With the recent passing of the Terminally Ill Adults (End of Life) Bill, there has been a lot of discussion on both sides of the debate. Most vocal, at least as far as the content spoonfed to me by the almighty algorithms, are those who are against it.

I hear the perspectives of people such as Liz Carr, who was very clear on her views in her recent BBC documentary Better off Dead? Many are against assisted death for their own reasons, which I absolutely respect and understand, but I feel different.

On the other hand, I’ve heard from Frank Sutton, who is for assisted death. She was happy to hear the outcome of the vote, but laments that it’s a service she’ll never have the opportunity to use. A death with dignity will forever elude her.

I’m in agreement that people first need support to live. Living with a disability means living in a world that wasn’t built with you in mind. It can be challenging, frustrating and downright depressing at times, yet it should never be a reason not to live.

I know about Canada’s Medical Assistance in Dying (MAID) and how people are turning to assisted death readily when adequate support is not provided. I would hate to find myself living in a world where dying is seen as preferable to continuing to live, yet I know for some it means no longer living in pain and having a final say over their own life.

I hear the concerns of such a service being abused by people of ill intent, family members who no longer wish to be caregivers and general bad actors. Yet I feel assisted death needs to exist in some capacity. It needs a formal structure with checks, measures, security and the input of multiple medical professionals. But I feel we need it all the same.

I’ve felt this way for a while. I first considered my feelings after the death of Sir Terry Pratchett, who was himself an advocate for Dignity in Dying.

I remember watching a documentary about him where he explained his Alzheimer’s diagnosis and how he wished to pass away in his own garden once his Alzheimer’s reached its most unpleasant stage.

He didn’t get that chance.

And that saddens me. He was swept up by a disease that robs one of being considered of sound mind. Not even at the point of diagnosis could he give consent to leave on his own terms. He had to ride the most unpleasant of roller coasters until he met his old friend at the end.

In my experience, Becker Muscular Dystrophy is far from the worst of the myriad forms of Muscular Dystrophy, but if I were to be in a position where I had no quality of life, I’d appreciate the option of a death of my choosing on my terms.

The recent bill applies to those who are considered terminal and within the last six months of life, but some worry about this being the first step before extending it to a year, two years, five years and ultimately at any time for any reason. I don’t want that, but I want choice.

This debate will rage on ever after, and I’m open-minded enough to hear voices from either side, provided it doesn’t start with reference to religious texts – tell me what you think, not what your text tells you, but as of now, I remain for it.

Please note that this isn’t an attempt to change your mind, to claim one side is right or wrong, but rather to share my thoughts. If you disagree with assisted death, you retain my respect, and I hope that’s reciprocated.

Cover illustration is drawn by Paul Kidby and can be purchased here.