WA charity icon Ros Worthington reveals terminal cancer diagnosis, choice to access voluntary assisted dying

Staring death in the face after being given just weeks to live and still finding reason to smile and be at peace is not for the faint-hearted. Lucky Ros Worthington is all heart. Anyone who knows her, knows that. What would break most people only makes her stronger and braver – that’s her superpower. Even when she is meeting her own mortality. Dr Ros Worthington OAM is an unstoppable force of nature who has dedicated five decades of her life to her charitable “calling” – being a champion of the underdog and battler, setting up charity after charity, spearheading cause after cause, helping raise millions of dollars and being a saving grace for thousands of individuals and families in need. From the Make-A-Wish Foundation to Breast Cancer Care WA to Lifeline WA to the Love Angel Foundation, Ros, a former Western Australian of the Year for community, has always prided herself on being a catalyst for change. But this unstoppable force has met something she cannot overcome. A beast of a diagnosis. Ros had gone to her GP, unable to shake what she thought was a chest infection. Then just seven weeks ago, specialists delivered the news like a hammer blow: stage four lung cancer that had spread into her brain. The only symptom, in hindsight, was a lost sense of smell. Tumours are pressing against Ros’ brain stem. Doctors gave her three weeks to live. Advanced radiation cyberknife treatment was tried and bought her a little precious extra time. So Ros has returned to her cosy home in Geraldton to spend whatever time she has left the way she wants, surrounded by family and friends. There’s been tears, overwhelming sadness and crushing grief, but Ros is also grateful that she has a choice. For her, choice is power and choice is peace. And that is why she is choosing voluntary assisted dying (VAD). Like she has lived her entire life, Ros is bowing out on her own terms. While she is still Ros, not a shell of who she once was. Invasive, torturous treatment that might deliver a little bit more quantity of time, but ruin whatever quality of life she would have, is simply not an option for her. So at a day and time of her choosing in the not-too-distant future, most likely when the afternoon sun hits the pots of beautiful spring flowers on her patio, Ros will say her final goodbye. Before then, she is using the days and weeks she has left to add to her already remarkable legacy by sharing her story in the hope of changing minds – and eventually, legislation so VAD laws include people with dementia. Hundreds of West Australians have chosen the VAD path in the three years since it was legalised in this State. Few have been brave enough to be an open book like Ros. If her diagnosis came a few years earlier, Ros’ ending would have looked much different. Always an advocate of VAD, she would have had to travel elsewhere to pass. Now she can do so comfortably and safe in her own home. “Creating awareness on voluntary assisted dying is one of the last acts of community service that I could do,” she explained. “I have never, ever wanted my family or grandchildren to see me suffering, and I would be suffering if I stayed longer and didn’t have VAD. “I guess I’ve always been a little bit eccentric, or whatever people want to call me, but at the end of the day, I can say I did it my way, and that’s pretty cool.” Ros wants people sitting on the fence about VAD to know it’s a beautiful and compassionate way and nothing to be scared of. “I’ve always said turn your pain into power,” she said. “This is a painful process for me, but I’m going to make it powerful and leave an impact for people not to be frightened.” In recent weeks, five people close to Ros have confessed to her they are now considering VAD when they weren’t before. Ros can feel herself fading. Her balance, taste, smell and hearing are failing her. Her ultimate aim is to make it to her 73rd birthday next month. She refuses to be a burden. She knows what it’s like to shoulder the weight of a loved one’s demise – her father’s poor physical and mental health was prolonged, while her husband and soul mate, Roscoe, suffered years of debilitating back pain before his death by suicide in 2002. “Neither my dad nor my husband wanted to be a burden. But when we get sick, we need that love from our family and they received it ten-fold, but I want to leave happy and to be remembered as a bloody great woman who got her s..t together and put her big girl pants on,” she said. “People say I’m strong, I’m brave and yes, I am, but I’m still vulnerable to the point where I need my family there, holding me and supporting me.” The tears come in waves — mainly for the family the mother of four and grandmother of nine will leave behind. There are now special rituals. In the mornings her son Tony, her “rock” who has been by her side since her diagnosis, comes and lays with her as they plan their day. The early mornings and nights are the hardest as she counts the number of sunrises and sunsets left. Saying goodbye to her three-year-old great-grandson Leo before he went back to Perth was “one of the hardest days” of her life. “It’s going to rock my family. That’s why I’m actually in what I call a pre-healing stage with my family so they can be semi-prepared,” Ros said. “My family are my everything, saying goodbye to them is the hardest part, because I don’t actually want to go, but I have no say on if I am going, just how and when I go.” Ros has no fear about the process, or death itself. Because she knows she won’t be in any pain. When her symptoms become too much to bear, she will decide it’s time and give her family a week’s notice. “I feel on a transitional path, very peaceful and surrounded by my angels . . . I know I’m going somewhere very special and I also know that my beautiful Roscoe will be there waiting for me and many of my family.” Everyone in Ros’ close orbit is coming to terms with this confronting reality in their own way and she respects every one of them. “One day I hope they will understand why I’ve done it. Because to have quality time with each and everyone that you love, to be able to tell them that you love them, to be able to say what you want to say, is absolutely the most beautiful release, and there’s nothing unsaid. And that’s why I’m happy to go, but sad to leave.” At this stage, Ros is mainly pain-free — with her medication regime including THC, the benefits of medical marijuana are widely recognised. She will not touch any opioids, even though she’s been offered them, because of the part they played in her husband’s demise. Ros believes it’s inhumane not to allow people withering away with dementia not to access VAD. She witnessed the painful drawn-out agony her brother-in-law and his family went through during his battle over many years, which she says no one should have to endure. Ros believes if someone discovers they have the dementia gene, they should be able to make an advanced legal directive that if the worst happens they want to die with dignity at a certain point. “If me doing VAD creates awareness and leads to the law being changed to include people with dementia I will be one very happy lady up there rejoicing,” she said. A Department of Health spokesperson told The Sunday Times that consultation of a review of the Voluntary Assisted Dying Act had concluded and an independent panel was working to develop recommendations and a draft report, which is expected to be tabled in Parliament later this year. But it’s understood the review will not be looking at broadening the scope of the VAD Act, rather it will consider whether the laws are operating as Parliament intended. And although she won’t be around to see the finished product, Ros has agreed to her final weeks being filmed by a documentary crew, in the hope it will further the conversation around VAD and lead to change. In a full circle moment, one of the film crew members revealed he had a dream come true as a child through the first charity Ros set up in WA — Make-A-Wish. In fact, Ros credits the courage shown by Make-A-Wish kids for the reason she’s not scared of dying. “Those children have had a profound effect on me . . . I’ve seen a child smiling and say ‘I’m going now, mummy’ . . . that’s helped me face all of this,” she said. Ros is full of praise for the VAD process and the compassionate care and service she has received from the medical, palliative care and cancer community in the Mid West. Approval has been given by two doctors, and Ros’ case is now before the VAD Board for final consent. A simple country girl who grew up in Chapman Valley, just outside Geraldton, Ros doesn’t need to tick off any grandiose bucket list. Instead, it’s simple moments that matter — quality time with her nearest and dearest, feeding the birds in her backyard, watching her flowers grow. It’s a trip to see the wildflowers, a visit to her old primary school, breakfasts, morning teas, beach walks and pampering sessions with her “Yaya sisterhood” of girlfriends. “I really believe I was sent here to do my life’s work to be a voice for the voiceless. I’ve done that, it’s been a privilege and now I can go home,” she said. Far from wealthy in the traditional sense, when it comes to the values and assets that matter in being a good person Ros is one of the richest people to walk the earth. After a life of giving everything she has to everyone else, people are now helping Ros share more special moments with her family and grandchildren. Visit https://gofund.me/448c4f0c