Life, death and pigeons

It is likely that I will die within the next three months. I’ve had a good run. 50 per cent of pancreatic cancer patients die within 3 months of diagnosis, but I’m coming up to 11 months since mine. Several people have asked me for my perspective. My “about to die” wisdom. There’s the pedestrian stuff about being nice to one another and you “don’t know what the other person is going through”. One thing I believe it does give me is an informed opinion for the upcoming “Right to Die” legislation. I’d like to explain my perspective.

I spend a lot of time thinking about how to have a “good death”. For me this is very simple: Pain Free. I have a mental image of snuggling up to my wife one night, drifting off to sleep, and not waking up. That’s all I need. However, most of my conversations with the wonderful professionals responsible for my care relate to the ways in which my end might come and they all involve continuous vomiting. I’d like to miss that part.

I listened to a phone-in on the topic recently and what struck me was not the strength of the arguments made but the background of those calling in. The pro-assisted dying lobby was entirely made up of those who had witnessed a close relative suffering at the end and had an understandable desire to avoid that – even if it might mean ending their life earlier than strictly necessary. The anti-lobby was driven by the suspicion that an early death might be caused by those who did not wish their inheritance to be diminished by care home costs. It was the difference between “what I want” arguments and “what they will do” arguments.

I’ve been lucky and had all the time I needed to put my affairs in order. I’ve seen all my friends and family. I hope they’ll remember me kindly, but honestly that will not be changed by my dying next month or the one after. I have noticed that as I now have enough drugs in my home to ensure a swift end, that means I am less likely to use them. The same is true for the pain relief medications; I use them less because I know I have them to hand.

There is a pair of pigeons living outside our kitchen window. They live a good life: our neighbour has a bird feeder, they raise their young, walk around avoiding squirrels, have occasional, brief, violent intercourse and don’t bother anyone too much. Our neighbours have trees with nesting couples. I like to think they are the offspring I saw hatching in previous years.

If a good death is a brief period of discomfort followed by oblivion, then a bad one is a long period of pain and discomfort with the same end. I have completed a ReSPECT (Recommended Summary Plan for Emergency Care and Treatment) form which summarises my wishes, should I be unable to communicate. The doctor completing it used the phrase “Earliest Natural Death” which I found reassuringly sensible. Let’s say I have six weeks left; I would rather just have four weeks rather than get the full six with the risk of great pain. My life isn’t much right now, limited as I am by medication and infirmity. I am also a great burden on my local NHS services.

I’ve been home a lot, watching pigeons, and resting since my diagnosis. I’ve been wondering what my life means. I look to my friends for validation and they have not failed me.

I have been assured that I have “touched a lot of hearts”. I have been reminded that I have “packed a lot in”. I have had messages asking whether I am “feeling better now” and wondering if they can “take me down the pub” and help me to enjoy other leisure activities, most of which involve drinking. Sadly, I have to say no.

One misfortune of my cancer is that my taste buds don’t really work any more. First white wine and then red went to the “tastes like a sewer” bin. I can still drink champagne. So there is that.

I left home today to try and buy my wife a Christmas present, planning ahead as I don’t know how long I will be able to perform such a trivial errand. It was good to get out.

What do we leave behind? I obviously think of my children, and two published books, but does this mean that those without children or books leave nothing? Before I descend into a nihilistic vacuum there must be something more. Some point to it all.

In my work as a producer, I’ve created a number of projects which resulted in events or videos which mean something in themselves, but mostly are ephemeral creations which neither endure nor mean anything much in history. I recently became even more convinced of the merits of decluttering when I threw away master tapes which cost hundreds of thousands of pounds to create, made on obsolete formats, created for agencies which no longer exist alongside brands which no longer exist. Such is the temporary nature of even the most familiar of high street brands.

The memory that remains is of dickheads who called themselves producers, when their only skill was to commission a business card with that job title on it. The great creative achievements eclipsed by self-important attention junkies. Of course, the majority of my clients were experienced, talented, careful individuals who were fantastic collaborators with immense skill and judgement. But it’s the wankers you remember. If only I’d said “No”.

What does all this mean? As we live on the edge of a small village, we see dead things all the time. We are surrounded by farmers. I regularly come across dead birds, squirrels and rabbits – mostly killed by foxes or misadventure. I’m sure I will see my favourite pigeon one day lying dead after living his life, fathering offspring and building nests and foraging food. No one will miss him any more than I have the right to be remembered. The result of all my musing on the topic: Be kind. You only get one life so you might as well have a nice time. Don’t take out your inadequacies on anyone else – we all have enough to deal with without you being a dick.

I would like the ability to end it all early if the medication is overwhelmed by pain. I hope not to need it, but it would give me great peace if it were there.

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