FridayOL

The Scottish Parliament's recent vote to legalise assisted dying sent ripples through the nation. While many welcomed the move, my reaction, at 59, enjoying good health, living alone, and without children, was far from celebratory. It was a cold, unsettling fear.

Perhaps it’s unusual for someone in my circumstances to feel this way. There's a common perception that those without close family ties might be more inclined to view assisted dying with greater acceptance. But my experience, and the concerns I hold, are rooted in a deeper understanding of human vulnerability and the potential for societal shifts.

When the news broke on Tuesday, the unexpectedly large margin of the vote was striking. It wasn't the legalisation itself that triggered my fear, but the implications it holds for the future – a future where the value of life, particularly for the elderly, the vulnerable, and the isolated, might be subtly eroded.

I’ve always maintained a strong belief in individual autonomy and the right to make choices about one’s own life. However, legalising assisted dying isn't simply about individual choice; it’s about fundamentally altering the societal landscape. What safeguards can truly guarantee that this option won't be subtly, or not so subtly, pushed onto those who are feeling lonely, depressed, or simply struggling with the challenges of aging?

The argument often presented is that this law provides a compassionate option for those facing unbearable suffering. And I understand that. But compassion isn't just about ending suffering; it’s about alleviating it, providing support, and ensuring that everyone has access to the best possible care, both physical and emotional. Are we, as a society, doing enough in those areas before we offer assisted dying as a solution?

My fear stems from a concern that this law could inadvertently create a culture where the burden of care, both financial and emotional, falls disproportionately on individuals and families. It’s a fear that the pressure to choose assisted dying, even if unspoken, might become a reality for some.

Living alone, without children, I've become acutely aware of the importance of connection and community. I've built a life filled with friends, hobbies, and purpose. But I also recognise that many others are not so fortunate. And it's for those individuals, those who might feel isolated and overwhelmed, that my concern is greatest. Will they be truly empowered to make an informed decision, free from coercion or undue influence?

This isn't about opposing the right to die; it’s about advocating for a society that truly values life, that prioritises care and support, and that protects the most vulnerable among us. It’s a plea for greater vigilance, for stronger safeguards, and for a continued commitment to ensuring that everyone has the opportunity to live a meaningful and dignified life, regardless of their age or circumstances. The Scottish Parliament has made a momentous decision. Now, the real work begins – the work of ensuring that this law is implemented responsibly and with the utmost respect for human life.