As a recent breast cancer patient, I've made many "choices", and have sat in many rooms having my choices outlined to me, by many consultants. I wanted to opt for "I'm in your hands. Whatever you think best." But I had no choice, except choice.
Choice is a driver of inequality. This sad fact has been illustrated very clearly in Britain over the last few decades. The more money and education you have, the better the choices you can make and afford, and the more your position of strength and privilege is bolstered. This is seen mostly clearly in education, not just in terms of state v private, but also, since the Conservative reforms of the 1980s and 1990s, in state education.
Who, really, is expert enough in olive oil to make an informed choice between 200 olive oils?
Quite, but never mind Italian pasta-lube; watch this video and consider how well-qualified some people are to vote.
During her illness, Mrs Paine and I went through a long hell of ever-diminishing choices. We listened, took advice, thought hard and decided. Sometimes we decided to do as were were advised. Sometimes not. Those choices narrowed until they came down this question; "If we can get you stable enough to endure another horrid treatment that probably won't work do you want to try it?" It was a choice to buy with pain (and a large cheque, as the treatment was unlicensed and neither offered by the NHS nor covered by insurance) a lottery ticket with a one in millions chance of the prize of life.
Though we chose to buy that ticket, Mrs P. was never well enough. But she was making choices – and was therefore a free woman – to the very end of her life. There is a value in that. There is a joy and a dignity in freedom that Deborah Orr will never understand.
I wish her all the best for full recovery from her illness. Nonetheless – shame on her.
The Last Ditch by Tom Paine 
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