Jenny, a native of Vlaams-Brabant, Flanders, was described as a woman with tons of humour and joy of life. She worked in Brussels, Belgium, in the Federal administration services and in after-school children’s care.
In 2006, Jenny suddenly developed hyperacusis and tinnitus after taking antidepressants. Jenny sought numerous treatments, ranging from experimental devices created for tinnitus relief in 2008 to tinnitus retraining therapy in 2011, but none proved effective. Hyperacusis and tinnitus stripped her life away piece by piece. First, she lost her job, then her bike. Her dog had to go next - rehomed because she could no longer care for him. Friends drifted away, unable to understand. Music, dancing, even books became unbearable. In her search for peace, Jenny applied to the LEIF in Bruges, where euthanasia is permitted under strict guidelines for those facing unbearable, untreatable suffering. After almost a year of evaluations and consultations with doctors and specialists, her request was ultimately granted on May 29, 2017, marking one of the rare instances in which a non-terminal physical condition, without prospects for improvement, led to euthanasia approval. Her experience is detailed in her final letter that was published a year after her passing, Jenny's Letter.
Jenny passed away from euthanasia on June 12, 2017.
She was 58 years old when she died.
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Iris Verraest
A few weeks ago, Jenny and I had moved into a holiday cottage in De Haan. She had arranged it all in a hurry to escape the noise from the construction work next door. One evening, we had ordered pizza and some appetizers, and in an attempt to get the last pieces of tomato from her part of the bruschetta, I suddenly started waving a knife around dangerously... Because I wasn’t moving fast enough, I had turned the knife around in my hand to use my fingers. "Hey," Jenny shouts, "I’m not tired of my life yet." Immediately, we both panic for a moment, then the silence lasts just a fraction of a second before we both burst into laughter. Humor has often helped us through difficult times. After we had finished laughing and dried our tears, Jenny says seriously, "I’m NOT tired of my life, I’m tired of the tinnitus and hyperacusis."
I can see that most of you don’t understand this... It’s forgiven. You have to almost be one of us to know how it feels and the impact it has on your life. Dietrich Hectors tried to explain it years ago in his farewell letter. These were his words:
"But I have an incurable ailment called tinnitus and hyperacusis, which controls my entire life. Tinnitus means hearing sounds that aren’t there; hyperacusis means sensitivity to noise. But the ailment includes more than just these two."
Dietrich was good with words and could describe the symptoms well:
"I can’t speak right now because it hurts my ears. Even the tapping on the keyboard causes some pain in my ears. The buzzing of the PC is just bearable. It’s clear that this hyperacusis is a torturous journey for your life. Speaking is difficult, social contact is kept to a minimum... Pain isn’t the only issue, I’m burdened with a constant high-pitched tone and a humming noise that follows me everywhere. Everyone has probably experienced it, coming from a loud party or club, when your ears ring. There must always be enough background noise so you don’t realize it’s there. But the problem is that the background noise can’t get too loud, or else my ears will hurt even more [...] The hyperacusis is terrible, the condition eats up a tremendous amount of energy. Just imagine that every word you say hurts, and you have a constant whistling steam kettle in your ears."
That’s Dietrich’s explanation.
Jenny was my friend, and over the past years, we’ve shared much love and hardship. This past year, we experienced a lot together. With the exception of a few exceptional people, often fellow sufferers, life was very lonely.
That’s what this invisible, chronic condition does to you: bit by bit, it takes away your work, your hobbies, your social life, and with that, your friends... Enjoying a chat becomes difficult; functioning in groups becomes impossible; enjoying a touch of music is out of the question... and suddenly, very little remains... your world becomes very small.
But Jenny was so much more: she was a daughter, a sister, a mother, and an aunt...
Boris says it beautifully:
"My aunt is rock ‘n roll. When I was with her in Denderleeuw, during my teenage years, we played this record over and over..."
