Mexican Woman Battles Terminal Illness While Fighting to Legalize Right to Die

A 31-year-old Mexican activist facing kidney failure is leading the charge to legalize euthanasia in Mexico. Samara Martínez, who has about five years to live, is advocating for the Transcendence Law that would allow terminally ill adults to choose assisted death.

MEXICO CITY — Throughout her battle with terminal illness, Samara Martínez has penned numerous heartfelt letters addressing her disease directly.

“Dear cursed one,” the Mexican advocate once penned. “I hate you because you have taken things away from me, but I love you because you have been my greatest teacher.”

The 31-year-old has emerged as one of Mexico’s leading advocates for legalizing euthanasia. While the subject has been discussed for years among advocacy organizations, political figures and scholars, her personal story has brought the issue into mainstream public discourse as legislators consider potential reforms.

Martínez first showed symptoms of chronic kidney disease when she was just 17 years old. Even after enduring chemotherapy treatments, receiving two kidney transplants, undergoing dialysis sessions and experiencing numerous hospital stays, medical experts believe she has approximately five years remaining.

The devastating physical impact and personal sacrifices brought on by her condition haven’t crushed her determination. Through her social media presence reaching over half a million people, Martínez shares how her health journey has strengthened her resolve and given her direction. She regularly engages with government officials, organizes speaking events and continues working in academia from her home base of Chihuahua in Mexico’s northern region.

“I would not have taken up this fight unless I had to endure what I’ve had to, so I’ve found in it my purpose,” she said.

While Mexico’s Constitution doesn’t specifically mention the practice, the country’s General Health Law categorizes euthanasia as “mercy killing” and prohibits both it and assisted suicide.

According to national legislation, helping or encouraging someone to end their life carries a sentence of one to five years behind bars. When someone directly causes another person’s death, penalties can reach up to 12 years imprisonment.

Throughout Latin America, Colombia stands alone as the only nation with comprehensive legal euthanasia regulations. Ecuador removed criminal penalties in 2024, while Uruguay passed enabling legislation in 2025 that awaits implementation.

Martínez champions what’s called the Transcendence Law.

Legislators from multiple political parties, including Morena – the party of President Claudia Sheinbaum – introduced the measure in 2025.

The bill seeks to eliminate current prohibitions and reclassify euthanasia as a lawful, voluntary medical intervention. It positions the practice as a fundamental right connected to human dignity and personal choice, contending that life shouldn’t be viewed as a mandate to endure pain.

Should it pass, the measure would permit adults to seek the procedure. While healthcare professionals could refuse participation based on personal beliefs, public medical facilities would be required to provide willing personnel.

Patricia Mercado, a legislator who has long championed women’s reproductive and workplace rights, backs Martínez’s efforts.

“Samara’s emergence — her struggle, her authenticity — brings the possibility of passing legislation closer,” Mercado said. “A testimony speaks louder than a thousand data points.”

Martínez frequently returns to her written correspondence with her illness. She describes writing as therapeutic and finds that reviewing her past thoughts helps her appreciate inner strength she didn’t realize she possessed.

“Today I read things I wrote four years ago and think: I was so wrong,” Martínez said. “But it’s nice to see how there’s more wisdom.”

She remembers correspondence from 2021 when her physician explained that her kidneys had stopped working independently, leaving her with two choices: receive a transplant or depend on treatments that assume her kidneys’ function of filtering toxins and excess fluids.

At that time, Martínez considered the second option impossible. “I thought I could never live connected to a machine,” she said. Today, she performs peritoneal dialysis nightly, spending hours attached to medical equipment roughly the size of a printer that accompanies her everywhere.

“An illness like this isn’t for everyone and it’s hard to embrace the pain,” Martínez said. “You can stop living and just exist, but I don’t want that.”

Martínez once enjoyed an active lifestyle, playing soccer and maintaining careful nutrition habits while believing she was building a foundation for lifelong wellness.

She encountered her future husband in 2013 during university studies where she pursued journalism. They wed five years afterward, even though Martínez had warned him about her medical situation.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” she questioned him after receiving a broader diagnosis that included lupus, an autoimmune condition. He replied that no hardship would ever drive him away.

When their marriage ended in 2024, Martínez had experienced losses beyond romantic love. Following over ten years of serious illness, she also lost her ideal position at a publishing company after informing her supervisor about an upcoming transplant and potential week-long recovery period. Financial obligations mounted, forcing her to sell her house and compelling her parents to secure loans. Longtime friendships disappeared.

Nausea, weight increases from treatment steroids and hospital stays became regular occurrences. While Martínez deliberately avoids portraying herself as a victim and firmly rejects sympathy, she acknowledges that certain periods brought inevitable frustration and uncertainty.

“I consider myself agnostic, but there are moments when you look up at the sky and question God — why me?” she said. “Now I practice stoicism and live each day with gratitude.”

People opposing her position frequently send Martínez hostile online messages. “I’ve been told that if God wants me to suffer, then I should suffer,” she said.

Resistance to euthanasia continues strongly among traditional and faith-based communities in Mexico. After Martínez’s proposal was presented, the Catholic Church reinforced Pope Leo’s message supporting life’s sacred nature.

Rodrigo Iván Cortés, who leads a traditional advocacy organization, explained their belief that life requires protection from conception through natural death. “For us, the value of life spans every stage,” he said.

Rev. Héctor Reyes stands among the few religious leaders backing Martínez’s mission, working alongside the organization “For the Right to Die with Dignity.” This group has promoted euthanasia for nearly twenty years.

“Transcendence has everything to do with the God I believe in,” said Reyes, emphasizing that people shouldn’t remain confined by concepts of a harsh and punitive God. “For me, transcendence lies in the hope that life doesn’t end with physical death.”

Martínez states she has no plans to surrender her cause. However, when her body fails, she envisions bidding farewell beside the ocean.

She maintains this isn’t driven by fear, but rather by her conviction that selecting one’s manner of death represents life’s most brave choice.

Her parents found it difficult when she announced she would dedicate her remaining time to advocating for euthanasia. “That meant beginning to grieve while I was still alive,” she said. “When my father asked me why I had to fight for this, I told him that if I didn’t do it, no one else would.”

Martínez recognizes she may not survive to witness her campaign’s results. Nevertheless, she believes working toward change has already proven worthwhile.

When her final moments approach, she hopes for a sunset away from medical facilities – a celebration of her life with family and friends present.

“That’s what my life deserves,” she said. “A proper time to say goodbye, to laugh and cry, and leave in peace.”