I accidentally euthanised my father because I misunderstood the conversation I was having with a nurse. He had a stroke and was in intensive care, we were told he probably wouldn't live - and if he did - he'd require care for the rest of his life. He had fallen into a coma when the nurse kept asking me if I thought he was in pain and needed more morphine. She kept giving him more, returning to ask the same question and doing it over and over. I can't remember how many times. He began Cheyne–Stokes breathing, and eventually died.<p>I remember feeling strange about the situation, and years later I connected the dots between the amount of morphine given, the breathing (symptomatic of morphine overdose), and his subsequent death. Understanding that I was responsible was something that took a long time to cope with.<p>My mother faced terminal cancer a few years ago, and I found myself in exactly the same situation. Thankfully I understood what was happening. The decision to take her off fluids and to "help her along," was made by a team of medical staff with myself deeply involved in the discussion (which looking back, was a desperate attempt for me to negotiate any way I could for her life). At least Mum understood she was going to die, and I'm glad my eyes were open to what was happening.<p>I feel that the economics of hospital beds have a lot to do with this. Beds in the oncology ward are in demand, as of those in intensive care. I've seen all of my families previous generation die of cancer in either in the same way - in hospital, in oncology or intensive care, always assisted death.<p>It makes me think that if I ever go down that road I don't want to be anywhere near the medical industrial complex.