Several days later, Sarah received a phone call from Eric at her apartment. He was still in hospital and being looked after by Hank.
"Hey Eric, what's up?" she asked.
"Sarah, it's not looking good," said Eric. "I need a heart transplant, and the waiting list is oh so long. But that's not the worst of my worries."
"Then what is?"
"Hank tells me that, beyond a shadow of a doubt, I have Lou Gehrig's disease. I have two, maybe three years left to live, so a transplant would be counterproductive."
"Oh Eric, I'm so sorry!" Sarah shed a tear for her father-in-law. "I ... do Annie and your kids know?"
"No, Sarah, and I don't mean to tell them. Not yet, anyway. But I have told Lucy that because of my heart condition, I'm retiring as a minister, effective immediately."
"And you just dumped your workload on her, just like that?"
"If I didn't," said Eric, "the stress would just make the disease progress that much faster and I might be gone in six months. Besides, Chandler and Roxanne have both agreed to come to the West Coast to pinch hit for a while, while they're settling their divorce and we figure out where Chandler's going to live once Roxanne and her children move in with Lucy until they get married. Sarah, please don't tell the others about this, until I am ready to tell them."
"Okay ... what, not even Matt? I have to tell my husband!" Sarah was shocked.
"No, not even Matt."
"All right," said Sarah. "I won't say anything. But I have a feeling you have another reason you're calling."
"Yes." Eric steeled himself for what he was about to say next. "With the kind of diagnosis I have, I really am now terminal. It could be a few weeks, or it could be years. Look at Professor Hawking, he's lived more than fifty years with the disease! But I don't think I'll be that lucky. As Hank has told me, it is like being buried alive. I will eventually reach the point where I won't be able to communicate, but I'll be fully aware of my surroundings. That's no way to live. At that point, it won't be worth living. So, as much as it goes against my beliefs as a minister, I have decided that when I am near that point where communication will no longer be possible for me, I want to die ... and I'm going to need someone's help to so do."
"Eric, don't think like that!" said Sarah. "Life is worth living. It really is. And you have so many people to take care of you. And don't forget, there's palliative care. You deserve to die comfortably, not through such drastic measures."
"Sarah, I've thought about this all day. This is the only way out for me. And I'm going to want help." He paused for effect.
"Wait a minute! Are you asking me to help you die?"
"You're the only one I can trust, the only one I know. You're a doctor, you know how to do these things."
"Absolutely not!" said Sarah angrily. "That is one service I do not provide and will never provide."
"Oh, right," said Eric. "The Hippocratic Oath: 'First do no harm.'"
"No, not that part of the Oath. It's the part that says, 'I must not play at God.' That is an oath I made, to God, as well as to the Board of Examiners that gave me my license. When I treat someone, my job is to bring health as much as possible to a patient, not to make things worse! Only God can decide when it is time for a person's life to end. No human should have that right. No one has the right to kill except in self-defense. That's why Matt and I are against the death penalty. And why we are against euthanasia."
"It wouldn't be active, Sarah. It would be passive. I would be hooked up to a lethal injection machine, then I press the button to deliver the drugs."
"It doesn't matter. I would still be taking part in the death of someone. A patient. A father-in-law! Eric, absolutely not! I'm sorry, but I won't do it. And I won't tell you the names of any doctors that might do it. I happen to know some, but it's obviously a service they don't advertise. You're on your own with this one. I'm sorry, again, but this is a principle I won't sacrifice. I certainly can't risk my license over this, no matter how much I love you and not matter how much I don't want to see you suffer!"
"Nothing I can do can make you change your mind?"
"Nothing. Is there anything else I can help with you that isn't morbid?"
"No. I'm sorry I dumped this on you, Sarah, but you're the first one I thought of."
"Oh, it's okay, Eric. Just don't bring it up again, please."
"And Sarah? Don't tell anyone about what we've talked about."
"Sure. Bye Eric, and good luck."
But as soon as Sarah ended the call, she knew she had to tell someone. And she actually thought out the possibility Eric was asking for. So she scrolled through her directory and found the one person she knew she could talk to with discretion.
"Felicity? It's Dr Sarah Glass."
"Sarah? My God, hi!" said Felicity in surprise. She was at her church office, preparing her weekly webcast on her ministry website. "How are you and Matt? And your children?"
"All fine," said Sarah, "but I've got one hell of a problem here. Being Jewish, I have my convictions on this, but I could use a Christian's perspective."
"Fire away."
"Without naming names, someone I've known for years as a friend has a terminal illness. It's really bad and he doesn't have much time left. He wants a doctor assisted death sometime in the next few months. I told him no. Was that the right thing to say?"
"Yes!" said Felicity firmly. "Only God can decide when our time is up. Still ... I have thought about what if it happened to me. What if I was suddenly faced with a terminal diagnosis. And ..."
"And what?" Sarah leaned forward, something totally lost in a phone conversation, but ...
"I just might consider it, to save Peter and our children the agony. My stepchildren too - on both sides."
"Why?"
"You know I'm not a faith healer. Neither is Hope - unlike her parents," Felicity replied. "But I get prayer requests all the time, people begging for God's mercy, for their physical or mental pain to just end. So many of my parishioners here in Saint Louis, the same. It's just so heartbreaking! I feel powerless in that. As much as it goes against my beliefs ... I've come to the conclusion that if someone really wants to die, then they should have that right."
"So how do you reconcile the two? You support death with dignity, but you still oppose physician assisted suicide?"
"I don't know how," admitted Felicity. "But I don't think it's murder. I'd classify it as manslaughter or something lesser. Sarah, is it someone I know?"
"I can't tell you that," said Sarah. "Either yes or no. I'm asking you this because ... I just might go through with it. If it's that important to him, I may be willing to sacrifice my principles. If you're that ambivalent about it as a minister, then perhaps I can be as a doctor."
"Well, let me ask you this. Where are you going to get the drugs to do it? Hospitals and pharmacies are really on top of doctors trying to over-prescribing drugs that in large doses can be fatal. Or patients going to multiple doctors trying to stockpile lethal doses. HMOs are really vigilant about that, too. On top of that, the Europeans stopped shipping drugs to the States that could be used for lethal injections some time ago. It's caused grief for hospitals that need them in legal doses - and we know the problems states with death rows have had with the new cocktails. Executions that take an hour or more to complete. I wouldn't want to be a witness to that."
"I know where in Europe to get the drugs, and how," said Sarah flatly. "And how to sneak them into the States. Thanks for letting me pick your brain, Felicity. By the way, how's Rita settling in?"
"She's wonderful! She's like a stepdaughter to me, and I have every intention of treating her that way."
"Okay ... say hi to Peter, Hope and Ruthie. But just that - don't tell them what we talked about."
"We never had this conversation," assured Felicity.
The call ended.
For five minutes, Sarah put her head in her hands, not sure whether to sit or stand. Finally, she said out loud, "Forgive me God, for I am about to sin." Then she called Eric back.
"Eric, as much as it troubles me, I'll do it," she said. "But I have a few conditions. One - you absolutely have to have reached the point where you might no longer be able to communicate your wishes. Two - you have to give me plenty of notice so I can fly to Europe, get the drugs, and smuggle them back to the States in my luggage. Three - you absolutely have to be alone in the parsonage when we do this, so I can sneak in and out with latex gloves and booties. I want Annie and Lucy to think yours was a natural death. And four - absolutely no telling anyone. Word gets back you've told anyone else, and you'll have to find someone else."
"Thank you Sarah," said Eric. "You have no idea -"
"Yes I do. I hope the next time we talk, it will be something a lot more pleasant. Oh ... you and I need to set up secret e-mail accounts so when the time comes, that's the way we communicate. And we both need to use PGP."
"Deal. Bye. I love you."
"I love you, Eric. Bye."
She hung up the phone. At this point, Matt walked into the door.
"Hi honey," he said, kissing his wife. "Who was that on the phone."
"Your Dad," Sarah replied.
"What did he want?" Matt asked.
"Just calling around his extended family. When you need a transplant, wouldn't you want to settle things just in case?"
"Sure. I'll call him back."
"But I have a feeling there's something else," Sarah said uncertainly.
"What is it?"
"I think the stress of being in the hospital for the third time for his heart ... it may be too much for him and Annie. I think their marriage has been in trouble, and this is the breaking point for them. I think they're getting a divorce!"
Eric had not mentioned this a single time during the conversation, but Sarah had seen it in her practice too many times.
"I'm calling Mom!" said Matt.
"Don't!" said Sarah. "They need to work it out themselves."
Yet Sarah's gut feeling was right. Eric and Annie hadn't had sex for more than a year, and they barely communicated. That morning, while Eric was getting his fatal diagnosis, Annie was already on the phone with a lawyer, asking for information on how to get a separation from her husband.