Voluntary

“Shit,” Johnathan muttered as his watch came off his wrist again and hit the wet pavement with a clink. He never swore around his kids but Sophie had bought that watch for him for their tenth anniversary, their third last. The original leather watch band was cancelled.

Johnathan picked up his watch, sniffed, and licked the salty raindrops off his lip. The bus was late again. He sighed and gazed up the road to his shiny blue Tesla that he hadn’t driven in eight months, since the revelations at the lithium mine had come out. And it was less than three years since he’d had to dump his previous ‘petrol polluter’.

Except he had driven it. Just as Sophie’s aunt’s video denouncing her daughter’s work in the beef industry had been a sham, just to end months of job hunting. It had gotten her the job, but her daughter stopped speaking to her.

There was no sign of the bus and he was going to be late to meet Principal Hearting. He did not want to give her another reason to hate his kids. Five more minutes and he would drive.

After ten, he checked for neighbours, hitched up his satchel and ran to the car.

“…outrageous!” said the radio announcer. “In today’s day and age, after all the supposed progress we’ve made, people - a doctor - feels he has the right to violate patient autonomy. It’s utterly disgusting. If you listener, would like to add your thoughts to this discussion, please call 1800 344 344, that’s 1800 344 344. And remember, no bigotry or offensive comments or your number may be passed on to the authorities.”

Johnathan half listened as he drove, keeping an eye out for familiar faces. He didn’t go in to the office much but he still couldn’t afford to be seen. As a computer scientist whose main job was to create a program to make himself obsolete, he could work mostly from home. His kids were not so lucky.

This was the first time Francis was the reason he was being called in. Oldest of his three boys, he always seemed least affected by losing his mother. With his father’s maths brain, Francis had still managed to thrive somewhat, and was as quiet as little Humphrey was loud. Francis had reacted to his mother’s death by retreating into himself. Humphrey just fought the world. And Richard, the beautiful soul, just floated. None of his teachers had a clue what to do with him.

Tuck in your shirt came Sophie’s voice as Johnathan walked the last block. When Sophie was alive he’d never looked like this. Lucky she wasn’t here to see him go into a meeting with the principal in this faded, stained, grey polo. He stopped and tucked in his shirt.

“Come in Mr Forrest,” said Ms Hearting, with a professional smile.

“Francis, Francis, what have you done,” he smiled at his son’s stubborn expression, under a tangle of hair much like his own and squeezed his shoulder.

“Mr Forrest? Are you saying you haven’t been on Twitter in the last three hours?” asked the principal.

“Um, your secretary mentioned something about fighting, not Twitter,” said Johnathan.

“Well, I assume she thought you knew about his public Twitter post at 10:28 this morning,” and she raised her phone to show him her screen. At the top was the following post.

Johnathan read it. Then re-read it.

“I’m sorry, I think I must be missing something here.”

“Doctors should save people, not kill them!?” said Ms Hearting incredulously.

“Um,” David looked at his son. Francis got whatever was going on. “Doctors should … I don’t know.”

“Hashtag I stand with Doctor Parsons!?” quoted Ms Hearting, outraged now.

“Sorry, who - who is Doctor Parsons?” asked David.

Francis answered, his voice low, fired with disgust “He’s a doctor who lost his licence because he wouldn’t kill a patient. She was depressed and asked him to kill her and he wouldn’t. So they took away his licence and now he might go to jail.”

“Voluntary assisted dying,” nodded Johnathan. Things were clicking into place. “But … did you fight another student?”

“Oh, boys fight all the time,” interrupted Ms Hearting. “But what we can’t tolerate is a public post by a student in support of a doctor who has been unanimously cancelled!”

“I wasn’t fighting, I was trying to get this back!” and he held up the heart shaped locket on a now broken gold chain and David’s heart skipped a beat.

“Someone took Mum’s locket?”

“He snatched it right off my neck! And he said that Mum probably volunteered to die too, rather than be mum to a hate speaker like me!”

David gripped the arms of his chair until he thought he could speak without shouting. “And what consequence is this other student receiving?”

“As I said, boys fight all the time…”

“Not my Francis! That was bullying of the most vicious kind and my son was defending himself and taking back what was stollen from him…”

“Mr Forrest.” She principal-glared him back into his seat. “That is not why you are here. You are here because the school cannot tolerate a current student supporting a doctor who violated patient autonomy. Even if I personally could tolerate it, the school cannot afford to be cancelled along with one depressed boy who can’t think straight.”

“Along with…? But Francis isn’t cancelled, this doctor is!”

“Oh really? Then why is the school’s page littered with comments from outraged parents calling for Francis to be expelled? Why are his friends turning on him?”

Johnathan opened his mouth but no words came out.

“They are, Dad. It was Nathan. Nathan was the one who said it and broke Mum’s locket off my neck.”

“Nathan said that?” Johnathan could hardly breathe.

“Your son has so far refused to take down the post. I insist that he take it down and issue a public apology before he returns to classes. If he complies, he will receive a three-day suspension, and no more. If he fails to comply within twenty-four hours, I’m sorry but he will no longer be welcome at our school.”

Johnathan stared at her. Then, “SHE WAS A MOTHER!” Francis shouted, “OF THREE KIDS! The doctor didn’t say he wouldn’t treat her, he wanted to help her live! He wanted to save her. He just didn’t want…didn’t want…” Francis dropped his head into his hands. Then a moment later he was out of his chair, heading for the door. “Suspend me. Expel me. Whatever.”

“I’m sorry,” said Johnathan. “I’ll talk to him.” And he followed his son out the door.

Francis snorted when he saw the car. They got in and drove off in silence.

“She’s…awful,” Johnathan ventured.

Silence.

“Stupid school. Stupid world eh?”

Silence.

“I’m sorry Francis. I’m sorry Nathan turned on you like that. It’s just shocking. You’ve been friends for how many years? And he comes out with that.”

“And breaks Mum’s necklace”. Francis’s voice cracked as he whispered. He held it up, the small gold heart-shaped locket, now with two dangling chains. Johnathan thought of the tiny, happy family photo it contained and gulped to steady himself.

“Dad, mum didn’t die…voluntarily, did she?”

“Francis! No way! I was there. When she was hit, she didn’t have much of a chance. The car had rolled all the way down the hill. She fought for life. And the doctors fought to save her too. I saw her fight for life, Francis. She fought right to the end.” Johnathan had to stop talking.

“Dad,” said Francis, “Don’t you agree? Doctors should save people? Not kill them. How can I be cancelled for thinking something as basic as that?”

“I know Francis,” said Johnathan, turning to face his son. “It’s shit, it’s…”

And then the truck loomed large and the-last-thing-Francis- heard-me-say-was-shit-and-I-never-

Pain.

Pain. Sirens. Pain.

Voices, lights. Moving. Pain.

Someone grabbing. Someone moaning. A stretcher. Blackness. Pain.

Voices, wheeling down a corridor. Pain.

“Fuhhhh.” Francis, Where’s Francis?

“He’s conscious! He just said something.”

“Fuhhhh.” Francis.

“Dad?”

He couldn’t see but the sound of that voice made him sob with relief. Pain.

“Dad, your hurt. Dad, stay with me. We need you. We need you, you hear me? Don’t die, now. Don’t you dare die Dad.” His voice was growing fainter. “Humphrey’s just eleven, I’m just sixteen. You’re all we have in the world Dad! Don’t you dare die!”

Of course. No way would Johnathan be dying today. No way. That note of panic in his son’s voice, distant now, cut through the pain.

“Wha?” he gasped.

“Sir, this is Doctor Fantle here. You’ve been hit by a truck and I’m sorry to say you are very badly injured. We can operate now but your chances of survival are approximately twenty percent.”

Twenty per cent. Bring it on. I’ve got three kids.

“You should know that even if you do survive your quality of life will be very low. You will experience chronic pain which no known medication can alleviate. Alternatively, I can offer you a painless one-time injection and way out from all pain.”

Painless injection? As if he would notice….a one-time way out? Was this doctor offering to kill him?

“Urrrn” No.

“In addition, the intensive care ward at this hospital has a shortage of beds and you would be taking precious resources from patients with a far higher chance of survival.”

“It is my job to advise you. I can assure you that the most rational course at this point is to skip the surgery and months or even years of pain where you will most likely die anyway. Much better to take up voluntary assisted dying now.”

No! “Urrrgh!”

My boys! “Urr urrgh!” He tried to shake his head. His body spasmed in pain.

“Gentlemen. I’m taking that as a yes. You are all witnesses, here…”(the sound of a pen signing something), “and here Sullivan,” (more signing). Now, any medical professionals with a desire to violate patient autonomy? Anyone want to throw their lot in with ex-Doctor Parsons?”

Nervous laughter.

No!

“No. Didn’t think so.”

NO! “O”

“Don’t worry sir, this won’t hurt a bit. In fact, the pain is about to stop at last.”

“No! Humphrey! Richard! Fraaanciiiiiisssss!!!!!”