[Right_to_die] Mixed views on the benefits of Kevorkian

[org.opn.lists.right-to-die at lists.opn.org]

The Associated Press reported:-

Kevorkian's release brings different reactions

LANSING, Mich. -- For Tina Allerellie, knowing assisted-suicide advocate 
Jack Kevorkian is about to leave prison brings back all of the sadness 
and anger from what she saw as her sister's needless death.


For Terrence Youk, Kevorkian's release is a relief. He was grateful when 
Kevorkian helped his brother end his life in 1998 and never thought the 
retired pathologist deserved the prison sentence he got for 
administering the fatal drugs.

When Kevorkian walks out of a southern Michigan prison on Friday after 
serving time for second-degree murder in Thomas Youk's death, he'll be 
hailed as a compassionate hero by some, and regarded as a heartless 
killer by others.

"It's like the wound that was starting to heal has been cut open again," 
said Allerellie, whose 34-year-old sister, Karen Shoffstall, turned to 
Kevorkian in August 1997 after dealing for years with multiple 
sclerosis. "We all thought that he was a real doctor. We all thought 
that, even if she did contact him, there was no way that he would do 
what he did. We were all very, very wrong."

Allerellie, who lives in Elora, Ontario, about 70 miles west of Toronto, 
became active in Canada's anti-euthanasia movement after her sister's 
death. Now 39, she says a day doesn't go by that she and her family 
don't think about her sister, who had moved from Canada and was living 
in Long Beach, N.Y., as a U.S. citizen when she wrote to Kevorkian about 
ending her life.

Karen Shoffstall's ex-husband, Ed, said at the time of her death that 
his former wife had lost the feeling in her body below the waist and 
couldn't tolerate the steroids that might have provided some relief for 
her chronic pain.

But Allerellie remains unconvinced that her sister really wanted to die.

"My mother and I spoke personally to the coroner who performed the 
autopsy on my sister, and he said that she could have lived, in his 
exact words, `Another 20, 30, 40, even 50 years.' Her thing was 
depression, her thing was fear of an uncertain future," Allerellie said.

Shoffstall talked about going to see Kevorkian so often that her friends 
began answering the phone, "Yeah, Jack Kevorkian here," she added.

But no one really thought Shoffstall would fly to Detroit and meet 
Kevorkian. Her body was found at a Holiday Inn in the suburb of 
Farmington Hills with a typewritten note saying Kevorkian and his 
associate Janet Good were involved. The medical examiner said Shoffstall 
did not administer the drugs herself. She was one of at least 130 people 
Kevorkian said he helped die from 1990 to 1998.

Allerellie thinks Kevorkian preyed on people like her sister to gain his 
own place in the spotlight. Like Shoffstall, many who went to Kevorkian 
were not terminally ill. Yet he still went ahead.

"The way I understood it, he was basically providing a service to 
eliminate the pain. What I have learned since then is that, in my 
opinion, he is an absolute quack. ... His intent, I believe, has always 
been to gain notoriety," Allerellie said. "I'm sure if I was to say to 
him the name `Karen Shoffstall,' he wouldn't have a clue who I'm talking 
about."

For Terrence "Terry" Youk, his brother's death intensified his feeling 
that more states need to have laws like Oregon's. It's the only state in 
the country in which a terminally ill patient with six months or less to 
live can legally ask a doctor to prescribe a lethal amount of medication.

A 52-year-old filmmaker in Montpelier, Vt., Terry Youk has trained to be 
a hospice volunteer and made several films about end-of-life care since 
his brother's death, including one used to train hospice workers that 
won an award from the National Hospice Foundation. In his eyes, 
Kevorkian should be hailed, not hated.

"Clearly, Jack practicing medicine without his license is certainly a 
violation. But ... it's not a murder. It was a medical service that was 
requested and, from my point of view, compassionately provided by Jack," 
he said. "It should not be a crime."

By the time Thomas Youk, then 52, met with Kevorkian, he was nearly 
immobilized by Lou Gehrig's disease, or ALS, able to move only his thumb 
and forefinger on his right hand and often choking on his own saliva.

"He was kind of in the midst of a lot of fear, and feeling like he had 
lost a lot of meaning and dignity in his life," Terry Youk said of his 
brother, who lived in Oakland County near Detroit. "He was difficult to 
understand, but ALS doesn't affect your cognitive abilities. He was very 
clear about what he wanted to do."

Kevorkian met with Terry and Thomas Youk and with Thomas Youk's wife, 
Melody, who still lives in Waterford Township. He looked over Youk's 
medical records and tried to talk Youk out of going ahead. Everyone 
agreed to put off any decision for a couple more weeks.

But within days, Thomas Youk again awakened in the middle of the night 
choking on his own saliva and unable to breathe. "He very clearly said 
he wanted to move the process along," said Terry Youk, who again 
contacted Kevorkian.

Thomas Youk couldn't administer the shots he needed to die, so Kevorkian 
gave him the shots _ and taped the entire process. Melody and Terry Youk 
stayed away at Thomas Youk's insistence. He was afraid they could be 
held criminally liable in his death.

Kevorkian then gave the tape to CBS' "60 Minutes." And although Oakland 
County Prosecutor David Gorcyca had declined to go after Kevorkian for a 
series of earlier assisted suicides, this one he couldn't let pass.

"He got out in the national spotlight and videotaped for the world to 
see an act that didn't involve assisted suicide but euthanasia," Gorcyca 
said. "He called me out and begged to be prosecuted on `60 Minutes.' ... 
He didn't think any jury would convict him of any crime. And that's why 
he was so brazen about the Youk case, even to the extent that he decided 
to represent himself."

Kevorkian tried to call Terry and Melody Youk to testify during the 
trial. But after Gorcyca dropped the assisted suicide charge, the judge 
ruled that their testimony about Thomas Youk's suffering wasn't relevant 
in a murder trial.

By the time he's released Friday, Kevorkian will have served just over 
eight years of his 10- to 25-year sentence, having gotten a year and 
nine months' time off his sentence for good behavior.

Terry Youk says his brother's experience shows that some people need the 
option of physician-assisted death.

"If you respond well to palliative care and the hospice care, there's 
really no need for this kind of medical service," he said. "(But for) 
people ... that need a service like this, it's a very simple matter. 
They want to make a choice, and they want to leave on their own terms, 
in a way that's peaceful and dignified."

In an unhappy twist of fate, Tina Allerellie's 41-year-old brother, 
William Allerellie, now is struggling with his own chronic pain and 
disability brought on by scar tissue from childhood surgery growing 
rampant and attacking his organs. Although she's still against assisted 
suicide, she understands why pain can drive people to ask for it.

"This is what's causing me to see the other side of the coin. My brother 
is suffering terribly. In fact, my entire family is suffering terribly 
watching him go through this and not being able to help him," she said.

"It is such an incredibly tough call, and Kevorkian has taken this and 
turned it into a circus," Allerellie said. "It's my own personal belief 
that once you give up, that's truly when your dignity is lost."