ll is impaired if one is asking to die and that therefore there is no voluntariness. Most people would agree if the person was emotionally distraught over, say, being jilted by a lover, or if the person was psychiatrically of unsound mind, but most of us view more considered statements as voluntary, especially if we are unable to find any evidence to the contrary. Obviously the Dutch definition needs careful implementation to ensure voluntariness, and the Dutch attempt to do this by a series of safeguards within a close doctor-patient relationship, a high standard and availability of palliative care, and general public support. There is much debate over whether we could have a similar system in, say, Britain, but we feel that the present system is unsatisfactory and so we press for reform. One of the few certainties of life is death, but in the twentieth century it is still a taboo subject. The "forbidden" nature of death adds to the unnamed fears and worries that most people feel when asked to confront the idea of their own death. Yet once people can overcome their reluctance to discuss the subject, most often what is revealed is not the fear of death itself, but the manner of dying. The difficulty of thinking about "death with dignity" is that it implies that one day you, or someone you love, may be in a position to want that choice. No one can prevent death finally, but we can and should ensure that the dying process is a gentle and peaceful one. When life consists of a few agonising, drugged weeks, many patients beg their doctors to help them die, and many doctors, mindful of the ethics of their profession, feel forced to refuse. Those who, out of compassion, accede to such a request, know they are breaking the law and putting their careers at risk. This is the dilemma which faces all of us now. Should we, as potential patients, have the legal right to ask our doctors to help us die when the end of life is in sight and our suffe...
