrasound scans showing it has spread to my lymph nodes, and a letter from my primary physician stating, “I’ve been treating her for years, she’s been going through hell, and I highly support her decision.” I also had a medical history compiled by a physician that went back to my childhood and listed all of the issues I’m dealing with, from the chemical sensitivities to the fibromyalgia to my sensitivities to medicine.
The clinic charges $10,000, which people think is expensive, and it is, but if you were suffering the way I am, how much would you spend to end your misery? I applied in early March and heard back a few weeks later. They said my application had been approved and asked when I wanted to end my life. I told them I needed two months because I had a lot to get done before I leave. I wanted to go immediately, so I can end my pain, but I have loose ends to tie up and I want to say goodbye to the people I love.
My husband and I built a new home a year ago and I want to help him get it set up before I go. I want it to be a welcoming space for his friends and his next girlfriend — if and when he finds one. That’s very important to me. I’m also the one who does all of our paperwork — the bills and all of that — so I’m going through it all with him to make sure everything makes sense to him. I’ve always been good with those kinds of details and he isn’t, so that’s a major concern for me. There’s just so much to do: signing the title of my car over to him; closing bank accounts; all of the stuff you do when you’re a human being living a life. But that’s over for me now.
We’ve been married for 20 years. He has been so incredibly supportive. He has watched me suffer and taken care of me all of these years and it has been so hard on him and I don’t want that for him anymore. I know he’s devastated — he’s broken down a few times — but he’s trying to keep himself together because he knows that is what I want. He would never ask me not to do this.
He knows this is what’s best for me — for both of us. He will grieve because he will miss me but I want him to move forward and truly live. He will finally experience a freedom he hasn’t had for a long time and he can go anywhere he wants. He can finally eat whatever he wants. Right now I can have reactions just from his breath if he’s eaten something that can trigger me. Spending every minute of your day worrying that something you’ve done might hurt the person you love is no way to live.
My friends have also been supportive. I’ve withheld a lot of my suffering from them because I didn’t want to burden them, but they know how hard it’s been for me and they’re happy that it’ll be over soon.
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