It was June 2006 when Chris invited me for lunch at a French bistro in Clapham. Tearfully he explained that he thought he had a terminal illness and was going to put his affairs in order, say goodbye to his friends and go off to Switzerland to die. Shocking as this sounded, it was typical of Chris to have a plan.

I met Chris in 1982 when he was a raffish young lecturer at Birkenhead College. Our partners were friends and we became a great foursome – we often took holidays together. Chris was the most “together” gay man I’d met, I adored him.

But now he needed my help. I went along to all the hospital visits and was there when the news came that his prostate cancer had spread to the bones and he was going to die. I moved into his spare room and became his live-in companion and, later, carer. I recall no discussion about going to Dignitas – that was simply how Chris was going to die.

A group of close friends were each delegated a role, a German speaker would liaise with the Swiss. Estate agents were appointed to sell his properties when the time came.

A holiday was recommended and off we went to visit friends in Brazil. But within days of arriving Chris was in agony so we flew back to London, straight from the airport to the cancer ward. He was discharged a few days later once the pain had been controlled.

Being accepted as a client of Dignitas was not easy, nor should it be. First Chris had to provide evidence that he had a terminal illness to the Dignitas doctor in Switzerland. He also had to prove to them that he had thought through his decision carefully. Five months later, Chris was given the green light.

After some time in a local hospice, a date came through for the appointment in Zurich – January 12.Because Chris had become very frail so rapidly, it was thought best to use Dignitas’s ambulance door to door. The hospice management had found out about Chris’s intentions and after some intense efforts to dissuade him, finally agreed that he could discharge himself. At 6pm the next day the ambulance (an adapted people carrier) arrived at Chris’s home, and thus began the worst journey I’ve been on. The following sleepless 24 hours still run through my mind as Chris’s physical pain and mental anguish grew with every mile.

Only when we arrived in Zurich did Chris regain his usual sobriety for the interview to confirm his condition and understanding of the process about to happen. More friends joined us and we all travelled to the Dignitas flat in a slightly down-at-heel residential area. They say death has a smell and it hit me as we entered the upstairs flat. Not dingy exactly, not dirty, but not somewhere people lived. The furniture looked donated, the thick rug on the parquet caught Chris’s slippers, he was too weak to stand unaided.

The “suicide assistants”, who were both in their thirties, were charming and sweet. It turned out that the man was terminally ill and had come to Dignitas to die, only to change his mind at the last minute, as many do.

They explained the process. Then the time came for him to drink the barbiturates. No one was allowed to assist him. This was filmed as evidence that Chris hadn’t been coerced. Always a gourmand, Chris asked if the assistant had ever tasted the fluid and was it palatable. Among his last words were, “God that tastes f***ing disgusting”. Within a minute he had drifted into sleep.

I can’t say I agree with euthanasia even after seeing Chris go through this. But in this instance, it seemed entirely appropriate to the man.

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