When I was in high school, I had strong feelings about the whole Dr. Jack Kavorkian media frenzy. I felt that it was a fundamental right to choose your own life and what happens to your body and was furious with those who argued that he should not assist the terminally ill to die quicker and less painful deaths. I didn’t understand why it was even worth arguing about. Now that I’m older and marginally wiser, I can see more of the gray areas in the situation. First of all, the hippocratic oath (which all MDs take) requires that doctors do no harm (and so, it is arguably an ethical violation for a medical doctor ever to assist with suicide), but more importantly, I now think all suffering is sacred.
It’s not that I completely disagree with my earlier viewpoint, I still think sentient beings should have the ability to decide what happens to their own selves, I just don’t think we should necessarily be encouraging or making it too easy for people to end their lives. Our lives are full of ups and downs and, unlike most people, I don’t discount the value of the downs. We may all disagree on the after-death experience, but the empiracal fact is that everyone dies and whether or not you go on afterwards, this makes life precious. All of life is precious. I won’t get into the details with you, dear anonymous internet reader, but I have suffered – more than many and less than some, but enough to know what it’s like. And those experiences of suffering, while painful, were not all bad. They are part of my lifetime and, like all experiences, helped shape who I am. I like to think that they helped me to grow as a person. But even beyond their retrospective merit, they are valuable in and of themselves because when you suffer, especially physical pain, you are really in touch with reality and very much alive. A lot more so than the people who exist mostly within the fantasies of our powerful entertainment complex (TV, movies, work, etc.) – we sometimes can forget that we are even alive, that we are physical beings with so many senses.
This is not to say that I advocate suffering. I think there are other ways to be very in touch with life as well, many of them more pleasant. Sometimes, just feeling the air before a summer storm, the tangible sense of expectation. Or walking about in a snow-covered playground gazing up at an orange sky on a quiet winter night. Or a conversation (verbal or non-verbal) where you really “get” the other person (or creature) and they really “get” you. But overall, I don’t think suffering is the monster that many people think it is, to be avoided at all costs. Most specifically, I do not think euthenasia is an appropriate action in any circumstance where there is not a speaking rational sentient being to consent. This is because the suffering itself is a part of life. If you don’t believe in any afterlife, then every moment is all the more precious before non-existence takes hold. If you do believe in an afterlife, then every moment is valuable preparation and learning for the next life (or judgement or whatever you believe).
I once lived with a woman who loved non-human animals with all of her heart. She devoted most of her life to helping creatures, in several careers and also taking in animal companions who needed care. American domestic ferrets, as she explained to me, are not creatures found in the wild, but are a domesticated in-bred version of weasels who live relatively short lives and nearly always develop serious health problems after 5-6 years. She’d been fostering ferrets for ages and had been through a number of deaths, usually, they’d get sick suddenly and then die after a few days or maybe a week. When one of her oldest, most beloved ferrets got sick, the ferret hung on for a while, seeming to be recovering a few times (and almost always cheerful, but with limited energy) on the medicine the woman gave her, but in the end, it became clear that she was very seriously sick, suffering and would likely not recover. This severe sickness lasted a day or so and the woman came to me, tears and snot streaming down her face, begging me to drive her to Angell Memorial to take the ferret to be checked out (to see if they could save her or not). I think I knew there was a possibility that she might ask to have the ferret put down, but I kept myself in denial about that and went to support her and hope there was some surgery or something that could help. The woman tearfully asked the doctor if there was “anything” that could be done and the doctor took the ferret in for some tests. We waited anxiously (about an hour) out in the lobby and when we were called back in, the doctor was sorry, but she could do nothing to save the ferret. She recommended euthenasia. It’s painless, she explained. She wasn’t unsympathetic, but she was rather nonchalant about the whole thing.
I was immediately terrified – I didn’t want any part of that, but I felt trapped. Even when we stepped outside to think about it and the woman asked me what I thought, I couldn’t voice my true strong feelings – I didn’t want to cause a scene. I tried to see both sides, I said something ambivalent, I think, that I was opposed to euthenasia, but it was her decision (I am somewhat zen about not interfering – it’s what keeps me sane sometimes). She didn’t know what to do, but her empathy was strong, so strong for the suffering of the ferret, that she thought it was more a mercy to end life quickly, than let it end naturally. My loyalty to the woman won out over my moral objections and I went in with her for support (holding my horror at bay). Up until that point, my objection to companion animal euthanasia had been very abstract, purely theoretical. But that day, I witnessed the needle going in, I saw the clearly painful spasms of the ferret (the doctor had lied about “painless”) that lasted about a minute (not instantaneous) and I saw, or maybe imagined, a look of betrayal in the dying ferret’s eyes. I definitely didn’t imagine the will to live I saw, though, and that horrible moment cemented my belief that all life is truly sacred, even the suffering of great illnesses and that un-consented euthenasia is wrong.
Some might argue that it is human narcissism to keep a companion animal alive at all costs when the quality of life for that animal is seemingly low. There is certainly some truth to this, that if an animal is dying, all the extra surgeries and medicines may be partially for the sake of helping the human to cope. On the other hand, it is also human narcissim to euthenize a companion animal when the animal is “obviously” suffering because it’s really the human’s empathic suffering that is hardest to bear. There is a hidden middle road, which is to stop medicating and just let biology take its course. If you care, you will suffer, but death (and suffering) is a part of life and you need to deal with it.
My mom recently euthenized one of our family’s companion animals (“Fluffy”) and it was difficult for me, because I felt I needed to comfort her for the loss (she was very upset and this was the first time she’d euthenized any pet), but I also disapproved of her action. Ultimately, the choice to kill her suffering pet fell into the past (with no recourse), so I didn’t bring it up to her, but I know both of my sisters also disapprove (one is not currently speaking to her because of it). I was never really close to Fluffy (she was a mean cat for most of the time I lived with her, and became much friendlier only after I’d moved out), but I was still a little sad to hear of her loss (and her cancer of the mouth, which is what was most acutely killing her, though she was an old lady at 19). I don’t know if my mom will ever read this, but if you do, Mom, I forgive you for the hard choice you made, but I hope in the future (for other aging/suffering pets), you’ll reconsider this.