© 2024 | Jefferson Public Radio
Southern Oregon University
1250 Siskiyou Blvd.
Ashland, OR 97520
541.552.6301 | 800.782.6191
a service of Southern Oregon University
Play Live Radio
Next Up:
0:00
0:00
0:00 0:00
Available On Air Stations

California Cancer Patient Confronts and Embraces His Right to Die

Courtesy Ray Perman
Ray Perman was diagnosed with prostate cancer five years ago. His doctors told him two months ago there was nothing more they could do for him.

Last year, California became the fifth state to allow terminally ill patients to take lethal medication to end their lives. The new law — the End of Life Option Act — took effect in June, 2016.

Piedmont resident Ray Perman always knew this is the way he wanted to go. He’s 64, a retired pilot, like his father, and an entrepreneur. He’s dying of cancer. I interviewed him about his decision. The following words, culled from that interview, are his.

My pelvis is fully populated by prostate cancer. I have a one-inch tumor in my tailbone. I have seven tumors in my ribs, like little Christmas tree lights. So about two months ago, my physician called me in and said, ‘Well Ray, we’ve done everything we can.’ I said, ‘Well then I want to be on hospice. And I’d like to have you start with End of Life Options.’ He looked at me and said ‘I’ll write the prescription.’

So now I have my medical aid-in-dying drugs up in my bedroom, ready to go. You’re not allowed to go to the pharmacy and go pick them up. They won’t have you inadvertently leave them on the seat of the 57 bus. It has to be delivered like a loaded weapon. So the end-of-life options team came here with three people, the pharmacist with the drugs, my case manager and also another witness. They arrived here with these drugs and they went through the instructions on how to use them, and had me sign all the appropriate documents under witness, which is what they should absolutely do.

Remember that I have to take these prescriptions on my own. No one can assist me. No one can cajole or put the straw in my mouth or squeeze the drugs into my mouth. I have to take them, which means I have to have the ability to swallow. So what the hospice team is learning, they give you about a five-day window when you can do this drug and do the deed. And they’re learning, because they’ve missed a couple of times with other patients. They didn’t call it early enough, and the person could no longer do the drug and they feel very badly.

They’ve giving me markers, clues as you get closer to the end. You look for changes in perception of food taste, general weakness, or the need to take a mid-morning nap, which I’m starting to do now. My stairway is a measuring device. People say, ‘Ray, should you get a hospital bed down here?’ I say, no I don’t want to die in my living room. I have a beautiful bedroom with windows on three sides, I want to look at my view. So if I can’t get up the stairway anymore, it means we’re darn close. And we are kind of close.

It will be a hard decision. People who go for the aid-in-dying option, I understand only 65 percent actually do it. Of the people who don’t, some basically die of symptoms prior to using the option, some simply change their mind. You know, I’m not a hero. I may chicken out.

I attended my daughter’s wedding in September and afterwards my oncologist said, the whole department, we figured you had 50/50 odds of attending. And I had a 70 percent chance of dying last month in December. I mean, who knows how it’ll go. Some days I wake up and I can feel cancer coming. It feels like I’m not going to make it to January 15. I have meetings on January 15 — I’ve got to make those meetings. And my wonderful in-home care provider, she’s pregnant and she’s going to give birth around February 15.

Our goal is for me to hold the baby. It’ll be great. Maybe I’ll get there.

I made sure that the newspapers don’t say ‘Ray lost his battle with cancer.’ There’s no battle. If I were to be battling or struggling I would be preempting my ability to soak in all the wonderful things that are happening to me emotionally.

For me the epiphany in all of this is that I shifted from wanting to die quickly to wanting to enjoy this last phase. I think it’s the explorer in me. I want to carry the torch into that last phase and say ‘My gosh, look what I’m discovering. It’s beautiful.’ You shouldn’t miss it. Don’t fear death. It’s wrong.

When the hospice team gives me the five day window, I will announce to my relatives: It’s time. I’m going to make it this day, come.

I will have my closest loved ones around me when I do that. I’ll have an open house in the morning for my friends to give me a hug goodbye and then we’ll probably do the deed in the afternoon. Then my family can have time with my body in the evening, as long as they’d like. And I have a complete description on where to dispose of my ashes. It’ll be in the departure path of a Boeing aircraft that took off with my father, on an outgoing tide.

Copyright 2017 KQED