Before he exited the room, the doctor restated that the chemotherapy treatments should commence within a month if they were desired, perhaps his way of punctuating the option which he knew I did not wish to take. I nodded in acknowledgement. It must be difficult for a doctor, one whose profession is that of helping people live, to find he is unable to offer a cure; it brings to the surface the fact that medicine, although miraculous in many ways, is not omnipotent. Once again we said good-bye, yet this time, I knew it would be our final farewell. One of the more difficult tasks I had to perform was expressing to my family my wish to forego treatment. They needed to cling to the hope that there was something to be done for my malady, and were not pleased upon hearing my steadfast rejection of chemotherapy. Since I had foreseen, somewhat, their probable reaction, I was prepared for a lengthy duel and had therefore decided to write on paper the key directions that I wished the conversations to follow. The two discourses which ensued were emotional, yet controlled. I knew I had a weighty task to perform if I was to gently but thoroughly bespeak my desires to my worried father, and later my mother and sister, and further persuade them to accept those decisions. I candidly explained my repugnance toward chemotherapy, punctuated by the facts that it had not worked previously and the doctor had related that although there were new drugs, none could cure my type of cancer. With all sincerity, I said I did not know how long my life would prove to be, yet I wanted to maintain a life of quality, for that best equated my idea of what life should hold for each individual; I desired to own a sense of peace which could never be attained if I continually chased the spectrum of miracle cures so prevalent in a world whose main objective, for many, is the procuring of wealth. Time itself meant little if it did not also have the amenity of joy, and in my 19 years I had experienced more quality than some individuals realize in a lifetime of 80 years; I stressed that my family was an important part, indeed, and inherent part of that quality. I hoped that my family would be satisfied with my judgment, although their disapproval would not have altered my stance; I feared they would attempt to force treatment upon me through relentless conversation and in so doing, make life at home unbearable. This, happily, was not the case.