Cathy Beesey

Founder Stories Connecting Us

The doctor

I watch Anton slowly and painfully take a seat. He is so fragile, my heart breaks. A patient for over twenty years with very few health issues, Anton is now fighting for his life. I watched him walk along the short corridor to my office. This is what I do, it often tells more than viewing the latest test results. I observe unsteadiness, slowness and distress in every step. Confusion and fear surround his very being. 

My professional demeanour is in control as I inquire, ‘How are you?’ It seems such an inadequate question; I have no other. His eyes adjust to my face, and I see in him sadness and determination. In that croaky voice, I have come to know, Anton states, ‘My death is getting closer every day. I have feared this, it feels for so long. I do not want to live like this. I do not want my family to watch me suffer more than they already have. It is time to end my life. This is my decision.’ A single tear falls from his right eye and rolls down his cheek. He seems to not have the strength to brush it away. 

My brow furrowed, the professional part knows what to say, the steps to follow. The internal compassionate part cannot find the words. I cannot hug him as I did my mother as she was dying. I open my mouth hoping against all hope words will form, but before I can speak Anton continues, ‘I need you to talk with my family. I haven’t told them my wishes. My wife, Louisa has hope of recovery. She cannot accept I will die. My children, beautiful daughter and darling son do not want to know what I struggle with. Their fear won’t let them. Can you talk with them? With me?’ 

‘Anton, I cannot imagine what this is like for you. I will do whatever you need.’ A sad smile on Anton’s face reassures me, although I am not the one to be reassured. This isn’t the way it is meant to be. Anton and I are the same age, sixty-two. I look at his records and realise he is only two months older than me. 

The technical details are worked through. I will meet with Anton and his family in their home and introduce the idea of euthanasia; I will begin the paperwork and follow it through with his specialists; and I will be the one to be there when the time comes for Anton to leave this world. 

Anton

In the waiting room I think the thought I always do in this situation, not another bloody doctor’s appointment. This one will be very different. I am not waiting on test results to be told the cancer has returned. It has returned more powerful than it had been. Six months to live the specialist said. Six months seemed such a short time when I was healthy. I have lived a life that has been wonderful although not perfect. I took my health for granted. I worked hard and played hard. I love my wife and children with all my heart although I haven’t always been kind. I have criticised and ridiculed them. And still they have loved me. Louisa said to me the other day that I have softened since diagnosed with cancer. I think that it is that I am exhausted, too exhausted to be harsh.

I hear Marilyn gently say my name as she touches my shoulder, ‘Hello Anton, I am pleased to see you.’ Twenty years I have known this woman as she has fixed any annoying health condition my family and I have had. This time there is no fixing. For five years I called her doctor and for five years she responded with, ‘Marilyn.’ This makes me smile for only a moment as I begin the arduous task of standing and viewing what seems like a very long corridor, with exhaustion overwhelming when all I want to do is sit in my comfortable chair at home with Louisa by my side. 

Once I am settled, I notice Marilyn’s face and see confusion, and for the first time it is as though she doesn’t have words. She knows my latest results and it is as if the words won’t come until finally, ‘How are you, Anton?’ I want to scream and cry and bang my fist on her desk with a response to this most ridiculous question with my own ridiculous question, ‘How do you think?’ But I don’t do any of this, I sigh and ask Marilyn to help me tell my family that I am ready to die. The words stick in my throat. My guilt overwhelms with the selfishness of my decision. 

Marilyn my doctor does what she does best. We get down to the business of planning a death. A plan I never thought would be one I would make. 

Copyright Cathy Beesey, July 2026. All rights reserved; this intellectual property belongs solely to Cathy Beesey

I was inspired to write this piece after listiening to a member of our writing group share a piece with the same story with two very different voices – a mother and daughter.