The letter The Guardian didn't print

A week ago, when I was away on a much-needed break with my family, the media, led by The Sun, was full of the case of Mr Bob Cole, a councillor from North Wales, who was due to commit suicide on the Friday afternoon in the "Dignitas" self-styled clinic in Zurich. It was clearly a media-event  pre-orchestrated by the pro-euthanasia lobby in this country. ITV had contacted me for an interview on the Thursday, but I wasn't then well enough to oblige. So I did the next best thing I could and sent a letter to The Guardian newspaper, before we left on holiday.

This was what I wrote:

Sir

I am sad to learn that The Sun has lent its megaphone in support of what appears to be the latest salvo in Dignity in Dying’s campaign to legalise assisted suicide.  No one can fail to be moved by Mr Cole’s suffering nor that of his late wife.  However the campaign threatens to open a Pandora’s box of unintended and dangerous consequences for those of us who suffer from chronic, terminal or disabling conditions – and indeed ultimately for our whole society.

Mr Cole is quoted as having “no wish to die in pain without any dignity”.  Neither do I.  I have a very slow form of MND, and although I don’t relish the prospect of dying I have confidence that my dignity will not be sacrificed and my symptoms will be well managed, thanks to advanced palliative care pioneered by the hospice movement.  Ironically, in our sophisticated culture, the populist campaign is based on an immature fear of the process of dying.  Rarely is that process easy, and as our population ages so the difficulties increase.  However short-circuiting the process, which is what Dignitas and assisted suicide offer, merely adds to fear and militates against acceptance of the inevitable, and good dying.  Deliberately ending life, also known as killing, is no way to go.  Expanding and investing in palliative care, which is real compassion, is the better way.  

The vast majority of disabled and vulnerable people are protected by the law as it stands, and fear any change.  To pass a law which admits that some lives are less valuable or worthy of protection, as has happened wherever euthanasia or assisted suicide have been made legal, is a thoroughly dangerous precedent.  I trust MPs resist the loud siren-call of press magnates and listen to the voice of informed reason.  Keep us safe.

Yours etc

Sadly, The Guardian, whilst making quite a thing of the event, chose not to print my response the next day. I am sorry because I think that opinion formers such as journalists and law makers such as MPs need to be made aware that euthanasia is not a good universally acknowledged - anything but.

The Paralympic legacy

There’s been lots of talk and print about the 2012 “legacy” – from the problems of picking a sports’ personality of 2012 and what would happen to the Olympic park in East London to the lessons for the economy and the implications for the Prime Minister’s position.  He bizarrely, I noticed, used the success of both Games as an argument against Scottish independence (“you showed us what we really are – one United Kingdom, one flag, one celebration…”).  However that’s not the real legacy issue.  It’s not even whether the tubes will run on time; it’s not whether there’ll be a baby-boom in nine months’ time, or whether children will keep asking their parents to organise their own Olympic Games. 

For me it’s much more profound and systemic than those things.

We applied for both Olympic and Paralympic events.  As it turned out, I am very glad I didn’t get tickets for the Olympics, but “only” for the Paralympics.  Being disabled myself I thought it would be interesting.  In fact it was intensely moving.  We went to Eton Dorney to see the rowing heats, and the following day we made it to Greenwich to watch the Equestrian event.  After that I recorded the television coverage so that I could fast forward through all those annoying and too frequent adverts interrupting well-informed analysis from a number of unfamiliar commentators.  Meantime I reflected on what might be the much touted legacy of the Games, besides medals, golden post-boxes and postage stamps, and a couple of smart sports venues. 

Since we are such a media-controlled society, let’s start there.  It was striking how much demand there was for every venue, and how blanket coverage of every event could be sustained.  Even women’s football which started slowly had gained momentum and full stadiums by the end, proving it is an exciting competitive spectacle.  And then there were a myriad of rarely seen events, from archery to weight-lifting, athletics to swimming, cycling to team sports, both able-bodied and disabled.  To pick out any would be invidious, but who could forget the thrill of BMX racing or the dodgem-like aggression of wheelchair rugby?  Or fail to be excited by stars like Sarah Storey and David Weir?  There was an astonishing variety of events and stars who captured the public imagination.  What an opportunity – for reasonably priced television programming, which of course is a two-way street, providing accessible entertainment and generating further interest in the sports.  Why need it wait for the infrequent mega-events?  And while I’m on the subject, how refreshing it was to have fresh faces on our screens unpretentiously commenting on events they understood from the inside!

There’s a danger, it seems to me, of investing in élitism at the expense of “the rest”.  Many of the medal winners would include Lottery funding in their thanks.  It clearly contributed to their success, but lest politicians congratulate themselves that this success proves how well we provide for the disabled in general they should consider what happens to the disabled who aren’t elite athletes.  They should know that the disabled community lives in fear of their fate when their Disability Living Allowance is soon replaced with the new Personal Independence Payment, and when their benefits are reassessed.  They should know that the disabled who are not out achieving remarkable things in sports arenas are not therefore lay-abouts and scroungers.  Nevertheless it is to be hoped that the high-achievers will have dispelled the myth once and for all that disability renders you less of a person, with less dignity and worthy of less respect. 

This recognition has implications for both ends of life.  Isn’t it time to reassess our attitude to foetuses who have some disability or neurological condition?  At the moment we presume that termination is the desirable option.  Now we know beyond doubt that in abortion we are ending a life of unforeseen potential.  And, at the other end, we should also know that broken bodies of any age are not merely fit for the scrapheap; they have the same spark of humanity as the most perfect specimens.  They are worth fighting for because even the least has value.

© The Guardian

 Another legacy I trust will remain from the Paralympics is the spirit of sport, by which I mean the respect and empathy towards each other shown by the competitors.  Anyone who saw it will long remember Ellie Simmonds embracing her victorious American “rival”, Victoria Arlen, across the lane ropes after she’d come second in the 100m freestyle.  Conversely one couldn’t fail to be moved by Jochen Wollmert’s immediate comforting of the defeated and distraught Will Bayley after their table tennis final, in remarkable spontaneous sympathy.  Spontaneity and honesty was also a mark of the athletes’ interviews, whether “gutted” with disappointment or elated by achievement.  We could do with more of that – not only in sports but also in other areas of public life:  less ear-tickling, more heart-felt saying it as it is.  Less political calculation, more paralympian honesty.  The Paralympics could leave us a better society.  Will we accept their legacy, or leave it unclaimed?

Grumpy old man!

I'm told my post yesterday was a "real grumpy old man's blog"! Well, let me add to my grumples (my coinage).
Further grammatical errors that have been pointed out to me include different than. No wrong again: different from.

"Having read your blog for yesterday I find off of very annoying.  I heard a newsreader on the BBC use this only last week." Quite right, Heather. So do I, as in "Get off of the sofa!" No, just "Get off the sofa!" That's all you need.  

Adding unnecessary adverbs is a common affliction, for example, repeat again. Since "repeat" means "say, or do, again", the again is redundant, unless of course something's being said three times, which is what "repeat again" really means. Similarly return back: as "return" means "come back", you don't need the "back". Get a grip!

Don't let me get started on misplaced apostrophes.... ONLY WHERE A LETTER'S BEEN LEFT OUT!

And lastly, I once proudly taught the RSA's Basic Clerical Skills to help my lower groups with their literacy. It would, for example, teach them how to write their CVs, do interviews, address envelopes and write letters. Today I received an otiose reminder from the "Oxford University Hospitals NHS Trust", no less, informing me that I have an appointment booked for 21st May. I reckon my students would have failed had they produced this sort of visual abomination: different font sizes, different alignment, irregular spacing between words and paragraphs. The envelope's addressed chummily to "Michael Wenham" (no Mr or The Rev), which I wouldn't mind, were it a personal letter from someone I knew. However, and here's the worst of the errors, it starts
"Dear  Michael Wenham"
and ends
"We look forward to seeing you at your appointment.
Yours sincerely
Patient Contact Centre".

All right, I understand it's a computer-generated letter, which comes from centralised administration department. But they certainly won't see me, and neither will the computer (I hope), and in fact I don't believe either a department or a machine can ever appropriately described as "sincere". I have to say it's not the politest of computers or contact centres throughout the letter. It would be pleasant to receive something more personal and actually more respectful. I'm not that fussed about my own dignity, but it matters that hospitals (doctors, nurses, ancillary staff and administrators) treat patients with respect. So it wouldn't hurt or be beyond human wit to programme in a format which said "Dear Mr Wenham" and signed off with a name, either of someone at the clinic whom I might actually see, or of someone at the Patient Contact Centre, with a last sentence such as "We hope you are still able to keep the appointment."

As you'll know, I am a genuine fan of the National Health Service, but the John Radcliffe's creaking stegosaurus which is its administration seems to me signally in need of a rethink.

A new year

Before the media frenzy breaks tomorrow with the launch of the "eagerly awaited" - listen out for that phrase - it could be part of their press hype - report of the phoney Falconer "commission" (it's already been launched - or "advertorialised" as Peter Saunders pungently put it - in The Telegraph and The Observer), time for me to reflect in the lull.

With Jane's broken collar-bone I've entered the realm of employing a carer. Ralph comes in to give me my stretches, get me up, dressed and down to breakfast, leaving after I've been to the toilet. My usual chair's been replaced (again) with the riser-recliner so that Jane doesn't have to haul me on to my rollator. So most of the day is spent here, where I'm sitting, with necessary toilet breaks, of course, (sorry to mention it again), until Rachel gets me ready for and in to bed. It's the first time someone who's not family has had to deal with me like this, and I wondered whether I'd find it embarrassing or undignified as some people seem to. Or would I feel I was being "man-handled" like Tony Nicklinson? I have to report I felt none of those.

It seems to me it's largely a matter of attitude rather than reality. I'm not minimising the experience of dependency and diminishing powers. However we are simply mistaken to call it undignified. Actually, as Archbishop Cranmer says, there's Dignity in Living (as opposed to the mantra Dignity in dying).

On a lighter note, yesterday my three brothers and their wives came to lunch. We try to meet up once a year after Christmas - saves on postage for the presents! Because Jane couldn't drive, we changed our original West Country venue to here, with the others doing all the catering. It worked well - and we're still left with remnants of the meal.

My brothers and I still enjoy giving each other presents: I gave them a jolly little monkey that waddles along playing a pair of cymbals. (I can't work out whether he's like me or Lord Falconer. Like me he's wobbly on his feet; like the peer he looks good but does a lot of banging to little effect.)

One of them gave me a proxy goat, another a clock which has a different bird singing every hour (now banished to the conservatory), and the third "The Perfect Man", which has the following verses attached:

"They say good men are hard to find.
I know this to be true
But I hunted far and wide
And found one just for you!

He is no good at DIY,
He cannot fix the car;
But his socks are never smelly
And he doesn't stray too far.

He always listens patiently,
He won't pester you in bed
And if you get fed up with him -
You just bite off his head!"


It was, in case you'd not guessed, a packet of five of these cheery fellows. . . .

I wish you a cheerful new year.