MAID. We warned you.

In the frosty, polite wasteland of Canada, “Healthcare” has officially transitioned from a noble pursuit of healing into a high-stakes clearance sale where the inventory is Grandma. Welcome to the Medical Assistance in Dying (MAiD) program, or as it’s increasingly known, the “We Ran Out of Bed Sheets So Here’s a Lethal Injection” initiative.

Once you decide life isn’t a priceless miracle but rather a line item on a spreadsheet, you aren’t in a hospital anymore, you’re in a market, and the government is a very aggressive haggler.

Let’s look at Mrs. B. She’s in her 80s, recovering from heart surgery, and having a rough time. She goes home with her husband, who discovers that “palliative care” is less about “peaceful transition” and more about “trying to lift a human being while your own spine is made of graham crackers.”

It’s really really hard.

Naturally, the husband hits a wall. He’s got Caregiver Burnout, a medical term for “I am three minutes away from screaming at my now cold breakfast.” He calls the MAiD referral service. It’s like calling an Uber, except the driver is the Grim Reaper and he doesn’t care if you have a 4.8 rating.

Here is where the story gets peak-Canada. Mrs. B talks to an assessor and pretty much says, “Actually, I’d like to keep living. My religious values and personal beliefs suggest that being dead is a permanent career move I’m not ready for. Can I get a hospice bed?”

The System responded by saying, “LOL, no. Those cost money. Have you tried dying? It’s free and we have a coupon.”

Hospital administration denied the hospice bed because apparently, in the Great White North, “hospice” is a luxury reserved for people who won’t stop breathing on their own fast enough.

The husband, even more exhausted, asks for a second opinion. Not on how to save her, but on how to end her. Fast.

Assessor #1: “Wait, she just said she wanted to live. This feels like coercion. Maybe we should, I don’t know, talk to her?”

The MAiD Provider: “Your ‘ethics’ are slowing down our efficiency metrics. We need something called an ‘urgent provision.'”

In any other context, “Urgent Provision” means a pizza is coming. In Ontario, it means they’re sending a third doctor to break the tie-vote on your soul. This third doctor arrives, nods at the paperwork, and ignores the first doctor’s screams about “undue influence.”

The final result is….death.

By that evening, Mrs. B was euthanized. She went from “I want to live” to “Room Temperature” in less time than it takes to get a passport renewed. (And a lot cheaper too!!!!!!!!!!!!)

The Ontario MAiD Death Review Committee looked at this and went, “Hmm, this seems a bit… murder-y?”

But nothing is changing. The machine is already running. When the goal of a healthcare system shifts from preserving life to clearing the queue, the most “efficient” treatment is always going to be the one that uses the least amount of medicine.