FAMILY MATTERS by Jude Dobson

It's Father's Day this Sunday and my mind turns to the story I read in the Herald just a few weeks back about a dad who intended not to be around for another Father's Day.
He was terminally ill, in pain constantly and, at 72, bravely took matters into his own hands because, as the law stands, he could not ask his family for help with assisted death or they would be prosecuted.
His wife woke to find a note on the kitchen bench and alerted their son who went looking and found him some hours later, alive, but in a serious condition.
I felt so incredibly sad reading that story. Why should this gentleman ever have to be in that position? Why, I wonder, in 2010 can we not all grow up a little and introduce euthanasia. The debate has come and gone repeatedly over the years but, surely, if the correct safeguards were put in place so that it's impossible to bump off a disliked rellie, there's no argument.
I guess there's the sanctity of life thing. Save life at all costs. I just don't get that one. If someone is terminally ill, their life already cannot be saved. Euthanasia offers a planned, dignified end with loved ones around you rather than a potentially distressed death all alone.
It was a topic I had cause to bring up with the kids recently, when we lost another family pet. Brandy, our much loved guinea pig of four years, had been losing weight over the last couple of months, but was still active and eating well.
However, as I did the morning trek from her overnight indoor accommodation to her outdoor day house the other day, she seemed listless. Her eyes were crusty and she felt very bony and fragile. By comparison her mate, Squeak, was fat and bright-eyed.
A trip to the vet confirmed the worst - a large cancerous lump in her abdomen. A weigh-in showed she was now two-thirds the size of her mate. They'd been plus girls together and now one of them was positively anorexic.
I went home and howled. The kids were all out so I really went to town, snuggling my little guinea and wondering how long she would survive this.
I elected to  talk to the kids about it the next day when they also noticed how light she was.  We had a bloody awful day as we talked about not knowing how long she would live for and how nothing could be done.
HOW will she die, they asked? The vet had told me to watch for her appetite waning and if her poos changed shape or stopped because of the blockage getting bigger. If that happened, I said, we'd have her euthanased rather than let her suffer. They agreed, albeit sadly, that it was the right thing to do if we got to that point. I secretly hoped I might find her dead to spare me that decision.
The next day, I almost wondered if she'd listened to my private thoughts because she was pretty quiet. Apart from the dreaded change of poo shape to something very little, she was wheezy so I whipped her to the vet to discuss this new complication. Pneumonia.
And so decision time came. Inject antibiotics into a wee bag of bones to prolong her life? Do nothing, and not sleep at night worried Brandy will struggle to breathe on her own? As well as her own distress, have her mate distressed also? Or put her to sleep? My head told me the kind decision was a graceful, kind, cuddly goodbye. The other options were simply mean by comparison. But it's never easy.
As my lovely supportive mother said, we are kinder to our pets than we are allowed to be to the humans we love which, sadly, is true. Mum added that if she were ever in that position she would opt for the blue injection.
In a lighter moment, as one often needs at times like this, I said I wasn't sure the vet would be able to help us out there!
But, perhaps if New Zealand can become more enlightened, a doctor one day might be able to grant such wishes to the many consenting dying patients. They and their families, I believe, would be thankful for such a service.