This is Prospect’s rolling coverage of the assisted dying debate. This page will be updated with the latest from our correspondent, Mark Mardell. Read the rest of our coverage here
There are three things I need to tell you about Parkinson’s. They aren’t exactly closely guarded secrets, but not many people know them.
Firstly, a lot of us seem to wake at three in the morning and can’t go back to sleep.
Secondly—and maybe this is the drugs rather than the condition—but it can give you bursts of creativity. So it’s not unusual for me, if I do get a full night’s sleep, to wake up to marvellous poetry from my friend and fellow Movers and Shakers podcast host, Gillian Lacey-Solymar. Her poems are usually upbeat, often light, often amusing.
The third thing? Well, Parkinson’s can make you brood on the end and on death.
Last Saturday, I woke to another wonderful poem from Gillian. It wasn’t light or amusing. But I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.
Coming to conclusions
What if? (1)
What if there is no cure
What if it eludes our science
Perplexes our scientists
Escapes our knowledge
What then?
Back to where we started once again
What if? (2)
What if the non-existent deity
Waved His non-existent baton
And I were healed.
Would I then believe in God.
Not necessarily. Maybe.
How odd…
What if? (3)
What if the end is grim?
Really grim
And instead
I could have been done in
That’s a failure not a win.
What if (4)
What if I opt for assisted dying
And after all the end
Would not have been so bad.
I won’t be mad nor glad nor sad.
Instead.
I’ll be dead
The decision
The upshot should be clear
Nonetheless the fear
The fear of the unknown.
Means we think a little further
In the warmth of our family
The comfort of our home
The process
We hesitate
We vacillate
We cannot but procrastinate
And suddenly it’s all too late.
The reality
Time trickled away
Til it’s too late to play
Too late to have our say
Too weak to get on a plane
Mind gone—can’t sign my name
Or tell you who’s PM.
Isn’t it…? Nah… gone again.
Watch the clock
Note the time
Don’t miss the ultimate
Punchline
The irrefutable, non-commutable
Deadline.
Yes, deadline.
