MANY pregnant women appreciate the emotional and practical guidance of a doula - a non-medical birth assistant - to support them through childbirth.

But now, more of us are deciding that we'd also like a doula at the end of our lives - a "death doula" - tasked with making our last days on Earth as happy as possible.

Incredibly, one woman whose husband used a death doula says she was "euphoric" on the day he died.

Lizzie Neville, from Salisbury, is one of Britain's 150 death doulas, who work across NHS hospitals, hospices and people's homes.

"The role is very similar to a birth doula," she tells Sun Online. "Only, they help you come into the world and we help you go out of it."

Lizzie, 44, charges £20 per hour to help dying clients and their families come to terms with the practical and emotional aspects of death, and generally tries to demystify the whole process.

Her job spec is broad - "anything that isn't medical" - meaning Lizzie can find herself taking on the role of a therapist, cleaner, counsellor, friend and confidante, often all at once.

Of course, this will sound familiar to the many people who have ended up helping their friends and family as they reach the end of their lives.

But now more people than ever are turning to professional doulas and willing to pay a qualified stranger for that support.

Giving people the death they want
Lizzie, chair of End of Life Doula UK, has spent the past ten years guiding people towards their deaths.

After working as a volunteer at Salisbury Hospice and supporting friends and family at the end of their lives, she became a professional doula two years ago.

And Lizzie says the demand for her services has never been greater.

"People are realising that hospitals are not going to be able to give you the death that you want," the mum-of-two says. "More people want to die at home, and more people want choice now."

Each one of Lizzie's sessions can be drastically different, and her job as a doula is to take a lead from her client.

"They're normally quite cheery and open," Lizzie says. "Whenever I see them, we don't have a list of things to go to. It's a case of what's going on on that day.

"If they've got loads of energy then you seize the moment and do what they want to do.

"Some days you might go in and see there's a pile of washing up and they haven't got the energy for it.

"Sometimes they just want company. They don't want you to talk to them - they just want you to be there and know they are supported.

"It's practical, emotional and sometimes spiritual role as well."

For Lowri Rylance, from Basingstoke, Lizzie's care was invaluable when her husband Richard was diagnosed with terminal cancer in 2016.

Richard was scared of death, but Lizzie's guidance helped him to die without fear.

"We both believe that it was the conversation she had with him which enabled him to let go," Lowri told the BBC. "That day, my overriding emotion was euphoria.

"I was absolutely thrilled that he had gone, and that was the greatest thing I got from having a death doula."

Making death natural
In Lizzie's case, clients will often get in touch after a terminal diagnosis, when they are looking to maximise the months they have left.

But because her work can be so emotionally draining and time-intensive, Lizzie can only take on one or two clients at the same time.

"We're not like a conveyor belt," she says. "If they ring me up and say 'I need help' then I'm going to be there for them."

And often, she's not just a doula to one person: whole families will end up leaning on her as they grapple with the knowledge that they are going to lose a loved one.

"For the rest of the family, we explain what's likely to happen in the last few days," she says. "We de-mystify everything.

"We're taking away the anxiety and fear of the unknown, and we validate their lives."

Spending so much time in the company of dying people has given Lizzie a unique perspective on life - and she hopes, as much as possible, that she can impart it onto her clients.

Lizzie puts her ethos this way: when you buy a bouquet of flowers, you know their stems have been cut and the blooms are already dying.

But you don't waste your time getting worked up over this; instead, you enjoy your lovely flowers while they're still bright.

You might put them in a glass of water so they don't wilt straight away, but you always knew they wouldn't be around forever. And that didn't stop you from buying them.

According to Lizzie, we should all look at our lives the same way - and not let a fear of death get in the way of enjoying ourselves.

The 'privilege' of helping people to die well
While Lizzie has been a death doula to dozens of people, she has no trouble saying goodbye when the time comes.

"Sometimes you play a big part and other times you're like the wallpaper," she says.

"It is an intimate time of their lives and we're very privileged to be a part of it.

"But to do this role you have to be able to let go and release them. You can't keep the emotions in because you'd be an empty vessel by the end of it."

Yet nothing could prepare Lizzie for the death of her own mother late last year.

"It was the toughest but also the most rewarding one," she says. "It was the most wonderful gift."

You only die once
Death is possibly the only conversation topic which the average person finds more awkward to talk about than sex or money.

But not so for Lizzie.

She realised that it was her "calling" to be a death doula ten years ago, as she was talking to a friend at the end of her life.

"I was the only one who would validate that she was dying," Lizzie says. "Everyone else said 'you'll get better', 'you'll fight this'.

"I was the only one who could comfortably say: 'Yes you are dying. How do you feel? What do you need to do?'

"I realised then that this was something I needed to do as well."

A lot of Lizzie's work now centres on advance planning, where she tries to get young, healthy people to think about their death decades in advance.

She helps people express their preferences for their own death while they are fit and able - taking the strain off their final days.

She explains: "There's a statement of wishes: where I want to die, who I want there, what I want to wear. All these things make a difference.

"There are also advance decisions to refuse treatment. It takes the pressure off the family and loved ones and everyone knows where they are with it."

After all, you only die once - so you may as well get it right.

This is the whole ethos behind what Lizzie does.

"Death is so medicalised now," Lizzie says.

"It's very uncool to die, and we've forgotten how to do it."