"I just found out Oct. 5 that everything was shutting down, that I have cancer everywhere. My biggest problem is that the bones are just riddled.... It's wrapped around my spine, I've got it in thousands of little nerve endings. My lungs. My ribs. My heart. My brain. And here I am. I'm not supposed to be enjoying life, but I am."
It's been a rich life, she said, with three children and an entrepreneurial spirit that led her to start her own skin lotion company. Why end it strapped to a bed or tangled up in wires and tubes?
In that spirit, she rose gingerly but bravely, and we walked to a car that was waiting to take her to a pharmacy for a prescription written by Dr. Robert Nathanson. Nathanson and an advisory council of physicians have been pushing for Hawaii — where polling suggests people strongly support death with dignity — to offer more end-of-life choices. They argue that doctors can legally prescribe potentially lethal dosages of morphine in the service of pain relief, so they're prepared to test whether there is enough wiggle-room in the law to allow them to legally offer more direct aid in dying to terminally ill patients who request it.
We parked the car and Ford-Scholz walked into the store and up to the pharmacy window alone. It seemed cruel that, in such a moment, she couldn't have a friend or family member with her for support. But she wanted to avoid any chance that someone would be prosecuted for participating in her death.
Driving back home, I saw the first hint of hesitation on Ford-Scholz's part as she held the little white bag with sleeping pills inside.
"I'm not sure how strong I am, but I think I'm strong enough to take it," she said.
We opened the bag and inside were 90 capsules.
"I'm supposed to pull 60 of them apart and dump the capsules into applesauce or chocolate pudding or something," she said. "I don't know if I can eat four ounces of something. That bothers me. There are still a lot of ifs."
In Oregon and Washington, many people who have met the requirements for aid in dying don't end up using the medication. But they say they're comforted knowing they have the option, and Ford-Scholz said the same.
Earlier in the day, she told me she was tired of hearing from people promoting one remedy or another for her health problems.
"I keep trying to tell people....I don't want it, leave me alone. I don't want it, and besides, the economy in this country is so bad, and in other countries, too, I'm kind of glad I'm leaving. I think this is a good time to go. I think you guys have your hands full."
On Dec. 6, Ford-Scholz died at home, peacefully, with two daughters at her side.
She was too incapacitated in the end to use the prescription.
The most humane option
In September, a Northern California man named E. T. Rulison wrote a letter that was passed on to me by a friend of his.
"Dear Californians planning to live out your life in this state:
"I am a physician. Since the 1940s I have been deeply dedicated to quality of life for my patients and loved ones. I am now 97, and can feel life ebbing away steadily… The majority of people I have cared for at the end of their lives desperately have wanted the dignity of ending their lives as they lived their lives, with some influence over their conditions…
"I have … friends who saw no better choice for themselves in their … suffering but to end their lives ungraciously, by suicide. The loved ones left behind were devastated by the consequences… I am encouraging you to begin conversations about the end of life choices such as are available for the dignity of citizens in other states."
Rulison lives with his wife in Cameron Park, on the eastern flank of Sacramento. Jean is 87.
"I robbed the cradle," said Rulison, whose mind is still sharp even as his body gives out.
