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I begin by paying tribute to my late colleague Margo MacDonald and to Patrick Harvie, pioneers on the subject, to Liam McArthur, whose dignity has been extraordinary, and to all who have contributed so far.

I am 81 and more aware of my mortality than most other MSPs. I think about it quite regularly. My power of attorney is in place, my will is in place and the wee purple file where I keep all my wee secrets about where the money is hidden is there for my boys to find.

I repeat that I respect those with firm religious opposition to assisted dying but I know that, no matter how we amend the bill, they are never going to vote for it. That is it for them, so I want to speak to people who are on the cusp, or to the people who have said that they are in doubt and are not going to support the bill. I will speak to them. I have listened to the concerns about capacity, undue influence and coercion, mostly in the context of disability, both physical and mental, or of domestic abuse. I say to members that I am satisfied that the bill provides barriers and protections for those vulnerable groups and that I certainly would not vote for it if that were not the case. Indeed, if it is passed, I predict that this will be the most policed and most closely monitored legislation ever, and I welcome that.

The bill is about choice—the final choice for me and others who may wish to die if we have a terminal illness and are at the end of life. It is not about competing with or undermining palliative care. I am delighted that concerns about palliative care provision have been brought to the fore. If the bill is passed, and even if it is not, I will campaign for better funding and provision of palliative care for everyone.

The bill is about choice and neither of my parents had choice. One had a good death; the other had a very bad death.

Dad got up one Monday morning, made his bed, placed his pyjamas neatly under the pillow, set the breakfast table then sat down in his armchair with his cup of tea on one arm and a digestive biscuit on the other. His last words were a phone call to my brother. He told Tony that he felt not right, and the phone hit the floor. He died with his cup of tea and digestive biscuit barely touched, in his own chair, in his own home and surrounded by a gallery of family photos. It was our pain to find him there, not his, and, although it broke our hearts, we were grateful that it had happened that way.

Mum had cancer for months. She worsened and, for the last three weeks, was in the Western general hospital in Edinburgh, just waiting to die. She was told practically on arrival that they could do nothing but would try to make her as comfortable as possible. I saw her with my father almost every day. Only once did she express her fear, when she whispered to me, out of his earshot, “Christine, will there be pain?” I said, “No,” of course, but there was. Near the very end, Jim, the wonderful and understanding charge nurse took Dad, me, and my siblings Tony and Catriona aside and asked if he could “up the morphine” to help with the pain, although it would probably accelerate death. Together, we said, “Yes,” and we thanked him.

The First Minister knew my parents well, the good people who they were. In the case of my unassuming, uncomplaining mother, the family made the choice for her. She had no right to choose. That is all I want—the right to choose. I do not want to be like my mother, who was drug stupefied. We did not know whether she could hear us. I hope that I will have some control and dignity and be aware of my surroundings, with my sons, Angus from Canada and Niall from London, by my side. That must be my choice. It is not for everybody, but I would like it for me.

I say to members: please support the bill, and if you are in doubt, please do not stand in the way of it but abstain.

21:40

I begin by paying tribute to my late colleague Margo MacDonald and to Patrick Harvie, pioneers on the subject, to Liam McArthur, whose dignity has been extraordinary, and to all who have contributed so far.

I am 81 and more aware of my mortality than most other MSPs. I think about it quite regularly. My power of attorney is in place, my will is in place and the wee purple file where I keep all my wee secrets about where the money is hidden is there for my boys to find.

I repeat that I respect those with firm religious opposition to assisted dying but I know that, no matter how we amend the bill, they are never going to vote for it. That is it for them, so I want to speak to people who are on the cusp, or to the people who have said that they are in doubt and are not going to support the bill. I will speak to them. I have listened to the concerns about capacity, undue influence and coercion, mostly in the context of disability, both physical and mental, or of domestic abuse. I say to members that I am satisfied that the bill provides barriers and protections for those vulnerable groups and that I certainly would not vote for it if that were not the case. Indeed, if it is passed, I predict that this will be the most policed and most closely monitored legislation ever, and I welcome that.

The bill is about choice—the final choice for me and others who may wish to die if we have a terminal illness and are at the end of life. It is not about competing with or undermining palliative care. I am delighted that concerns about palliative care provision have been brought to the fore. If the bill is passed, and even if it is not, I will campaign for better funding and provision of palliative care for everyone.

The bill is about choice and neither of my parents had choice. One had a good death; the other had a very bad death.

Dad got up one Monday morning, made his bed, placed his pyjamas neatly under the pillow, set the breakfast table then sat down in his armchair with his cup of tea on one arm and a digestive biscuit on the other. His last words were a phone call to my brother. He told Tony that he felt not right, and the phone hit the floor. He died with his cup of tea and digestive biscuit barely touched, in his own chair, in his own home and surrounded by a gallery of family photos. It was our pain to find him there, not his, and, although it broke our hearts, we were grateful that it had happened that way.

Mum had cancer for months. She worsened and, for the last three weeks, was in the Western general hospital in Edinburgh, just waiting to die. She was told practically on arrival that they could do nothing but would try to make her as comfortable as possible. I saw her with my father almost every day. Only once did she express her fear, when she whispered to me, out of his earshot, “Christine, will there be pain?” I said, “No,” of course, but there was. Near the very end, Jim, the wonderful and understanding charge nurse took Dad, me, and my siblings Tony and Catriona aside and asked if he could “up the morphine” to help with the pain, although it would probably accelerate death. Together, we said, “Yes,” and we thanked him.

The First Minister knew my parents well, the good people who they were. In the case of my unassuming, uncomplaining mother, the family made the choice for her. She had no right to choose. That is all I want—the right to choose. I do not want to be like my mother, who was drug stupefied. We did not know whether she could hear us. I hope that I will have some control and dignity and be aware of my surroundings, with my sons, Angus from Canada and Niall from London, by my side. That must be my choice. It is not for everybody, but I would like it for me.

I say to members: please support the bill, and if you are in doubt, please do not stand in the way of it but abstain.

21:40

I begin by paying tribute to my late colleague Margo MacDonald and to Patrick Harvie, pioneers on the subject, to Liam McArthur, whose dignity has been extraordinary, and to all who have contributed so far.

I am 81 and more aware of my mortality than most other MSPs. I think about it quite regularly. My power of attorney is in place, my will is in place and the wee purple file where I keep all my wee secrets about where the money is hidden is there for my boys to find.

I repeat that I respect those with firm religious opposition to assisted dying but I know that, no matter how we amend the bill, they are never going to vote for it. That is it for them, so I want to speak to people who are on the cusp, or to the people who have said that they are in doubt and are not going to support the bill. I will speak to them. I have listened to the concerns about capacity, undue influence and coercion, mostly in the context of disability, both physical and mental, or of domestic abuse. I say to members that I am satisfied that the bill provides barriers and protections for those vulnerable groups and that I certainly would not vote for it if that were not the case. Indeed, if it is passed, I predict that this will be the most policed and most closely monitored legislation ever, and I welcome that.

The bill is about choice—the final choice for me and others who may wish to die if we have a terminal illness and are at the end of life. It is not about competing with or undermining palliative care. I am delighted that concerns about palliative care provision have been brought to the fore. If the bill is passed, and even if it is not, I will campaign for better funding and provision of palliative care for everyone.

The bill is about choice and neither of my parents had choice. One had a good death; the other had a very bad death.

Dad got up one Monday morning, made his bed, placed his pyjamas neatly under the pillow, set the breakfast table then sat down in his armchair with his cup of tea on one arm and a digestive biscuit on the other. His last words were a phone call to my brother. He told Tony that he felt not right, and the phone hit the floor. He died with his cup of tea and digestive biscuit barely touched, in his own chair, in his own home and surrounded by a gallery of family photos. It was our pain to find him there, not his, and, although it broke our hearts, we were grateful that it had happened that way.

Mum had cancer for months. She worsened and, for the last three weeks, was in the Western general hospital in Edinburgh, just waiting to die. She was told practically on arrival that they could do nothing but would try to make her as comfortable as possible. I saw her with my father almost every day. Only once did she express her fear, when she whispered to me, out of his earshot, “Christine, will there be pain?” I said, “No,” of course, but there was. Near the very end, Jim, the wonderful and understanding charge nurse took Dad, me, and my siblings Tony and Catriona aside and asked if he could “up the morphine” to help with the pain, although it would probably accelerate death. Together, we said, “Yes,” and we thanked him.

The First Minister knew my parents well, the good people who they were. In the case of my unassuming, uncomplaining mother, the family made the choice for her. She had no right to choose. That is all I want—the right to choose. I do not want to be like my mother, who was drug stupefied. We did not know whether she could hear us. I hope that I will have some control and dignity and be aware of my surroundings, with my sons, Angus from Canada and Neil from London, by my side. That must be my choice. It is not for everybody, but I would like it for me.

I say to members: please support the bill, and if you are in doubt, please do not stand in the way of it but abstain.

21:40

I begin by paying tribute to my late colleague Margo MacDonald and to Patrick Harvie, pioneers on the subject, to Liam McArthur, whose dignity has been extraordinary, and to all who have contributed so far.

I am 81 and more aware of my mortality than most other MSPs. I think about it quite regularly. My power of attorney is in place, my will is in place and the wee purple file where I keep all my wee secrets about where the money is hidden is there for my boys to find.

I repeat that I respect those with firm religious opposition to assisted dying but I know that, no matter how we amend the bill, they are never going to vote for it. That is it for them, so I want to speak to people who are on the cusp, or to the people who have said that they are in doubt and are not going to support the bill. I will speak to them. I have listened to the concerns about capacity, undue influence and coercion, mostly in the context of disability, both physical and mental, or of domestic abuse. I say to members that I am satisfied that the bill provides barriers and protections for those vulnerable groups and that I certainly would not vote for it if that were not the case. Indeed, if it is passed, I predict that this will be the most policed and most closely monitored legislation ever, and I welcome that.

The bill is about choice—the final choice for me and others who may wish to die if we have a terminal illness and are at the end of life. It is not about competing with or undermining palliative care. I am delighted that concerns about palliative care provision have been brought to the fore. If the bill is passed, and even if it is not, I will campaign for better funding and provision of palliative care for everyone.

The bill is about choice and neither of my parents had choice. One had a good death; the other had a very bad death.

Dad got up one Monday morning, made his bed, placed his pyjamas neatly under the pillow, set the breakfast table then sat down in his armchair with his cup of tea on one arm and a digestive biscuit on the other. His last words were a phone call to my brother. He told Tony that he felt not right, and the phone hit the floor. He died with his cup of tea and digestive biscuit barely touched, in his own chair, in his own home and surrounded by a gallery of family photos. It was our pain to find him there, not his, and, although it broke our hearts, we were grateful that it had happened that way.

Mum had cancer for months. She worsened and, for the last three weeks, was in the Western general hospital in Edinburgh, just waiting to die. She was told practically on arrival that they could do nothing but would try to make her as comfortable as possible. I saw her with my father almost every day. Only once did she express her fear, when she whispered to me, out of his earshot, “Christine, will there be pain?” I said, “No,” of course, but there was. Near the very end, Jim, the wonderful and understanding charge nurse took Dad, me, and my siblings Tony and Catriona aside and asked if he could “up the morphine” to help with the pain, although it would probably accelerate death. Together, we said, “Yes,” and we thanked him.

The First Minister knew my parents well, the good people who they were. In the case of my unassuming, uncomplaining mother, the family made the choice for her. She had no right to choose. That is all I want—the right to choose. I do not want to be like my mother, who was drug stupefied. We did not know whether she could hear us. I hope that I will have some control and dignity and be aware of my surroundings, with my sons, Angus from Canada and Niall from London, by my side. That must be my choice. It is not for everybody, but I would like it for me.

I say to members: please support the bill, and if you are in doubt, please do not stand in the way of it but abstain.

21:40

I begin by paying tribute to my late colleague Margo MacDonald and to Patrick Harvie, pioneers on the subject, to Liam McArthur, whose dignity has been extraordinary, and to all who have contributed so far.

I am 81 and more aware of my mortality than most other MSPs. I think about it quite regularly. My power of attorney is in place, my will is in place and the wee purple file where I keep all my wee secrets about where the money is hidden is there for my boys to find.

I repeat that I respect those with firm religious opposition to assisted dying but I know that, no matter how we amend the bill, they are never going to vote for it. That is it for them, so I want to speak to people who are on the cusp, or to the people who have said that they are in doubt and are not going to support the bill. I will speak to them. I have listened to the concerns about capacity, undue influence and coercion, mostly in the context of disability, both physical and mental, or of domestic abuse. I say to members that I am satisfied that the bill provides barriers and protections for those vulnerable groups and that I certainly would not vote for it if that were not the case. Indeed, if it is passed, I predict that this will be the most policed and most closely monitored legislation ever, and I welcome that.

The bill is about choice—the final choice for me and others who may wish to die if we have a terminal illness and are at the end of life. It is not about competing with or undermining palliative care. I am delighted that concerns about palliative care provision have been brought to the fore. If the bill is passed, and even if it is not, I will campaign for better funding and provision of palliative care for everyone.

The bill is about choice and neither of my parents had choice. One had a good death; the other had a very bad death.

Dad got up one Monday morning, made his bed, placed his pyjamas neatly under the pillow, set the breakfast table then sat down in his armchair with his cup of tea on one arm and a digestive biscuit on the other. His last words were a phone call to my brother. He told Tony that he felt not right, and the phone hit the floor. He died with his cup of tea and digestive biscuit barely touched, in his own chair, in his own home and surrounded by a gallery of family photos. It was our pain to find him there, not his, and, although it broke our hearts, we were grateful that it had happened that way.

Mum had cancer for months. She worsened and, for the last three weeks, was in the Western general hospital in Edinburgh, just waiting to die. She was told practically on arrival that they could do nothing but would try to make her as comfortable as possible. I saw her with my father almost every day. Only once did she express her fear, when she whispered to me, out of his earshot, “Christine, will there be pain?” I said, “No,” of course, but there was. Near the very end, Jim, the wonderful and understanding charge nurse took Dad, me, and my siblings Tony and Catriona aside and asked if he could “up the morphine” to help with the pain, although it would probably accelerate death. Together, we said, “Yes,” and we thanked him.

The First Minister knew my parents well, the good people who they were. In the case of my unassuming, uncomplaining mother, the family made the choice for her. She had no right to choose. That is all I want—the right to choose. I do not want to be like my mother, who was drug stupefied. We did not know whether she could hear us. I hope that I will have some control and dignity and be aware of my surroundings, with my sons, Angus from Canada and Neil from London, by my side. That must be my choice. It is not for everybody, but I would like it for me.

I say to members: please support the bill, and if you are in doubt, please do not stand in the way of it but abstain.

21:40

I begin by paying tribute to my late colleague Margo MacDonald and to Patrick Harvie, pioneers on the subject, to Liam McArthur, whose dignity has been extraordinary, and to all who have contributed so far.

I am 81 and more aware of my mortality than most other MSPs. I think about it quite regularly. My power of attorney is in place, my will is in place and the wee purple file where I keep all my wee secrets about where the money is hidden is there for my boys to find.

I repeat that I respect those with firm religious opposition to assisted dying but I know that, no matter how we amend the bill, they are never going to vote for it. That is it for them, so I want to speak to people who are on the cusp, or to the people who have said that they are in doubt and are not going to support the bill. I will speak to them. I have listened to the concerns about capacity, undue influence and coercion, mostly in the context of disability, both physical and mental, or of domestic abuse. I say to members that I am satisfied that the bill provides barriers and protections for those vulnerable groups and that I certainly would not vote for it if that were not the case. Indeed, if it is passed, I predict that this will be the most policed and most closely monitored legislation ever, and I welcome that.

The bill is about choice—the final choice for me and others who may wish to die if we have a terminal illness and are at the end of life. It is not about competing with or undermining palliative care. I am delighted that concerns about palliative care provision have been brought to the fore. If the bill is passed, and even if it is not, I will campaign for better funding and provision of palliative care for everyone.

The bill is about choice and neither of my parents had choice. One had a good death; the other had a very bad death.

Dad got up one Monday morning, made his bed, placed his pyjamas neatly under the pillow, set the breakfast table then sat down in his armchair with his cup of tea on one arm and a digestive biscuit on the other. His last words were a phone call to my brother. He told Tony that he felt not right, and the phone hit the floor. He died with his cup of tea and digestive biscuit barely touched, in his own chair, in his own home and surrounded by a gallery of family photos. It was our pain to find him there, not his, and, although it broke our hearts, we were grateful that it had happened that way.

Mum had cancer for months. She worsened and, for the last three weeks, was in the Western general hospital in Edinburgh, just waiting to die. She was told practically on arrival that they could do nothing but would try to make her as comfortable as possible. I saw her with my father almost every day. Only once did she express her fear, when she whispered to me, out of his earshot, “Christine, will there be pain?” I said, “No,” of course, but there was. Near the very end, Jim, the wonderful and understanding charge nurse took Dad, me, and my siblings Tony and Catriona aside and asked if he could “up the morphine” to help with the pain, although it would probably accelerate death. Together, we said, “Yes,” and we thanked him.

The First Minister knew my parents well, the good people who they were. In the case of my unassuming, uncomplaining mother, the family made the choice for her. She had no right to choose. That is all I want—the right to choose. I do not want to be like my mother, who was drug stupefied. We did not know whether she could hear us. I hope that I will have some control and dignity and be aware of my surroundings, with my sons, Angus from Canada and Neil from London, by my side. That must be my choice. It is not for everybody, but I would like it for me.

I say to members: please support the bill, and if you are in doubt, please do not stand in the way of it but abstain.

21:40

On a point of order, Deputy Presiding Officer. I could not connect. I would have voted no.

I begin by paying tribute to my late colleague Margo MacDonald and to Patrick Harvie, pioneers on the subject, to Liam McArthur, whose dignity has been extraordinary, and to all who have contributed so far.

I am 81 and more aware of my mortality than most other MSPs. I think about it quite regularly. My power of attorney is in place, my will is in place and the wee purple file where I keep all my wee secrets about where the money is hidden is there for my boys to find.

I repeat that I respect those with firm religious opposition to assisted dying but I know that, no matter how we amend the bill, they are never going to vote for it. That is it for them, so I want to speak to people who are on the cusp, or to the people who have said that they are in doubt and are not going to support the bill. I will speak to them. I have listened to the concerns about capacity, undue influence and coercion, mostly in the context of disability, both physical and mental, or of domestic abuse. I say to members that I am satisfied that the bill provides barriers and protections for those vulnerable groups and that I certainly would not vote for it if that were not the case. Indeed, if it is passed, I predict that this will be the most policed and most closely monitored legislation ever, and I welcome that.

The bill is about choice—the final choice for me and others who may wish to die if we have a terminal illness and are at the end of life. It is not about competing with or undermining palliative care. I am delighted that concerns about palliative care provision have been brought to the fore. If the bill is passed, and even if it is not, I will campaign for better funding and provision of palliative care for everyone.

The bill is about choice and neither of my parents had choice. One had a good death; the other had a very bad death.

Dad got up one Monday morning, made his bed, placed his pyjamas neatly under the pillow, set the breakfast table then sat down in his armchair with his cup of tea on one arm and a digestive biscuit on the other. His last words were a phone call to my brother. He told Tony that he felt not right, and the phone hit the floor. He died with his cup of tea and digestive biscuit barely touched, in his own chair, in his own home and surrounded by a gallery of family photos. It was our pain to find him there, not his, and, although it broke our hearts, we were grateful that it had happened that way.

Mum had cancer for months. She worsened and, for the last three weeks, was in the Western general hospital in Edinburgh, just waiting to die. She was told practically on arrival that they could do nothing but would try to make her as comfortable as possible. I saw her with my father almost every day. Only once did she express her fear, when she whispered to me, out of his earshot, “Christine, will there be pain?” I said, “No,” of course, but there was. Near the very end, Jim, the wonderful and understanding charge nurse took Dad, me, and my siblings Tony and Catriona aside and asked if he could “up the morphine” to help with the pain, although it would probably accelerate death. Together, we said, “Yes,” and we thanked him.

The First Minister knew my parents well, the good people who they were. In the case of my unassuming, uncomplaining mother, the family made the choice for her. She had no right to choose. That is all I want—the right to choose. I do not want to be like my mother, who was drug stupefied. We did not know whether she could hear us. I hope that I will have some control and dignity and be aware of my surroundings, with my sons, Angus from Canada and Niall from London, by my side. That must be my choice. It is not for everybody, but I would like it for me.

I say to members: please support the bill, and if you are in doubt, please do not stand in the way of it but abstain.

21:40

Will the member give way?

I think that Murdo Fraser should consider that, if the mental state of somebody with a terminal illness is such that they have been driven to suicidal thoughts, that will be part of the assessment of capacity that will be undertaken by two of the medical practitioners, at the very least, with referrals, perhaps, to social work and others under the guidance. This is not a blank cheque. There are measures in place to ensure mental capacity.

13:45