If one cannot say "Enough!," he is reduced to a mere shell of his former self through treatments which cannot cure; the illness itself is not so cruel. Moreover, one who accepts treatment without a hope for a cure dies in pain multiplied by the lack of peace which reflectance would have brought. When cancer was once again found to be the culprit behind my distended stomach region, the decision whether or not to accept treatment was virtually incontestable. My only objective was to leave the hospital and return to my redefined life; I desired to regain my strength before it waned as a result of the cancer itself, and this was possible only if I had no treatment. I felt that this was the beginning of the end of my life, and I did not wish to relinquish any of that time toward the pursuit of impossibilities; treatment is a poor word to bestow upon an ineffective poison which would deplete life's quality. The doctor wore a distinctly business-like air as he proceeded to explain the details concerning my general state of health. I methodically wrote his words on paper so that I would not forget any relevant details in my later discussions with my family and friends. The available treatment was chemotherapy, and although there were different drugs in addition to the former lot, he professed that none would actually cure my type of cancer. The result of undergoing treatment would be the temporary shrinkage of the tumor, with the hope perhaps, that a new and promising drug would be discovered in the near future; the side effects would echo those which had so delighted me on the previous encounter. I could not help but wonder if the time lost during the administration of treatment is subtracted from the days which one supposedly gains from having it. Seeing that I was not reacting to the option of treatment with feelings of great joy and anticipation, he then turned to the more sober issues of death via liver encroachment. Listening attentively, I made certain that all of my questions were adequately answered before he fled from the room. Liver cancer, he said, was usually painless; if pain was a factor, my doctor could prescribe a remedy which would lessen the discomfort. As the liver dysfunctioned, it would lose its ability to metabolize body chemicals; unable to rid the body of poisons, lassitude would set in while the appetite decreased. Finally, sleepiness would overcome any effort to remain awake and eventually result in a coma until death. I felt sorry for Dr. E. as he told me these facts. I could tell that this visit was extremely difficult for him since his eyes did not often meet with my own and he seemed eager to sprint from the room. I had been a "five years and cured" case; the fifth year after my first operation he dismissed me with a clean bill of health. We had given each other cordial good-byes, never thinking the next year would bring such disappointment.