These past two years we've all been having a nightmare about our hands. It started when we held up our hands for words which sounded like "choice" and "autonomy" and "dignity". We gave dying a big thumbs down. We gave killing a big thumbs up. We decided that suffering could be ended by ending the sufferers. We decided that healthcare should try its hand at execution. That what palliative care really needed was poison. Some people who have always had it their own way demanded one last triumphant show that all decisions rested in their hands. Up to and including their own oblivion. But many, many more people, who had never been centre stage, found themselves, when they were at their weakest, pushed off the edge by hands in latex gloves. And as they fell, all they heard from above were those hollow noises. Words which sounded like "choice", "autonomy" and "dignity", but carried none of their true meaning. And the hands which pushed them, were the same hands which, before the nightmare came, had been holding onto theirs. Warm hands, which had once restored health, and comforted and cared. Turned cold by the nightmare. Into the hands of killers. Thank you for saving my hands. Thank you for saving my colleagues' hands. Thank you for saving my patients' lives. Thank you for waking us up from the nightmare.

Still waiting for any major health or disability organisation to come out in favour of the "Assisted Dying" bill.

So moving that you're withdrawing your bill to promote suicide for my patients?

"How dare the opposition to my Assisted Falling with a Noose Bill describe it as Hanging! A compassionate drop with an empathetic stop is completely different to Hanging. Trust us because we are kind and decent and never use scary words."