‘Voluntary Euthanasia’ Advocate Offers a Means to an End

Compared to other special interest organizations, “we don’t grow madly,” conceded Derek Humphry. But, he assured his attentive audience, “our time has come.”

Although 1991 may go down in history as the year an empire crumbled, it also was a watershed year for suicide, explained Humphry, author of the best-selling manual on ending it all, “Final Exit.” He was speaking to about 80 people attending the first meeting of the Northridge chapter of the National Hemlock Society.

The society, which claims 46,000 members, advocates voluntary euthanasia for the terminally ill. “The tide of events,” Humphry said, “is running in our favor.”

The meeting, on a sunny afternoon in the Congregational Church of Northridge, was part sermon, part political pep rally, part counseling session. There was no how-to talk on suicide--or “self-deliverance” as Humphry terms it--but two terminally ill cancer patients exchanged tips on how to collect enough pain-killing medication to extinguish themselves.

The featured speaker was Humphry, who urged the audience to join the campaign for an initiative that would allow doctor-assisted suicide in California. The political climate is right for such a measure, he said. After all, in 1991 a physician admitted in the New England Journal of Medicine that he had helped a patient die. A grand jury in Rochester, N.Y., refused to indict him.

It also was the year of Dr. Kevorkian and his suicide machine. And, of course, it was the year “Final Exit” hit the bookstores, selling more than 500,000 copies.

“It was incredible,” he said of the book’s reception. There are foreign-language translations now, and audiotapes ideal for joggers. As they tone their bodies, “they are learning how to end their lives,” he said approvingly.

Organizers have collected 270,000 of the 378,000 signatures they need by March 5 to put the measure on the state’s November ballot, said Michael White of Californians Against Human Suffering.

Campaign worker Marianne Schneller urged people to take petitions home. “If we get the word out, we can win,” she said with an enthusiasm which, though restrained, still seemed incongruous for so solemn a subject.

“Don’t be shy,” she continued. “You may find new friends. It’s a fun thing to do. How many will take a petition?”

About 20 hands went up.

“Excellent.”

On a table in the back of the church were copies of “Final Exit” and Hemlock Society application forms, noting that regular membership is $25. Life membership--their wording--is $250 for individuals, $300 for couples.

The application also advertised various books and a reprint of the January, 1988, Hemlock Quarterly newsletter, which features an article “on the use of plastic bags in self-deliverance and . . . a fold-out Drug Dosage Table.”

In a question-and-answer session, one man asked: “How do you find a doctor who’s a Hemlock member?”

What about someone in a nursing home who is not terminal but “just wants to die?” asked a woman in a pink pantsuit.

Humphry answered patiently. The society does not have a list of doctors willing to prescribe fatal drugs, he said, and it advocates suicide only for the terminally ill.

“I read your book,” said Cathy, a 39-year-old supermarket clerk from Arleta. “It’s impossible to get the drugs you mention.”

“I am sorry, we cannot supply the drugs,” Humphry replied. Have you tried a physician? he asked. She had, but he wouldn’t help.

“I’m sorry,” Humphry said.

A woman sitting to Cathy’s left asked, “If my doctor won’t do it, do I have to change doctors?”

Yes, Humphry advised.

As the meeting ended, Joline, a 56-year-old Arleta homemaker, explained why she and Cathy attended the meeting. “We have a friend who is terminally ill,” she said. “She’s been on chemo all these months.” Their fear, Joline said, is that their friend will put a gun to her head. She has threatened as much.

Cathy recalled her father’s fatal bout with cancer. Drugs could not stop his pain, she recalled. “Morphine didn’t do the job.” Of their friend, she said: “If I was asked to help her, I would.”

And where is their friend this evening?

“She’s right here,” said Joline, gesturing to the woman who asked what to do if her doctor wouldn’t provide fatal drugs. Her name is Eileen, a thin 61-year-old woman with close-cropped hair. She sat on a pillow brought from home. She’s lost so much weight since the disease was diagnosed in April that it would hurt to sit in the hard pew.

“These people who say it’s not right,” she said of euthanasia opponents, “I’d like to have them suffer.”

“I told them to either cure me or kill me,” she said of her doctors. But they have been unable to do the former, unwilling to do the latter. She purchased “Final Exit” months ago and hopes she can carry out its program. Sometimes, she said, it hurts so much she can barely move. “I had to call her to come and do my dishes the other night,” she said of Joline.

Why did she attend the meeting?

“I wanted to hear what people had to say,” Eileen said. In a way, it was comforting to hear other people talk of ending their lives too. And she decided to take Humphry’s advice. She’ll start looking for another doctor.

Joline and Cathy, meanwhile, took petitions for the initiative. “I’m going to give them to my Neighborhood Watch,” Joline said.

As Humphry left, Eileen stopped him, her copy of “Final Exit” in her hands. She asked for his autograph.