The video began with a gentle smile. Sha Bai, a 43-year-old woman from Shanghai, stared into the camera, her voice steady yet carrying an undertone of resolve. “This is my goodbye,” she said. The revelation left viewers stunned. Sha Bai had decided to end her life through assisted euthanasia in Switzerland. The date was set: October 24, 4:00 PM.
The night before her departure, Sha Bai shared another video, this one with her 80-year-old father. The contrast was striking—her lighthearted demeanor against her father’s reddened eyes. “I’ve lived a wonderful life,” she said, her tone almost cheerful. Turning to her father, she gently added, “After today, I’ll never trouble you again.” Her words, though soft, hit like thunder.
In the background of the video, Switzerland’s serene landscape unfolded—a pond glistening in the sunlight, an idyllic setting for what would be her final moments. But beneath this calm exterior lay years of unrelenting pain.
Diagnosed with lupus at 20, Sha Bai had endured seven major flare-ups over two decades. Her immune system, relentless in its betrayal, had ravaged her kidneys, leaving her in end-stage renal failure. The disease was unforgiving, its nickname in the medical world—”the cancer that doesn’t kill”—a cruel irony. While it didn’t claim lives swiftly, it condemned its victims to a slow, agonizing existence.
Sha Bai had fought valiantly, but every battle left her weaker. The treatments, the countless hospital visits, the physical toll—they were all etched into her body and spirit. Despite the years of struggle, Sha Bai refused to let the disease define her completely. She remained a beacon of resilience, often sharing moments of her life on social media, offering glimpses of her humor and warmth. But this time, her final post took an unexpected turn.
“I’ll take three things with me,” she revealed in her video: a book gifted by a dear friend, a necklace from her closest confidante, and a scarf from her father. These tokens of love were all she needed to carry into the unknown.
To reach this point, Sha Bai had undergone an exhaustive approval process. Assisted euthanasia in Switzerland wasn’t a decision made lightly. It required strict assessments, psychological evaluations, and unwavering conviction. She passed every hurdle, her determination unwavering. Her father, though heartbroken, accompanied her, silently bearing the unbearable weight of her choice.
Sha Bai’s journey came at a steep cost—not just emotionally but financially. The process, from legal fees to the procedure itself, amounted to nearly 200,000 RMB. Her savings and contributions from friends made it possible. Yet, the cost paled compared to the priceless sense of agency she reclaimed in making this final choice.
Her social media accounts became a gathering ground for emotions. Support poured in, mixed with pleas for her to reconsider. “What if there’s a miracle tomorrow?” one user wrote. But Sha Bai’s mind was made up. Her profile picture, once vibrant, turned grayscale after her final post. Her account’s bio now read: “I have blossomed. Without fear, without regret.”
This story, however, is not just about one woman’s choice but also a reflection on a larger societal dilemma. In China, euthanasia is illegal, its absence justified by traditional values, moral ethics, and a supposed reverence for life. But some argue the truth is darker.
“Healthcare here is a business, not a humanitarian act,” one commentator remarked. “Hospitals thrive on prolonged treatments, especially for terminal patients. Euthanasia would cut into their profits.” Indeed, for families bound by societal expectations, the financial and emotional toll of prolonged care often leads to despair. Stories abound of people amputating their limbs at home due to unaffordable medical costs or being abandoned outside hospitals when they couldn’t pay their bills.
As Sha Bai’s life drew to a close in a faraway land, her story stirred an uncomfortable conversation. Why must people like her, seeking dignity in their final moments, leave their homeland to find it? Why must they fight not only their illnesses but also the systems meant to support them?
Sha Bai’s departure left a void, but her message remained—a poignant reminder of the right to choose, the cost of compassion, and the struggle for dignity in the face of life’s harshest trials.