‘I’m dying, you’re not’: Those terminally ill ask more states to legalize physician-assisted death

DENVER — On a brisk day at a restaurant outside Chicago, Deb Robertson sat with her teenage grandson to talk about her death.

She’ll probably miss his high school graduation. She declined the extended warranty on her car. Sometimes she wonders who will be at her funeral.

Those things don’t frighten her much. The 65-year-old didn’t cry when she learned two months ago that the cancerous tumors in her liver were spreading, portending a tormented death.

But later, she received a call. A bill moving through the Illinois Legislature to allow certain terminally ill patients to end their own lives with a doctor’s help had made progress.

Then she cried. “Medical-aid in dying is not me choosing to die,” she says she told her 17-year-old grandson. “I am going to die. But it is my way of having a little bit more control over what it looks like in the end.”

That same conversation is happening beside hospital beds and around dinner tables across the country, as Americans who are nearing life’s end negotiate the terms with themselves, their families and, now, state lawmakers.

At least 12 states currently have bills that would legalize physician-assisted death.

Eight states and Washington, D.C., already allow it, but only for their own residents. Vermont and Oregon permit any qualifying American to travel to their state for the practice. Patients must be at least 18 years old, within six months of death and be assessed to ensure they are capable of making an informed decision.

Two states have gone in the opposite direction. Kansas has a bill to further criminalize those who help someone with their physician-assisted death. West Virginia is asking voters to enshrine its current ban into the state constitution.

That patchwork of laws has left Americans in most states without recourse. Some patients choose to apply for residency in a state where it’s legal. Others take arduous trips in the late-stage throes of disease to die in unfamiliar places and beds, far from family, friends and pets.

It was late at night when Rod Azama awoke to his wife crawling on the floor, screaming. Pain from her cancer had punched through the heavy morphine dose.

“Let me die,” screamed his wife, Susan.

As Rod rushed to hold her, the cries faded to repeated mumbles. “Heaven,” she said, again and again.

Susan, 68, pieced through her life’s belongings — family heirlooms, photos, an antique spinning wheel — touching the memories a final time. Then she decided where their next lives would be.

She said goodbye to her constant sidekick, a small, fluffy Maltipoo named Sunny. Rod packed the dog’s favorite toy, a stuffed bunny, as a reminder for Susan, who had to leave Sunny behind. Then the two flew to Oregon. The issue is contentious. Opponents, including many religious groups and lawmakers, have moral objections with the very concept of someone ending their life. Even with safeguards in place, they argue, the decision could be made for the wrong reasons, including depression or pressure from family burdened by their caretaking.

“It’s normalizing suicide, and it’s incentivizing individuals to end their lives,” said Danielle Pimentel of Americans United for Life. Pimentel raised concerns that pain isn’t the top reason people choose an early departure, adding that policy should focus on bettering end-of-life care.

Two national organizations lobbying for the bills argue it’s about autonomy and compassion, some power over one’s preordained exit.

“It comes down to the right of an individual to control their own end of life decisions free from government intervention or religious interference,” said Goeff Sugerman, national campaign strategist Death with Dignity.

Even though it’s illegal in most states, a 2018 Gallup poll showed more than twothirds of Americans support physician-assisted death.

Only a small fraction of Americans nationwide, about 8,700, have used physician-assisted death since Oregon became the first state to legalize it in 1997, according to the advocacy group Compassion & Choices. Most are cancer cases; others include heart and respiratory diseases. A third of people prescribed the medications don’t end up using them.

Gary Drake planned to. He began a Facebook post on Feb. 13 with “RIP.” The 78-year-old was referring to himself. He was off to Oregon, and wouldn’t be responding to any more messages and calls.

“I’m too busy and weak to do much more in this lifetime,” he wrote.

The jovial businessman from Florida had watched a close friend decline from latestage lung cancer, driving him to and from chemotherapy, until his friend shot himself. When Drake received a diagnosis around Christmas that his own lung, bone and kidney cancer would end his life within six months, he didn’t deliberate long.

He signed off on Facebook: “I love you all, say a prayer for me, and I’ll see you on the other side. Bon Voyage.”

The finality of the post prompted a flood of comments, as if he were attending his own funeral.

“I know my dad and George are waiting to have a drink with you,” someone wrote.

Less than three years ago Drake wouldn’t have had the option. Oregon’s residency requirement was rolled back in 2022 and Vermont’s ended last year, after successful federal lawsuits argued it was unconstitutional for states to deny the service to non-residents.

While debates to legalize the bills are playing out in Kentucky, Delaware, Maryland and Iowa, among others, the advocacy organization Compassion & Choices is using the courts to try to remove residency requirements.

“People are dying right now who don’t have the luxury for endless deliberation,” said Kim Callinan, CEO and president of the group.

While California has a bill before lawmakers that would allow out-of-staters to access the procedure, that provision in a Colorado bill was stripped out. Three states, including Colorado, have proposals to expand in-state access, such as allowing advanced practice registered nurses, not just doctors, to prescribe the medication.

As Robertson discussed the topic with her grandson over noodles, he got teary eyed. If it became legal in Illinois tonight, would his grandmother be gone tomorrow? How does it differ from suicides that left empty seats at his school?

Robertson reassured him it would be the very last option as she embarks on a new chemo treatment.