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By Robert Klitzman
July 28, 2018
"If this is what life is going to be like," my father said, "I don't want it."
I was astonished. To me, life seemed precious. It still does.
But two months earlier, he had developed leukemia and was undergoing aggressive chemotherapy. He was 78 and had survived the Great Depression, decades of hearing loss and open-heart surgery. My father was tough, but now felt unrelenting nausea, unrelieved by medication. He had lost weight and was now ash grey and weak. I had never seen him as distraught. Yet his doctors were still doing everything they could to keep him alive.
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