The last day

The clock on the wall read 5:10 AM. The dark sky, once a deep navy, gradually lightened, signaling the approach of dawn. Alexander had spent most of his working life as a bus driver, typically starting his shifts before sunrise, especially during the colder months when the days were shorter. He favoured the sunrise over the sunset, probably because it leads into the day instead of the night. However, everything changed when he was diagnosed with lung cancer, which ultimately compelled him to stop working and focus on his treatment. After enduring several years of intense therapies, including heavy chemotherapy, radiotherapy, and immunotherapy, Alexander confronted the harsh reality of his cancer spreading to other organs. Now, he found himself in the palliative care ward of the hospital, grappling with the painful truth of his situation and the diminishing hope of recovery.

Alexander's past year had been a challenging one. At first, he could take a few steps with the help of an oxygen tank, which was crucial for maintaining a sense of independence. However, over time, his condition consistently deteriorated, leading to a significant decline in his health. He was now mostly confined to bed and needed almost constant help from caregivers. This decline had turned even simple tasks into monumental efforts; every movement he made demanded incredible energy and resolve. Speaking had also become a significant hurdle, frequently interrupted by coughs and shortness of breath, requiring tremendous effort to say even just a few words.

As he did not believe in the afterlife and was feeling weary of his terminal illness, he requested to be euthanized. However, authorities do not grant such requests lightly. His request was approved only after multiple doctors and specialists evaluated his health and concurred on his slim chances of recovery. After a few months of agony, the authorities finally granted permission for him to be euthanized. Therefore, today was the date scheduled for his euthanasia and the end of his life.

Alexander fought against the pain and his breathlessness, and with great effort, he sat on his bed to get a better view of the sky through the window. Although the window faced north instead of east, he could still see the sky growing brighter, which was enough for him. As he watched the early morning sky brighten, his mind drifted back in time, recalling both good and bad memories. Alexander remembered his time in school and high school, as well as his university studies in applied physics. He recalled the first time he noticed Sarah in Chemistry 101, their initial encounter, love, and marriage. He remembered the birth of their first child, Thomas, who is now a physician living and working in London, and just two years later, the birth of their second child, Maria, who now lives with her husband and two children in France.

Alexander recalled their decision to immigrate to Australia and the challenge of adjusting to the new environment. He tried diligently to find a job in his field of education. He even attended university and earned a master's degree in applied physics. However, he could not secure a position, so he returned to school to pursue a graduate diploma in education to become a high school science teacher. He later recognized that teaching in public high schools, especially in lower-income suburbs, posed a significant challenge that affected his mental health. Most of his class time was spent on classroom management rather than teaching. Some students even complained about his accent, falsely asserting they could not understand him. To preserve his sanity, he eventually left teaching and soon began driving a bus for the Department of Transport. He continued in that role, supporting his family, until his health prevented him from doing so. He sadly recalled when his wife, Sarah, passed away from a sudden stroke. She was only fifty-two years old.

It was his time to go, and he felt no regret or sadness. However, reflecting on his life, he wished that what religions claimed was true. He didn't believe that having a religion was inherently good for his soul or was a ticket to heaven. He dismissed such notions, and no one could change his mind. But if the afterlife existed, he would reunite with his late wife and parents, whom he missed dearly.

"Are you okay, Alexander?" Tina, the night shift nurse, asked as she walked into his room to do her end-of-shift last check.

"I'm fine, thank you, Tina," he replied, though his voice was faint and trembling.

"Do you need my help to lie back in bed?" she offered, her brow slightly furrowed with concern.

"No, I'm watching the sunrise," he said, interrupted by a few coughs.

"But from this window, you cannot see the sunrise," she replied.

"I know. Still, I can see the sky getting brighter," he said, a faint smile crossing his lips as he continued to watch the sky.

"Sure," Tina responded.

"After all, this is my last morning," Alexander stated matter-of-factly.

"We are going to miss you, Alexander," Tina said softly, her heart aching for the patient who had become so much more than just a resident in the ward. Alexander was a kind and polite man and was loved by all the workers in the ward.

"There's no need to be sad. Death is a part of the life cycle. My body will return to nature, and later, the elements and atoms that make it up will contribute to the formation of other life forms," Alexander explained, his voice steady, revealing his acceptance.

"I also believe in reincarnation," Tina responded. "A few years ago, when I spent time in Nepal, I converted to Buddhism, which has brought me peace in understanding life and death."

"Good for you. If I were to choose a religion, it would be Buddhism. But I am a scientist and believe in science. I was only referring to the carbon cycle," he asserted, though a fit of coughing and shortness of breath interrupted him as he spoke.

"I see," the nurse said softly, a hint of empathy breaking through her professional demeanor. "Call me if you need me."

Alexander nodded, grateful for her kindness. He felt a blend of peace and sorrow as he gazed out the window, watching the world awaken while the light of his life was about to be extinguished.

"Good morning, Alexander," James McDonald, the hospital's clinical psychologist, said as he walked into the room.

"Good morning, James. How are you?"

"I'm fine. How are you, Alexander?"

"Fine. However, health-wise, I remain the same as before. Nothing has changed."

James nodded and said, "You know, today is the day…." But he didn't finish his sentence. Even as a veteran psychologist, he found talking about death uneasy.

"Yes, it's my euthanasia day."

James nodded again.

"My last day on earth," Alexander said.

"How do you feel about it?" James asked.

"Nothing special. However, lately, I've been thinking about death," Alexander stated.

"What do you mean?"

"We know that on the last day of life, the organs of the dying person shut down one by one, leading ultimately to their death."

"Yes!" James replied, curious about the direction of his discussion.

"In my case, injecting specific medications will cause all my organs to stop functioning instantaneously."

"I suppose that's how it is!"

"I believe that for those who pass away naturally, their brains begin to dream and revisit stored memories. A dying person reminisces about these memories, much like in a dream, until they gradually fade into nothingness.

"I suppose!" James didn't know how to reply.

"In my case, I sense that my brain will shut down, much like a computer abruptly disconnected from its power source. There will be no gradual descent into nothingness."

"I know nothing about death, so I am not in a position to comment," James remarked.

"I'm just sharing my thoughts."

"I see," James replied. He then added, "Alexander, do you regret your decision?"

"I regret not taking better care of my health. I regret smoking. Both of my parents died from cancer, so I should have expected it might happen to me. However, I don't regret my choice to be euthanized."

"Don't you think ending your life is a bad thing, or perhaps even a sin?" "No. Throughout my life, I have gradually lost faith in the supernatural. I do not believe in an afterlife or the existence of a soul. Science has found no evidence to support the idea of an afterlife or the concept of a soul."

"Don't you think there is a fifty percent chance of the afterlife being true?"

"I didn't expect this comment from you, James!"

"Why?" James replied, confused.

"I'm sure you completed some math and statistics subjects at university, right?"

"Yes, I did. Why?"

"Because you are confused about the distinction between possibility and probability."

"What do you mean?"

"If I tell you that if you check your lab coat's pocket, you will find a hundred-dollar bill there …"

"Okay," James said, subconsciously putting his right hand into the pocket of his lab coat.

"You might have left a hundred-dollar bill in your pocket a few days ago and forgotten all about it, only to find it again. However, the probability of finding the bill there is nearly zero."

"I see," James said, pondering the patient's rational response. "His cognitive abilities are still sharp," he thought.

Alexander coughed.

"So, you haven't changed your mind?"

"No, but if you tell me there's a miracle cure, I'll change my decision immediately," Alexander said, laughing. Coughs followed his laughter.

"Unfortunately, I don't have any good news," James replied sadly.

"I know; I'm just kidding."

After a lengthy silence, James said, "Okay, then. First, they bring you breakfast, and then we take you to the room prepared for the procedure."

His comment made Alexander laugh out loud, which was followed by a series of coughs that left him breathless.

"Are you okay, Alexander? Should I call the nurse?" James asked, worried about his condition.

After calming down a bit, Alexander replied, "I'm fine. There's no need to bother the nurse."

James inquired with curiosity. "What made you laugh?"

"It was your mention of breakfast that amused me."

"Breakfast! Why?"

"I found it comparable to the situation of prisoners on death row."

"I don't follow you!"

"They also get a meal before the execution," he said with a smile.

James nodded but remained silent. To change the topic of their conversation, he asked, "Is anyone coming to see you this morning?"

"No. I didn't tell anyone. Not even my children."

"Can I ask why?"

"Sure. First, it would make them sad, and they would try to persuade me to rethink my decision."

"Okay."

"Then, they live abroad. My son is a doctor in England, and my daughter lives in France. It would distress them and require them to leave their lives behind to come here."

"You are a thoughtful father."

"Thank you. I have lived neither better nor worse than others. I hold no regrets and have accepted my fate; I don't want my death to burden my children."

"I understand."

"I've arranged for my funeral and prepared my will, which I have left with the head nurse."

"Thank you for sharing that."

James quietly slipped out when the orderly entered the room with a tray filled with Alexander's breakfast. Unlike the typical bland fare usually served in the hospital, this breakfast was a feast for his senses. It featured not just the standard items but also an array of delicious extras: crispy bacon, perfectly cooked eggs, a cup of percolated coffee, a bowl of fruit, and, to Alexander's surprise, two scoops of creamy ice cream, one chocolate and the other vanilla, precisely as he liked. "How did they find out about my favorite ice cream?" Alexander pondered. Then he remembered that about two months ago, he had discussed his favorite foods and desserts with Tim, one of the palliative care nurses. "Thank you, Tim," he whispered. Though he wasn't hungry, he compelled himself to eat the feast the kind hospital staff had prepared for him.