Just into her 80th year, my mother was diagnosed with the early stages of ovarian cancer. After surgery it became clear that this disease was far more advanced. She soon became weak and needed considerable care. We invited her to stay with us, hoping that our love and attention would help her regain some of her strength. She did show a little improvement, and after two weeks she returned home. 

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Once back at home, she wanted to do whatever was needed to get back to enjoying life with her loved ones and her gardens. Her doctor’s recommendation was to begin chemo. After the first infusion, the dreaded side effects of nausea and severe joint pain began. Even with the medication, she was miserable. She persevered for almost 4 months, at which time it became obvious that her body’s only response to chemo was misery, with no abatement of the disease. Chemo was discontinued.

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We, her family and friends hoped that discontinuing the infusions would reduce her pain and nausea – it didn’t. She needed more and more pain intervention and hospice was quickly put into place. My mom went from a happy and joyful person to one ravaged by pain. Between my sister, hospice workers, and me, we cared for mom as well as we could but it provided almost no relief – physically or emotionally. I was confronted with seeing the woman who had taught me to care for others, suffering with pain and misery the likes of which I had never seen before.

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We both knew the end was creeping closer and closer. On Christmas night there was nothing that I could do to get her to rest. I had been sleeping with her for days and injecting morphine into her shunt, but it wasn’t providing any relief. That morning, I called Hospice. The decision was made to move my mom to a palliative care center. Once her admission was completed, and we were able to see her, I cried tears of joy. For the first time in 16 months, Mom was at peace. She died about one week later, hearing the voice of her oldest grandchild who was snuggled up against her, recounting shared trips and dreams, while collecting rocks and making memories.

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Then, and there, I know that someday I would like to do something to help move forward a bill like MAiD. NYUUJ helped me put my grief into action. NYUJJ gave me my voice to advocate for the loving and humane care of all those in a situation similar but not limited to my mom’s.

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On a NYUUJ organized lobby day in Albany I met with our New York State Assemblyperson Scott Gray. Initially, I was reluctant to tell my mother’s story because it was very personal and Republicans like him were opposing the bill. However, he displayed respect and empathy. We need to tell our stories because that’s what allows others to see how our current system of suffering destroys an individual's dignity and respect.

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We won’t move everyone into positions of agreement with us, but with each story told we can help people understand the value in allowing individuals to make the best choices for themselves.