The walls of Tony Nicklinson's bungalow are lined with photographs which show a handsome, high-spirited man who cherished life and always loved a physical challenge.
In one, he is sky-diving in the Middle East; in another tearing through the jungle in Thailand on a Quad bike. Yet another has 6ft 4in Tony walking along the wires of the 676ft-high Tsing Ma Bridge in Hong Kong. Several show him in full rugby kit.
'That's the kind of active man he was,' says Jane, his loving wife of nearly 25 years. 'He was the life and soul of the party. Argumentative, funny, loving and hard-working. He loved to play rugby and was very fit.'
Proud though she is of the man in the pictures, the images are also a painful daily reminder of how life has changed. Tony is a prisoner in his body – paralysed from the neck down, unable to talk (except emitting loud grunts and groans), or do anything for himself after suffering a stroke five years ago.
The 56-year-old civil engineer suffers from a terrifying condition brought on by the stroke – locked-in syndrome. Sufferers can still think, hear and feel, but are incapable of any movement except, perhaps (as in Tony's case) to blink their eyes and move their head.
'We communicate using a Perspex board that has letters on it,' Jane explains. 'He looks at a letter and blinks to tell us which letter he wants and spells out words that way.'
And through a series of blinks, he tells us it is 'like being buried alive'.
He has become morose. His days are spent writing his memoirs letter by letter on a specially adapted computer, which responds to his eye movements, and watching television.
Faced with certain deterioration and a life racked by ever-increasing mental anguish, compounded by a dehumanising lack of dignity, he desperately wants to die.
Physically unable to do the deed himself and too incapacitated to travel to the Swiss suicide clinic run by Dignitas, he wants his 55-year-old wife to help him commit suicide.
But as the law stands, she would face a murder charge and the mandatory life sentence if she did.
So Tony has launched a landmark legal challenge against the Director of Public Prosecutions to grant her immunity so that she can carry out his wishes. He is claiming that the law against mercy killing is disproportionate and against Human Rights legislation.
Jane is clearly torn between her deep love for her husband and his equally strong desire for a swift death. Their daughters, 23-year-old Lauren and Beth, 21, are backing his demand for assisted suicide because they love him and want his suffering to end.
For Tony, life has become hell. In this heart-rending interview he explains (through the Perspex board) that his life no longer has any meaning.
He looks gaunt and frail – his once handsome face contorted and etched with anguish. Jane constantly wipes away the saliva that drips from his mouth.
Tony tells us: 'My life is over – not in the sense of breathing and eating, which I'm clearly doing, but in the sense of the quality of my life.
'Never again shall I experience the pleasure of going to work. I shall never know what it's like to hold my grandchildren and never again shall I see my friends in the Middle East.
'I hate my life and wish it to end at a place, in a manner and at a time of my own choosing.'
He adds: 'The prospect of living like this for perhaps the next 20 years or so, until I die of natural causes, fills me with horror. I cannot scratch an itch. I cannot pick my nose if it is blocked and I can only eat if fed like a baby – only I won't grow out of it, unlike a baby.
'I have no privacy or dignity left. I am washed, dressed and put to bed by carers who are, after all, still strangers... am I grateful that the doctors saved my life? No, I am not. If I had my time again, and knew then what I know now, I would have not called the ambulance but let nature take its course after I suffered a stroke.
'I'm not depressed, so do not need counselling. I've had almost five years to think about my future and it does not look good.
'I can expect no cure or improvement in my condition as my muscles and joints seize up through lack of use. Indeed, I can expect to dribble my way into old age.
'I want to die in my home at a time of my own choosing. I would like Jane to give me a heavy sedative, then a doctor could do the rest.'
Standing by his side Jane calmly offers her support, albeit somewhat reluctantly as she admits that, despite everything, she doesn't want to lose him. 'But I can see how he suffers every day,' she says, 'trapped in a body that is little more than a shell.
'So, however much I would like to have him stay with me, I love him too much to try to change his mind. This is his choice – it's what he wants.'
Her mental anguish is compounded by the realisation that she's not even sure that she could do what Tony asks of her, even if the law made it possible. 'I don't know if I could do it. If it was not illegal, then a doctor could do it.
'As things stand I'm not brave enough to break the law and be charged with murder and he would not let me.'
There is no doubting the strength of their love and certainly not Jane's complete devotion.
Tony needs round-the-clock attention, and a team of day and night carers help her make his life as endurable as possible.
The couple are due to celebrate their silver wedding anniversary next July.
Self-declared nomads, with a passion for the Far East, they met in Dubai in 1984 after friends set them up on a blind date.
Jane, a nurse from Dorset, had been living in the Gulf state for three years. Tony, a civil engineer in the booming construction industry, grew up in Kent and had just moved to Dubai after a year working in Egypt. She was 29 and he a year older.
'He was tall, dark and handsome and I fell in love with him pretty much immediately,' Jane recalls. 'He was a great laugh, but a terrible dancer.'
She knew instinctively that she had found her life partner and they became engaged 'quite quickly' because her father was dying and she wanted him to see that she had found someone who was going to look after her.
Following their marriage in 1986, they returned to the UK to settle in North London. But within a year the lure of Dubai saw them back in the desert state, where their first daughter Laura was born.
Twelve months later they set up home in Dartford, Kent – staying there for six years. Beth, their second child, arrived in 1989.
Their peripatetic life resumed in 1992 when Tony accepted jobs that took the family to Malaysia, Hong Kong and Abu Dhabi. 'It was so crazy but we loved it,' recalls Jane. 'We were nomads and the kids always travelled everywhere with us.'
They finally settled in Sharjah, one of the smaller states in the Emirates.
'It was a comfortable life but not lavish,' Jane continues. 'People think that if you work in the Emirates you earn lots of money and live a flash life. But Tony was with a Greek construction company and the salary wasn't extravagant. Sharjah was very laid-back and not glitzy like Dubai.'
At this point Tony blinks for her to hold up the board (Jane appears almost to have anticipated his request) and communicates: 'Our friends were just normal down-to-earth. Rather than saving every penny we enjoyed ourselves and it was a good life.' She nods in agreement.
There were luxury holidays, of course, to Australia, New Zealand, the Philippines and Hong Kong. The girls went to expensive private schools (nine in all) and Jane, who didn't have to work, volunteered her spare time to charitable causes.
'The only thing I miss about that time is Tony as he was.' Jane says, choking back a sob.
The family were active in the local social club, Sharjah Wanderers, where the majority of the expat community congregated. 'It was the centre of our lives,' Jane says. 'Tony ran it and I helped him as the secretary. He was also vice-chairman of the influential Arabian Gulf Rugby Football Union – which was a dream come true for him as rugby is his passion.
'He had played rugby in his youth for Cranbrook in Kent and was mad about it.'
Tony and Jane considered themselves blessed, until tragedy struck one June morning in 2005 as Tony suffered a devastating stroke during a business trip to Athens.
Since then Tony's daily routine has been tedious and soul-destroying. Jane wakes him at 7.15am and feeds him liquidised breakfast, before the daily carer arrives at 8.30am for his ablution and leg exercise (his feet look painfully swollen from poor circulation).
Another carer occasionally sits with him for a couple of hours in the day, so that Jane can walk the dog or go shopping, while Tony continues with his memoirs. A carer stays with him overnight, helping him to move an arm or a leg and wiping away saliva which he is unable to swallow.
'Every day is the same for him,' says Jane, whose life is so completely taken up with his care that she still has no friends in the area.
He has a cord around his neck which he can move to call for assistance and change TV channels, but otherwise he is helpless.
Jane says: 'He's fed liquidised food, but when he eats, pools of saliva block his throat. When he gets frustrated it's horrible. He goes bright red and cries – it breaks my heart. Even seeing friends is hard for him as he can't join in a conversation.
'Tony was always opinionated and loved the sound of his own voice – it was big and booming.
'Nothing made him happier than to get someone with an opposing view and argue for hours.'
Tony's cognitive abilities are as sharp as ever as he communicates with Jane via the Perspex board. But it's a very slow process and he can only do it if the person he wishes to speak to is able to use the board.
Jane admits that one of the first things he spelled out to her was that he wanted to die – although in the early days he thought he would get better. She says: 'Once he found out it was hopeless he kept saying that he wanted to end his life, but he said he'd wait a couple of years to see if he could adapt. And he has not changed his mind.
'People don't understand how desperate he feels and how much he wants to end his life. Some may think even that I want to get rid of him to ease my burden, but the only reason I'm supporting him is because it's what he wants.'
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