Article
Assisted dying
Care
Comment
Politics
6 min read

Assisted dying’s problems are unsolvable

There’s hollow rhetoric on keeping people safe from coercion.

Jamie Gillies is a commentator on politics and culture.

Members of a parliamentary committee sit at a curving table, in front of which a video screen shows other participants.
A parliamentary committee scrutinises the bill.
Parliament TV.

One in five people given six months to live by an NHS doctor are still alive three years later, data from the Department of Work and Pensions shows. This is good news for these individuals, and bad news for ‘assisted dying’ campaigners. Two ‘assisted dying’ Bills are being considered by UK Parliamentarians at present, one at Westminster and the other at the Scottish Parliament. And both rely on accurate prognosis as a ‘safeguard’ - they seek to cover people with terminal illnesses who are not expected to recover. 

An obvious problem with this approach is the fact, evidenced above, that doctors cannot be sure how a patient’s condition is going to develop. Doctors try their best to gauge how much time a person has left, but they often get prognosis wrong. People can go on to live months and even years longer than estimated. They can even make a complete recovery. This happened to a man I knew who was diagnosed with terminal cancer and told he had six months left but went on to live a further twelve years. Prognosis is far from an exact science. 

All of this raises the disturbing thought that if the UK ‘assisted dying’ Bills become law, people will inevitably end their lives due to well-meaning but incorrect advice from doctors. Patients who believe their condition is going to deteriorate rapidly — that they may soon face very difficult experiences — will choose suicide with the help of a doctor, when in fact they would have gone on to a very different season of life. Perhaps years of invaluable time with loved ones, new births and marriages in their families, and restored relationships. 

Accurate prognosis is far from the only problem inherent to ‘assisted dying’, however, as critics of this practice made clear at the – now concluded – oral evidence sessions held by committees scrutinising UK Bills. Proponents of Kim Leadbeater’s Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) Bill and Liam McArthur’s Assisted Dying for Terminally Ill Adults (Scotland) Bill have claimed that their proposals will usher in ‘safe’ laws, but statements by experts show this rhetoric to be hollow. These Bills, like others before them, are beset by unsolvable problems. 

Coercion 

Take, for example, the issue of coercion. People who understand coercive control know that it is an insidious crime that’s hard to detect. Consequently, there are few prosecutions. Doctors are not trained to identify foul play and even if they were, these busy professionals with dozens if not hundreds of patients could hardly be counted on to spot every case. People would fall through the cracks. The CEO of Hourglass, a charity that works to prevent the abuse of older people, told MPs on the committee overseeing Kim Leadbeater’s Bill that "coercion is underplayed significantly" in cases, and stressed that it takes place behind closed doors. 

There is also nothing in either UK Bill that would rule out people acting on internal pressure to opt for assisted death. In evidence to the Scottish Parliament’s Health, Social Care and Sport Committee last month, Dr Gordon MacDonald, CEO of Care Not Killing, said: “You also have to consider the autonomy of other people who might feel pressured into assisted dying or feel burdensome. Having the option available would add to that burden and pressure.” 

What legal clause could possibly remove this threat? Some people would feel an obligation to ‘make way’ in order to avoid inheritance money being spent on personal care. Some would die due to the emotional strain they feel they are putting on their loved ones. Should our society really legislate for this situation? As campaigners have noted, it is likely that a ‘right to die’ will be seen as a ‘duty to die’ by some. Paving the way for this would surely be a moral failure. 

Inequality 

Even parliamentarians who support assisted suicide in principle ought to recognise that people will not approach the option of an ‘assisted death’ on an equal footing. This is another unsolvable problem. A middle-class citizen who has a strong family support network and enough savings to pay for care may view assisted death as needless, or a ‘last resort’. A person grappling with poverty, social isolation, and insufficient healthcare or disability support would approach it very differently. This person’s ‘choice’ would be by a dearth of support. 

As Disability Studies Scholar Dr Miro Griffiths told the Scottish Parliament committee last month, “many communities facing injustice will be presented with this as a choice, but it will seem like a path they have to go down due to the inequalities they face”. Assisted suicide will compound existing disparities in the worst way: people will remove themselves from society after losing hope that society will remove the inequalities they face. 

Politicians should also assess the claim that assisted deaths are “compassionate”. The rhetoric of campaigners vying for a change in the law have led many to believe that it is a “good death” — a “gentle goodnight”, compared to the agony of a prolonged natural death from terminal illness. However, senior palliative medics underline the fact that assisted deaths are accompanied by distressing complications. They can also take wildly different amounts of time: one hour; several hours; even days. Many people would not consider a prolonged death by drug overdose as anguished family members watch on to be compassionate. 

Suicide prevention 

 It is very important to consider the moral danger involved with changing our societal approach to suicide. Assisted suicide violates the fundamental principle behind suicide prevention — that every life is inherently valuable, equal in value, and deserving of protection. It creates a two-tier society where some lives are seen as not worth living, and the value of human life is seen as merely extrinsic and conditional. This approach offers a much lower view of human dignity than the one we have ascribed to historically, which has benefited our society so much.  

Professor Allan House, a psychiatrist who appeared before the Westminster Committee that’s considering Kim Leadbeater’s Bill, described the danger of taking this step well: “We’d have to change our national suicide prevention strategy, because at the moment it includes identifying suicidal thoughts in people with severe physical illness as something that merits intervention – and that intervention is not an intervention to help people proceed to suicide.” 

 Professor House expressed concern that this would “change both the medical and societal approach to suicide prevention in general”, adding: “There is no evidence that introducing this sort of legislation reduces what we might call ‘unassisted suicide’.” He also noted that in the last ten years in the State of Oregon – a jurisdiction often held up as a model by ‘assisted dying’ campaigners – “the number of people going through the assisted dying programme has gone up five hundred percent, and the number of suicides have gone up twenty per cent”. 

The evidence of various experts demonstrates that problems associated with assisted suicide are unsolvable. And this practice does not provide a true recognition of human dignity. Instead of changing the law, UK politicians must double down on existing, life-affirming responses to the suffering that accompanies serious illness. The progress we have made in areas like palliative medicine, and the talent and technology available to us in 2025, makes another path forwards available to leaders if they choose to take it. I pray they will. 

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Article
Care
Culture
Mental Health
Trauma
5 min read

Stillness is not always peace: how wellness and illness intertwine in silence

Stillness invites clinical insight—and a deeper kind of presence

Helen is a registered nurse and freelance writer, writing for audiences ranging from the general public to practitioners and scientists.

A seated Celine Dion, leans forward, head to the side, holding a mic.
Celine Dion, stiff-person syndrome sufferer.
Celine Dion.

The Global Wellness Institute defines wellness as the active pursuit of activities, choices and lifestyles that lead to a state of holistic health. It includes rest and rejuvenation, through mindfulness, meditation and sleep. As a care home nurse, I am intrigued by the subject of stillness – for patient and nurse - in the pursuit of wellness, and as a sign of illness.  

There’s a lot of stillness in illness - from the dense paralysis that can follow stroke or spinal cord injury, to the subtle weakness or stiffness in an arm that might signal the onset of motor neurone disease. Over half of people with Parkinson’s experience ‘freezing’, feeling as if their feet are momentarily glued to the ground. Freezing is also a feature of stiff-person syndrome – the auto-immune neurological condition powerfully documented by Celine Dion in her film I Am. In so-called stone-man syndrome, muscle tissue is replaced by bone, an immobile ‘second skeleton’. 

The stillest still is seen in death itself. I’ve stood still with spouses and sons as their loved ones breathe their last. Alone, I’ve watched the hush between heartbeats until there exists only stillness beside sorrow. It’s a stillness like no other, when breath becomes still air, and the only movement is through a window opened to let air in, and souls out, in time-honoured nursing tradition. 

In memory of babies born still, a public education and awareness campaign has been launched in the US. “Stillness is an illness” calls for families and healthcare providers to take seriously altered foetal movement in pregnancy, which is reported by 50 per cent of mothers who experience stillbirth. Stillbirth is a tragedy insufficiently addressed in global agendas, policies, and funded programmes, according to the World Health Organization. Mothers in sub-Saharan Africa and Southern Asia are at highest risk, with nearly 1.5 million stillbirths in these regions in 2021. 

Sometimes stillness manifests in more muted ways. When dementia robs the recall of person, place and time, residents no longer lift their head in response to their name, nor appear at their chosen place at the breakfast table in the morning. Television presenter Fiona Phillips describes the late stages of dementia for her mother, when she “spent whole chunks of time just sitting and staring ahead, only able to give out a series of sounds.” In care home nursing, I have brought stillness to an agitated mind. Therapeutic touch has relieved tension; creative activities have reduced restless pacing up and down. Music, movement, and medication can also calm a troubled mind. 

In the further pursuit of patient wellness, the nurse may need to be still. The “CAREFUL” observation tool has been developed in nursing homes, in which the nurse sits still and discreetly watches a resident for a period of time, assessing their activities and interactions, working out what brings wellbeing, or ill-being, for that individual; residents in this case being our best teachers. Other times in dementia care, the nurse is still as they patiently wait for a resident to explore, enquiring into self-made mysteries solvable only by themselves, examining everything from door handles to another resident’s buttons; or to slowly finish a meal, their swallow also affected by the disease.  

Punctuating any frantic nursing shift are other moments of necessary stillness as the nurse performs intricate procedures, carefully inserting catheters, delicately taking blood from fragile veins, or applying prolonged pressure to stem bleeding caused by a catheter during cardiac stenting. In the operating theatre, the scrub nurse stands still awaiting a surgeon’s call; the “honor walk” or walk of respect is a ceremonial procession in which healthcare staff line the corridor, in silent tribute, as a brain-dead patient is taken to theatre for organ donation. 

There’s a different stillness sought in nursing, and elsewhere, which runs very deep. Described by missionary and author Elisabeth Elliot as a “perfect stillness…a great gift”, it is, in her words, “not superficial, a mere absence of fidgeting or talking.  It is a deliberate and quiet attentiveness—receptive, alert, ready”. It’s an expectant stillness in which we “put ourselves firmly and determinedly in God’s presence, saying ‘I’m here, Lord.  I’m listening’.” Writing for the Christian Medical Fellowship, nurse Sherin describes such a seeking during a stressful shift. “Overwhelmed, I stepped away to find a quiet place. I ended up in a washroom. It wasn’t ideal, but there I cried out to God, asking for courage, peace, patience, and above all, love for that patient.” And her prayer was answered. “That, to me, was the quiet, powerful presence of Christ,” she writes. 

Her role model was Jesus himself who often stepped away to be still, to seek spiritual sustenance. Just before he fed the five thousand, Jesus said to his tired and hungry disciples, “Come with me by yourselves to a quiet place and get some rest.” When grieving the execution of John the Baptist, he withdrew by boat privately to a solitary place; and in the hours before his arrest, Jesus withdrew about a stone’s throw from his disciples, knelt down and prayed. An angel from heaven appeared to him, and strengthened him. We too are invited, in the book of Psalms, to “Be still and know God” when hard pressed and weary. Here, the words “be still” derive from the Hebrew rapha which means “to be weak, to let go, to release”, or simply to surrender. It’s a theme repeated in many of the great Christian hymns, hinting at an expectant, sustaining stillness, invoking God’s promise of His presence in that stillness. Little-known hymnwriter Katharina von Schlegel, writing in the eighteenth century, captures it perfectly. 

Be still, my soul! the Lord is on your side; 
Bear patiently the cross of grief or pain; 
Leave to your God to order and provide; 
In ev'ry change he faithful will remain. 
Be still, my soul! your best, your heav’nly friend 
Thru' thorny ways leads to a joyful end. 

I’ve sought this stillness, and it’s brought me wellness. It’s the reason why, despite some difficult days, I am a nurse. Still. 

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