My earliest years were in WW2 England, a dismal place where food and living accommodations were in short supply and where a caste system would have sentenced me to a life in the slums were it not for my escape to Canada with my parents on a noisy North Star aircraft, in 1952. Enroute, we landed in Iceland in the midst of a magnificent Aurora Borealis display. I can still vividly recall the feeling of my nostrils pinching together as we deplaned in the dead of winter near the North Pole.

My teen years were spent in Toronto, where we had weekly nuclear drills in school (we would all crouch down under our desks!), and where the boys seemed to have one thing on their minds, and the girls who succumbed to the pressure and "went all the way" and got pregnant were instantly shunned by both boys and girls. Abortion was a dirty word back then, done in filthy back rooms by quacks and users. My in-bred English sense of fair play bridled at this state of affairs, but girls were not activists in that decade, so I said and did nothing. I emerged unscathed into the sixties when a breath of fresh air blew through the western world. Girls did become activists, Kennedy ruled in Camelot, love was in the air, and Dr. Henry Morgentaler began his crusade for abortion rights in Canada. It was a hard fight, but he prevailed, and thanks to jury nullification, was acquitted many times by peers who believed that a person should have control over her own body.

I hope we don't have to wait until 3000 to get the right to self deliverance at home if we are ill and wish to die. Which is why I wrote A Courageous Battle. If people like it and if enough people read it, maybe it will help move us toward the tipping point where the demand for the right to die with dignity outstrips the vested interests of a few who have so far prevailed in the courts and legislatures. I traveled a long road to get to my own courageous battle. I married twice and bore three children, and now have three grandchildren. And now I am in a wonderful third relationship that sustains me and enriches every aspect of my life. I experienced the joy of having work that I loved as an editor of reference books, and then of a bridge quarterly, The Kibitzer. I've had many articles published in local and regional magazines and newspapers, and have been writing all my life. I have travelled extensively, and enjoyed many hobbies and activities, including boating, snowmobiling, RVing and flying in a single-engine Cessna, and duplicate bridge, scrabble, and crossword puzzles. My second husband died of lung cancer, and only months later, I too, was diagnosed. They said I had only a five to 15 per cent chance to survive, but someone has to be in the 15%. And I was! My treatment ended in 2003, and I was pronounced cancer free! But the fear is always lurking inside. Whenever I hear about someone who has "got it back" or when I am sick and have a symptom that I cannot identify, I worry. The fear is not of death; the fear is of pain, and sickness, and hopeless diminishment into loss of dignity. I know I do not want that, and I just can't get my head around the fact that there are people who would stop me from avoiding that. For, if I were lucky enough to live in Oregon, Montana, or Washington, or some European countries, I could bring my little vial of Nembutal home, where I could keep it for the day when I could not cope any more. Then I could gather my loved ones around me, and lie back to die, safely, and in peace, my hand enfolded in another's. Please help me to achieve that goal. Share A Courageous Battle with everyone you know. Tell your government representatives that you support physician assisted dying. Tell your doctor that you want to have the right to have Nembutal in case you decide you want to end your suffering. Join and support a dying with dignity group.