Latest news with #AprilHubbard
CTV News
13-06-2025
- Entertainment
- CTV News
Nova Scotia artist delays MAID to accept Governor General's honour
April Hubbard, performance artist, arts administrator, and disability advocate, poses in Halifax on Wednesday, June 11, 2025. Hubbard is being recognized for her volunteer work in the performing arts with a Governor General Performing Arts Award. THE CANADIAN PRESS/Darren Calabrese April Hubbard changed the plan for her death so she could be there to celebrate her life's work at one of Canada's most prestigious arts ceremonies. The 40-year-old arts administrator and performer had pre-recorded her acceptance speech for the Governor General's Performing Arts Awards because she had expected to receive medical assistance in dying before Saturday's gala. 'It's only in the last few weeks that I said, well, maybe I can make it. Can we consider this and make it happen?' she said in a video call from her home in Halifax. 'It's a very strange experience to go back and rewrite an acceptance speech that you didn't think you'd be alive to see.' Hubbard has qualified for MAID because she has tethered cord syndrome, a degenerative disorder of the nervous system resulting from a condition she was born with, spina bifida. While the condition isn't fatal, it causes tissue to attach to the spine, restricting movement and causing severe chronic pain. The condition cut short her acting career at age 17, when she started using a wheelchair. She'd fallen in love with the theatre three years earlier after her mother voluntold her to serve as a script prompter for a community theatre production of 'Drinking Alone.' Throughout high school, she acted, stage managed and did everything she could to be in the theatre. But once she started using a wheelchair, she said she got the message that there was no longer a place for her on stage. 'Every opportunity I had in the arts in Nova Scotia to be on stage dried up when I became visibly disabled,' she said. 'At that point, I had to switch to arts administration just as a way of still being involved in some way and find a way to still have my soul fed by the arts,' she said. 'That was the only place that there was room for me: behind the scenes where I wasn't visible.' In those behind-the-scenes roles, she's fought to make Halifax's theatre scene more accessible to disabled audiences and performers alike. 'When I did get a little foot in the door in any organization, it was the drive to bring others with me who were still not being heard and still not getting through the space,' she said. '(I was) always thinking about, 'OK, I wasn't let into this space, but next year, if I'm here, who will I be welcoming in?'' Hubbard started volunteering at the Halifax Fringe Festival in 2003, and eventually became its chair. Over the years she was involved with the festival, the organization committed to only using venues that were fully accessible, and trained volunteers to be sighted guides to people who are blind or low-vision. She was also consulted when the Bus Stop Theatre co-op bought a building. They brought her on to make sure the space was accessible for both audiences and performers. At the beginning of her advocacy, she said, she was one of the only voices in the room. That's changed over time, as she's found others doing similar work. Those people have made it possible for her to rest when she needs to, she said, 'knowing there's other people out there who will still advocate as well.' Hubbard was also able to return to performance. It started in 2019, when the founders of LEGacy Circus reached out to her. They were training instructors on how to work with performers with atypical bodies and they asked Hubbard for help, she said. As soon as she touched the trapeze, she fell in love. Hubbard and her circus partner Vanessa Furlong started to work together, and soon she was performing publicly for the first time as an adult. She approached her art with thoughtfulness, in contrast to her teenage self taking whatever role came her way. 'In my circus practice, I'd make a really big part of it showing my body fully and not hiding its differences,' she said. She wanted the audience to think about how her being on stage was different from an able-bodied performer — and why it was so uncommon to see. 'It felt very much like returning home,' she said. 'And I didn't realize until I got back onstage just how much I had kind of quieted a part of my soul.' When COVID-19 hit, she didn't want to give that up. She'd been so accepted in the world of circus that she looked for another space that was welcoming to 'outsiders.' She'd done ticketing for drag shows in Halifax for years, so she was very familiar with the local scene and had long thought about becoming a drag artist herself. But at the time, she wasn't able to get onto most of the stages because of her wheelchair. So during the pandemic, when everyone was cooped up inside and drag artists started performing virtually, Hubbard developed her drag persona, Crip Tease. 'It was really amazing to get to do, to be creative at a time that everybody had those same limitations, everybody had to think about 'how am I going to make my art happen?' And it kind of evened the playing field in a lot of ways for me as a disabled artist,' she said. But since then, Hubbard's health has deteriorated. Her pain has worsened, and she's no longer able to perform. That pain led her to pursue a medically assisted death in 2023, and she qualified under Track 2, which is for people whose condition is grievous and irremediable but whose death is not imminent. That's given her some flexibility. She doesn't have a date set, she said, though she still plans to die later this year. Extending her life also means extending her pain, which she describes as a constant burning and pulling sensation. When it's at its worst, she said, it feels like her legs are being sent through a meat grinder. She's been resting up for the last several weeks to be able to make the journey to Ottawa, where she'll accept the Ramon John Hnatyshyn Award for Voluntarism in the Performing Arts in person. Others honourees include musician Jeremy Dutcher, music producer Bob Ezrin and Oscar-nominated actor Graham Greene. 'I'm very aware of the fact that most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime,' Hubbard said. 'They never get to experience the joy of hearing how much people appreciate them and their work. And those things are usually only said after somebody has already passed. So it feels like a real blessing to get to hear all that and to be here to experience all of those moments.' This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 12, 2025. By Nicole Thompson
Hamilton Spectator
12-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Hamilton Spectator
April Hubbard delayed MAID to accept Governor General's honour: ‘Most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime'
April Hubbard changed the plan for her death so she could be there to celebrate her life's work at one of Canada's most prestigious arts ceremonies. The 40-year-old arts administrator and performer had pre-recorded her acceptance speech for the Governor General's Performing Arts Awards because she had expected to receive medical assistance in dying before Saturday's gala. 'It's only in the last few weeks that I said, well, maybe I can make it. Can we consider this and make it happen?' she said in a video call from her home in Halifax. 'It's a very strange experience to go back and rewrite an acceptance speech that you didn't think you'd be alive to see.' Hubbard has qualified for MAID because she has tethered cord syndrome, a degenerative disorder of the nervous system resulting from a condition she was born with, spina bifida. While the condition isn't fatal, it causes tissue to attach to the spine, restricting movement and causing severe chronic pain. The condition cut short her acting career at age 17, when she started using a wheelchair. She'd fallen in love with the theatre three years earlier after her mother voluntold her to serve as a script prompter for a community theatre production of 'Drinking Alone.' Throughout high school, she acted, stage managed and did everything she could to be in the theatre. But once she started using a wheelchair, she said she got the message that there was no longer a place for her on stage. 'Every opportunity I had in the arts in Nova Scotia to be on stage dried up when I became visibly disabled,' she said. 'At that point, I had to switch to arts administration just as a way of still being involved in some way and find a way to still have my soul fed by the arts,' she said. 'That was the only place that there was room for me: behind the scenes where I wasn't visible.' In those behind-the-scenes roles, she's fought to make Halifax's theatre scene more accessible to disabled audiences and performers alike. 'When I did get a little foot in the door in any organization, it was the drive to bring others with me who were still not being heard and still not getting through the space,' she said. '(I was) always thinking about, 'OK, I wasn't let into this space, but next year, if I'm here, who will I be welcoming in?'' Hubbard started volunteering at the Halifax Fringe Festival in 2003, and eventually became its chair. Over the years she was involved with the festival, the organization committed to only using venues that were fully accessible, and trained volunteers to be sighted guides to people who are blind or low-vision. She was also consulted when the Bus Stop Theatre co-op bought a building. They brought her on to make sure the space was accessible for both audiences and performers. At the beginning of her advocacy, she said, she was one of the only voices in the room. That's changed over time, as she's found others doing similar work. Those people have made it possible for her to rest when she needs to, she said, 'knowing there's other people out there who will still advocate as well.' Hubbard was also able to return to performance. It started in 2019, when the founders of LEGacy Circus reached out to her. They were training instructors on how to work with performers with atypical bodies and they asked Hubbard for help, she said. As soon as she touched the trapeze, she fell in love. Hubbard and her circus partner Vanessa Furlong started to work together, and soon she was performing publicly for the first time as an adult. She approached her art with thoughtfulness, in contrast to her teenage self taking whatever role came her way. 'In my circus practice, I'd make a really big part of it showing my body fully and not hiding its differences,' she said. She wanted the audience to think about how her being on stage was different from an able-bodied performer — and why it was so uncommon to see. 'It felt very much like returning home,' she said. 'And I didn't realize until I got back onstage just how much I had kind of quieted a part of my soul.' When COVID-19 hit, she didn't want to give that up. She'd been so accepted in the world of circus that she looked for another space that was welcoming to 'outsiders.' She'd done ticketing for drag shows in Halifax for years, so she was very familiar with the local scene and had long thought about becoming a drag artist herself. But at the time, she wasn't able to get onto most of the stages because of her wheelchair. So during the pandemic, when everyone was cooped up inside and drag artists started performing virtually, Hubbard developed her drag persona, Crip Tease. 'It was really amazing to get to do, to be creative at a time that everybody had those same limitations, everybody had to think about 'how am I going to make my art happen?' And it kind of evened the playing field in a lot of ways for me as a disabled artist,' she said. But since then, Hubbard's health has deteriorated. Her pain has worsened, and she's no longer able to perform. That pain led her to pursue a medically assisted death in 2023, and she qualified under Track 2, which is for people whose condition is grievous and irremediable but whose death is not imminent. That's given her some flexibility. She doesn't have a date set, she said, though she still plans to die later this year. Extending her life also means extending her pain, which she describes as a constant burning and pulling sensation. When it's at its worst, she said, it feels like her legs are being sent through a meat grinder. She's been resting up for the last several weeks to be able to make the journey to Ottawa, where she'll accept the Ramon John Hnatyshyn Award for Voluntarism in the Performing Arts in person. Others honourees include musician Jeremy Dutcher, music producer Bob Ezrin and Oscar-nominated actor Graham Greene. 'I'm very aware of the fact that most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime,' Hubbard said. 'They never get to experience the joy of hearing how much people appreciate them and their work. And those things are usually only said after somebody has already passed. So it feels like a real blessing to get to hear all that and to be here to experience all of those moments.' This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 12, 2025.
Winnipeg Free Press
12-06-2025
- Entertainment
- Winnipeg Free Press
April Hubbard delayed MAID to accept Governor General's honour: ‘Most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime'
April Hubbard changed the plan for her death so she could be there to celebrate her life's work at one of Canada's most prestigious arts ceremonies. The 40-year-old arts administrator and performer had pre-recorded her acceptance speech for the Governor General's Performing Arts Awards because she had expected to receive medical assistance in dying before Saturday's gala. 'It's only in the last few weeks that I said, well, maybe I can make it. Can we consider this and make it happen?' she said in a video call from her home in Halifax. 'It's a very strange experience to go back and rewrite an acceptance speech that you didn't think you'd be alive to see.' Hubbard has qualified for MAID because she has tethered cord syndrome, a degenerative disorder of the nervous system resulting from a condition she was born with, spina bifida. While the condition isn't fatal, it causes tissue to attach to the spine, restricting movement and causing severe chronic pain. The condition cut short her acting career at age 17, when she started using a wheelchair. She'd fallen in love with the theatre three years earlier after her mother voluntold her to serve as a script prompter for a community theatre production of 'Drinking Alone.' Throughout high school, she acted, stage managed and did everything she could to be in the theatre. But once she started using a wheelchair, she said she got the message that there was no longer a place for her on stage. 'Every opportunity I had in the arts in Nova Scotia to be on stage dried up when I became visibly disabled,' she said. 'At that point, I had to switch to arts administration just as a way of still being involved in some way and find a way to still have my soul fed by the arts,' she said. 'That was the only place that there was room for me: behind the scenes where I wasn't visible.' In those behind-the-scenes roles, she's fought to make Halifax's theatre scene more accessible to disabled audiences and performers alike. 'When I did get a little foot in the door in any organization, it was the drive to bring others with me who were still not being heard and still not getting through the space,' she said. '(I was) always thinking about, 'OK, I wasn't let into this space, but next year, if I'm here, who will I be welcoming in?'' Hubbard started volunteering at the Halifax Fringe Festival in 2003, and eventually became its chair. Over the years she was involved with the festival, the organization committed to only using venues that were fully accessible, and trained volunteers to be sighted guides to people who are blind or low-vision. She was also consulted when the Bus Stop Theatre co-op bought a building. They brought her on to make sure the space was accessible for both audiences and performers. At the beginning of her advocacy, she said, she was one of the only voices in the room. That's changed over time, as she's found others doing similar work. Those people have made it possible for her to rest when she needs to, she said, 'knowing there's other people out there who will still advocate as well.' Hubbard was also able to return to performance. It started in 2019, when the founders of LEGacy Circus reached out to her. They were training instructors on how to work with performers with atypical bodies and they asked Hubbard for help, she said. As soon as she touched the trapeze, she fell in love. Hubbard and her circus partner Vanessa Furlong started to work together, and soon she was performing publicly for the first time as an adult. She approached her art with thoughtfulness, in contrast to her teenage self taking whatever role came her way. 'In my circus practice, I'd make a really big part of it showing my body fully and not hiding its differences,' she said. She wanted the audience to think about how her being on stage was different from an able-bodied performer — and why it was so uncommon to see. 'It felt very much like returning home,' she said. 'And I didn't realize until I got back onstage just how much I had kind of quieted a part of my soul.' When COVID-19 hit, she didn't want to give that up. She'd been so accepted in the world of circus that she looked for another space that was welcoming to 'outsiders.' She'd done ticketing for drag shows in Halifax for years, so she was very familiar with the local scene and had long thought about becoming a drag artist herself. But at the time, she wasn't able to get onto most of the stages because of her wheelchair. So during the pandemic, when everyone was cooped up inside and drag artists started performing virtually, Hubbard developed her drag persona, Crip Tease. 'It was really amazing to get to do, to be creative at a time that everybody had those same limitations, everybody had to think about 'how am I going to make my art happen?' And it kind of evened the playing field in a lot of ways for me as a disabled artist,' she said. But since then, Hubbard's health has deteriorated. Her pain has worsened, and she's no longer able to perform. That pain led her to pursue a medically assisted death in 2023, and she qualified under Track 2, which is for people whose condition is grievous and irremediable but whose death is not imminent. That's given her some flexibility. She doesn't have a date set, she said, though she still plans to die later this year. Extending her life also means extending her pain, which she describes as a constant burning and pulling sensation. When it's at its worst, she said, it feels like her legs are being sent through a meat grinder. Weekly A weekly look at what's happening in Winnipeg's arts and entertainment scene. She's been resting up for the last several weeks to be able to make the journey to Ottawa, where she'll accept the Ramon John Hnatyshyn Award for Voluntarism in the Performing Arts in person. Others honourees include musician Jeremy Dutcher, music producer Bob Ezrin and Oscar-nominated actor Graham Greene. 'I'm very aware of the fact that most artists never get a recognition like this in their lifetime,' Hubbard said. 'They never get to experience the joy of hearing how much people appreciate them and their work. And those things are usually only said after somebody has already passed. So it feels like a real blessing to get to hear all that and to be here to experience all of those moments.' This report by The Canadian Press was first published June 12, 2025.
Yahoo
04-04-2025
- Health
- Yahoo
'I could live 30 years - but want to die': Has assisted dying in Canada gone too far?
April Hubbard sits on the theatre stage where she plans to die later this year. She is not terminally ill, but the 39-year-old performance and burlesque artist has been approved for assisted dying under Canada's increasingly liberal laws. Warning: This article contains details and descriptions some readers may find disturbing She is speaking to BBC News from the Bus Stop Theatre, an intimate auditorium with a little under 100 seats, in the eastern city of Halifax, Nova Scotia. Illuminated by a single spotlight on a stage she has performed on many times before, she tells me she plans to die here "within months" of her imminent 40th birthday. She'll be joined by a small group of her family and friends. April plans to be in a "big comfy bed" for what she calls a "celebratory" moment when a medical professional will inject a lethal dose into her bloodstream. "I want to be surrounded by the people I love and just have everybody hold me in a giant cuddle puddle and get to take my last breath, surrounded by love and support," she says. April was born with spina bifida and was later diagnosed with tumours at the base of her spine which she says have left her in constant, debilitating pain. She's been taking strong opioid painkillers for more than 20 years and applied for Medical Assistance in Dying (Maid) in March 2023. While she could yet live for decades with her condition, she qualified to end her life early seven months after applying. For those who are terminally ill it is possible to get approval within 24 hours. "My suffering and pain are increasing and I don't have the quality of life anymore that makes me happy and fulfilled," April says. Every time she moves or breathes, she says it feels like the tissues from the base of her spine "are being pulled like a rubber band that stretches too far", and that her lower limbs leave her in agony. We meet April as, almost 3,000 miles away, MPs are scrutinising proposals to legalise assisted dying in England and Wales. They voted in principle in support of those plans in November 2024, but months of detailed scrutiny have followed - and further votes in the Commons and Lords are required before the bill could possibly become law. This week, the BBC witnessed a man's death in California, where assisted dying laws are far more similar to those being considered in Westminster. Critics say Canada is an example of the "slippery slope", meaning that once you pass an assisted dying law it will inevitably widen its scope and have fewer safeguards. Canada now has one of the most liberal systems of assisted dying in the world, similar to that operating in the Netherlands and Belgium. It introduced Maid in 2016, initially for terminally ill adults with a serious and incurable physical illness, which causes intolerable suffering. In 2021, the need to be terminally ill was removed, and in two years' time, the Canadian government plans to open Maid to adults solely with a mental illness and no physical ailment. Opponents of Maid tell us that death is coming to be seen as a standard treatment option for those with disabilities and complex medical problems. "It is easier in Canada to get medical assistance in dying than it is to get government support to live," says Andrew Gurza, a disability awareness consultant and friend of April's. Andrew, who has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair, says he respects April's decision, but tells us: "If my disability declines and my care needs got higher, I'd still want to be here. To know there's a law that's saying you could easily end your life - it's just really scary." Before she was approved for Maid, April was assessed by two independent physicians who were required to inform her of ways to alleviate her suffering and offer alternative treatments. "The safeguards are there," she says, when we press her about disabled people who feel threatened by assisted dying, or whether Maid is being used as a shortcut to better quality care. "If it's not right for you and you're not leading the charge and choosing Maid, you're not going to be able to access it unless it's for the right reasons," she adds. There were 15,343 Maid deaths in 2023, representing around one in 20 of all deaths in Canada - a proportion that has increased dramatically since 2016 and is one of the highest in the world. The average age of recipients was 77. In all but a handful of cases, the lethal dose was delivered by a doctor or nurse, which is also known as voluntary euthanasia. One doctor we spoke to, Eric Thomas, said he had helped 577 patients to die. Dr Konia Trouton, president of the Canadian Association of Maid Assessors and Providers, has also helped hundreds of patients to die since the law was introduced. The procedure is the same each time - she arrives at the home of the person who has been given approval for Maid and asks if they wish to go ahead with it that day. She says the patients always direct the process and then give her the "heads up and ready to go". "That gives me an honour and a duty and a privilege to be able to help them in those last moments with their family around them, with those who love them around them and to know that they've made that decision thoughtfully, carefully and thoroughly," she adds. If the answer is yes, she opens her medical bag. Demonstrating to the BBC what happens next, Dr Trouton briefly puts a tourniquet on my arm. She shows me where the needle would be inserted into a vein in the back of my hand to allow an intravenous infusion of lethal drugs. In her medical bag she also has a stethoscope. "Strangely, these days I use it more to determine if someone has no heartbeat rather than if they do," she tells me. A list of organisations in the UK offering support and information with some of the issues in this story is available at BBC Action Line Some 96% of Maid provisions are under "track one" where death is "reasonably foreseeable". Dr Trouton says that means patients are on a "trajectory toward death", which might range from someone who has rapidly spreading cancer and only weeks to live or another with Alzheimer's "who might have five to seven years". The other 4% of Maid deaths come under "track two". These are adults, like April, who are not dying but have suffering which is intolerable to them from a "grievous and irremediable medical condition". That is in stark contrast to Labour MP Kim Leadbeater's bill to legalise assisted dying in England and Wales, which says patients must be expected to die within six months. The Westminster bill would not allow doctors to give a lethal dose – rather patients would have to self-administer the drugs, usually by swallowing them. Death via intravenous infusion normally takes just a few minutes, as the lethal drugs go straight into the bloodstream, whereas swallowing the drugs means patients usually take around an hour or two to die, but can take considerably longer, although they are usually unconscious after a few minutes. Dr Trouton told me she regarded the Canadian system as quicker and more effective, as do other Maid providers. "I'm concerned that if some people can't swallow because of their disease process, and if they're not able to take the entire quantity of medication because of breathing difficulties or swallowing difficulties, what will happen?" But opponents argue it's being used as a cheaper alternative to providing adequate social or medical support. One of them is Dr Ramona Coelho, a GP in London, Ontario, whose practice serves many marginalised groups and those struggling to get medical and social support. She's part of a Maid Death Review Committee, alongside Dr Trouton, which examines cases in the province. Dr Coelho told me that Maid was "out of control". "I wouldn't even call it a slippery slope," she says "Canada has fallen off a cliff." "When people have suicidal ideations, we used to meet them with counselling and care, and for people with terminal illness and other diseases we could mitigate that suffering and help them have a better life," she says. "Yet now we are seeing that as an appropriate request to die and ending their lives very quickly." While at Dr Coelho's surgery I was introduced to Vicki Whelan, a retired nurse whose mum Sharon Scribner died in April 2023 of lung cancer, aged 81. Vicki told me that in her mum's final days in hospital she was repeatedly offered the option of Maid by medical staff, describing it as like a "sales pitch". The family, who are Catholic, discharged their mother so she could die at home, where Vicki says her mum had a "beautiful, peaceful death". "It makes us think that we can't endure, and we can't suffer a little bit, and that somehow now they've decided that dying needs to be assisted, where we've been dying for years. "All of a sudden now we're telling people that this is a better option. This is an easy way out and I think it's just robbing people of hope." So is Canada an example of the so-called slippery slope? It's certainly true that the eligibility criteria has broadened dramatically since the law was introduced nine years ago, so for critics the answer would be an emphatic yes and serve as a warning to Britain. Canada's assisted dying laws were driven by court rulings. Its Supreme Court instructed Parliament that a prohibition on assisted dying breached the country's Charter of Rights and Freedoms. The extension of eligibility for those who were not terminally ill was in part a response to another court decision. In Britain, judges in the most senior courts have repeatedly said any potential change to the law around assisted dying is a matter for Parliament, after the likes of Tony Nicklinson, Diane Pretty and Noel Conway brought cases arguing the blanket ban on assisted suicide breached their human rights. April knows some people may look at her, a young woman, and wonder why she would die. "We're the masters of masking and not letting people see that we're suffering," she says. "But in reality, there's days that I just can't hide it, and there's many days where I can't lift my head off the pillow and I can't eat anymore. "It's not a way I want to live for another 10 or 20 or 30 years." Additional reporting by Joshua Falcon. California man invites BBC to witness his death as MPs debate assisted dying What is assisted dying and how could the law change? How assisted dying has spread across the world and how laws differ
BBC News
04-04-2025
- Health
- BBC News
'I could live 30 years - but want to die': Has assisted dying in Canada gone too far?
April Hubbard sits on the theatre stage where she plans to die later this is not terminally ill, but the 39-year-old performance and burlesque artist has been approved for assisted dying under Canada's increasingly liberal This article contains details and descriptions some readers may find disturbingShe is speaking to BBC News from the Bus Stop Theatre, an intimate auditorium with a little under 100 seats, in the eastern city of Halifax, Nova by a single spotlight on a stage she has performed on many times before, she tells me she plans to die here "within months" of her imminent 40th birthday. She'll be joined by a small group of her family and plans to be in a "big comfy bed" for what she calls a "celebratory" moment when a medical professional will inject a lethal dose into her bloodstream."I want to be surrounded by the people I love and just have everybody hold me in a giant cuddle puddle and get to take my last breath, surrounded by love and support," she was born with spina bifida and was later diagnosed with tumours at the base of her spine which she says have left her in constant, debilitating pain. She's been taking strong opioid painkillers for more than 20 years and applied for Medical Assistance in Dying (Maid) in March 2023. While she could yet live for decades with her condition, she qualified to end her life early seven months after applying. For those who are terminally ill it is possible to get approval within 24 hours."My suffering and pain are increasing and I don't have the quality of life anymore that makes me happy and fulfilled," April says. Every time she moves or breathes, she says it feels like the tissues from the base of her spine "are being pulled like a rubber band that stretches too far", and that her lower limbs leave her in meet April as, almost 3,000 miles away, MPs are scrutinising proposals to legalise assisted dying in England and Wales. They voted in principle in support of those plans in November 2024, but months of detailed scrutiny have followed - and further votes in the Commons and Lords are required before the bill could possibly become week, the BBC witnessed a man's death in California, where assisted dying laws are far more similar to those being considered in say Canada is an example of the "slippery slope", meaning that once you pass an assisted dying law it will inevitably widen its scope and have fewer now has one of the most liberal systems of assisted dying in the world, similar to that operating in the Netherlands and Belgium. It introduced Maid in 2016, initially for terminally ill adults with a serious and incurable physical illness, which causes intolerable suffering. In 2021, the need to be terminally ill was removed, and in two years' time, the Canadian government plans to open Maid to adults solely with a mental illness and no physical of Maid tell us that death is coming to be seen as a standard treatment option for those with disabilities and complex medical problems."It is easier in Canada to get medical assistance in dying than it is to get government support to live," says Andrew Gurza, a disability awareness consultant and friend of April' who has cerebral palsy and uses a wheelchair, says he respects April's decision, but tells us: "If my disability declines and my care needs got higher, I'd still want to be here. To know there's a law that's saying you could easily end your life - it's just really scary." Before she was approved for Maid, April was assessed by two independent physicians who were required to inform her of ways to alleviate her suffering and offer alternative treatments."The safeguards are there," she says, when we press her about disabled people who feel threatened by assisted dying, or whether Maid is being used as a shortcut to better quality care. "If it's not right for you and you're not leading the charge and choosing Maid, you're not going to be able to access it unless it's for the right reasons," she were 15,343 Maid deaths in 2023, representing around one in 20 of all deaths in Canada - a proportion that has increased dramatically since 2016 and is one of the highest in the world. The average age of recipients was all but a handful of cases, the lethal dose was delivered by a doctor or nurse, which is also known as voluntary euthanasia. One doctor we spoke to, Eric Thomas, said he had helped 577 patients to die. Dr Konia Trouton, president of the Canadian Association of Maid Assessors and Providers, has also helped hundreds of patients to die since the law was procedure is the same each time - she arrives at the home of the person who has been given approval for Maid and asks if they wish to go ahead with it that day. She says the patients always direct the process and then give her the "heads up and ready to go"."That gives me an honour and a duty and a privilege to be able to help them in those last moments with their family around them, with those who love them around them and to know that they've made that decision thoughtfully, carefully and thoroughly," she adds. If the answer is yes, she opens her medical to the BBC what happens next, Dr Trouton briefly puts a tourniquet on my arm. She shows me where the needle would be inserted into a vein in the back of my hand to allow an intravenous infusion of lethal her medical bag she also has a stethoscope. "Strangely, these days I use it more to determine if someone has no heartbeat rather than if they do," she tells me.A list of organisations in the UK offering support and information with some of the issues in this story is available at BBC Action Line Some 96% of Maid provisions are under "track one" where death is "reasonably foreseeable". Dr Trouton says that means patients are on a "trajectory toward death", which might range from someone who has rapidly spreading cancer and only weeks to live or another with Alzheimer's "who might have five to seven years".The other 4% of Maid deaths come under "track two". These are adults, like April, who are not dying but have suffering which is intolerable to them from a "grievous and irremediable medical condition".That is in stark contrast to Labour MP Kim Leadbeater's bill to legalise assisted dying in England and Wales, which says patients must be expected to die within six months. The Westminster bill would not allow doctors to give a lethal dose – rather patients would have to self-administer the drugs, usually by swallowing via intravenous infusion normally takes just a few minutes, as the lethal drugs go straight into the bloodstream, whereas swallowing the drugs means patients usually take around an hour or two to die, but can take considerably longer, although they are usually unconscious after a few Trouton told me she regarded the Canadian system as quicker and more effective, as do other Maid providers. "I'm concerned that if some people can't swallow because of their disease process, and if they're not able to take the entire quantity of medication because of breathing difficulties or swallowing difficulties, what will happen?" 'Canada has fallen off a cliff' But opponents argue it's being used as a cheaper alternative to providing adequate social or medical of them is Dr Ramona Coelho, a GP in London, Ontario, whose practice serves many marginalised groups and those struggling to get medical and social support. She's part of a Maid Death Review Committee, alongside Dr Trouton, which examines cases in the Coelho told me that Maid was "out of control". "I wouldn't even call it a slippery slope," she says "Canada has fallen off a cliff." "When people have suicidal ideations, we used to meet them with counselling and care, and for people with terminal illness and other diseases we could mitigate that suffering and help them have a better life," she says. "Yet now we are seeing that as an appropriate request to die and ending their lives very quickly."While at Dr Coelho's surgery I was introduced to Vicki Whelan, a retired nurse whose mum Sharon Scribner died in April 2023 of lung cancer, aged 81. Vicki told me that in her mum's final days in hospital she was repeatedly offered the option of Maid by medical staff, describing it as like a "sales pitch".The family, who are Catholic, discharged their mother so she could die at home, where Vicki says her mum had a "beautiful, peaceful death". "It makes us think that we can't endure, and we can't suffer a little bit, and that somehow now they've decided that dying needs to be assisted, where we've been dying for years."All of a sudden now we're telling people that this is a better option. This is an easy way out and I think it's just robbing people of hope." 'Not a way I want to live' So is Canada an example of the so-called slippery slope? It's certainly true that the eligibility criteria has broadened dramatically since the law was introduced nine years ago, so for critics the answer would be an emphatic yes and serve as a warning to assisted dying laws were driven by court rulings. Its Supreme Court instructed Parliament that a prohibition on assisted dying breached the country's Charter of Rights and Freedoms. The extension of eligibility for those who were not terminally ill was in part a response to another court Britain, judges in the most senior courts have repeatedly said any potential change to the law around assisted dying is a matter for Parliament, after the likes of Tony Nicklinson, Diane Pretty and Noel Conway brought cases arguing the blanket ban on assisted suicide breached their human knows some people may look at her, a young woman, and wonder why she would die."We're the masters of masking and not letting people see that we're suffering," she says. "But in reality, there's days that I just can't hide it, and there's many days where I can't lift my head off the pillow and I can't eat anymore."It's not a way I want to live for another 10 or 20 or 30 years."Additional reporting by Joshua Falcon.
