-by Mark Macneill
There exists a singular, agonizing irony in the current state of our provincial administrative priorities – one that would be comical were it not so profoundly tragic. We find ourselves navigating a bureaucratic landscape where the entry into this world is strictly rationed, while the exit is provided with the seamless efficiency of a drive-thru window.
Consider the expectant mother in Baddeck, or Richmond, or Glace Bay. Should she wish to bring new life into this dominion, she is met with a stern ledger of logistical impossibilities. The local wards are shuttered; the specialized teams are centralized; the resources are consolidated. For the miracle of birth, our system demands a pilgrimage – a stressful, calculated dash down the Trans-Canada Highway to a select few regional hubs. Life, it seems, must strictly adhere to the government’s centralized schedule.
Yet, turn your gaze to the final chapter of human existence, and the administrative sea parts with astonishing majesty. For Medical Assistance in Dying – or MAID, as the planners so clinically acronymize it – the geographic barriers miraculously dissolve. There are no select locations here. No rationing of care. The apparatus of the state becomes entirely mobile, willing and eager to accommodate you in virtually any hospital, any clinic, or any living room from Cape Breton to the South Shore.
One cannot help but marvel at the grim, linguistic dark comedy of it all. For decades, the old folks used to say that when a man finally achieved total comfort and freedom from worry, he “had it made.” How twisted a transformation that the modern state has provided a literal interpretation of the phrase: to finally have peace, you simply have it MAID.
It brings to mind the gritty, unmistakable truth of Cape Breton’s own Matt Minglewood, who famously growled about the inevitability that “some day I’m gonna ride in a Cadillac.” He was, of course, singing of that long, shiny, black vehicle that waits for us all at the end of the line. But today, one gets the distinct impression that our public health authorities are far more interested in financing that final Cadillac ride than they are in keeping the local maternity wards open for the next generation.
We have built a system that makes it remarkably difficult to arrive, but infinitely convenient to leave. Surely, a society that prides itself on compassion must eventually look in the mirror and ask why the cradle is so heavily restricted, while the hearse is granted an unlimited, all-access pass.
Yours thoughtfully,