On February 28th, 2012 at approximately 5:30 p.m., an emergency room ear, nose, throat doctor (ENT) who treated me for difficulty in breathing gathered my family around him. He reported that the throat cancer he found while inserting a trach tube was at stage 4 and that my prognosis was terminal. They were informed that the only thing they could do was to take me home and make me “comfortable.”
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I don’t remember much. Diane, my youngest daughter Amanda, my ex-wife and others were at my bedside. I was heavily sedated and could barely speak. It was a carousel of faces and nurses, all in their own way, trying to bring me comfort. However, my life partner Diane wasn’t having any of the take-me-home-and-make-me-comfortable thing. She would have none of that. She demanded that an oncologist see me.