My dog had a good death – the law won’t give me that

Around 23 years ago, I lost three loved ones in a very short space of time: my husband Desi (the award-winning documentary maker Desmond Wilcox), my mother, and my dog Marmite. Of the three, the best death was Marmite’s. Although he didn’t realise it, Marmite had inoperable cancer. It was not a difficult decision for us to arrange a good death for him. On his last morning, he had two breakfasts, a lovely long walk, and then a quick and painless death in his home surrounded by those who loved him.

I couldn’t arrange the same for Desi and my mother, both of whom died in hospital. And at the moment, with stage 4 lung cancer, I can’t do the same for myself — not that I hanker for two breakfasts and a long walk, but I would love to be confident that I will have a good death. But to be sure of that, with the law as it stands in England at the moment, I would have to fly to Switzerland.

I am in touch with my local hospice, and their team is wonderful. But although they assure me that most deaths from my kind of lung cancer are gentle and peaceful, nobody can guarantee that. So I need Dignitas as my plan B, which puts my family and friends in a terrible position. If they came with me, as I would wish, they could be prosecuted for assisting me. Wrong, wrong, wrong.

When it comes to talking about it with my family, I try not to. I know how painful the subject is for my three children; they all vividly remember the death of their father. They do know about my plan B, and although Becca has said that, if I tried to fly to Switzerland, she would want to ground the plane, they realise that it’s my life, my decision. 

I don’t want to do anything that would put them in a difficult legal position, but I have made my wishes clear to my doctors. Not that I want to embarrass them by asking them to bump me off if things get tough, because I know they aren’t allowed to. But, aged 83, my priority is quality of life, not quantity. And they know that.