Several years ago, my older cousin Torch (born at home by the light of a flashlight-or torch) had a seizure that turned out to be the result of lung cancer that had gone to his brain. I arranged for him to see various specialists, and we learned that with aggressive treatment of his condition, including three to five hospital visits a week for chemotheraphy, he would live perharps four months. Ultimately, Torch decided against any treatment and simply look pills for brain swelling. He moved in with me. We spent the next eight months doing a bunch of things that he enjoyed, having fun together like we hadn't had in decades. We went to Disneyland, his first time. We'd hang out at home. Torch was a sports nut, and he was very happy to watch sports and eat my cooking. He even gained a bit of weight, eating his favorite foods rather than hospital foods. He had no serious pain, and he remained high-spirited. One day, he didn't wake up. He spent the next three days in a coma-like sleep and died. The cost of his medical care for those eight months, for the one drug he was taking, was about $20. Torch was no doctor, but he knew he wanted a life of quality, not just quantity. Don't most of us? If there is a state of the art of end-of-life care, it is this: death with dignity. As for me, my physician has my choices. They were easy to make, as they for most physicians. There will be no heroics, and I will go gentle into that good night. Like my mentor Charlie. Like my cousin Torch. Like my fellow doctors. Ken Murray is clinical assistant professor of family medicine at University of Southern California. Expected from Zocalo Public Square, a project of the Center for Social Cohesion.
Explanation:
Tama po yan
Pabrainles po pls lang nag mamakaawa ako
Kailangan ko po talaga huhu
Fulluw me fulluw back
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Answer:
Several years ago, my older cousin Torch (born at home by the light of a flashlight-or torch) had a seizure that turned out to be the result of lung cancer that had gone to his brain. I arranged for him to see various specialists, and we learned that with aggressive treatment of his condition, including three to five hospital visits a week for chemotheraphy, he would live perharps four months. Ultimately, Torch decided against any treatment and simply look pills for brain swelling. He moved in with me. We spent the next eight months doing a bunch of things that he enjoyed, having fun together like we hadn't had in decades. We went to Disneyland, his first time. We'd hang out at home. Torch was a sports nut, and he was very happy to watch sports and eat my cooking. He even gained a bit of weight, eating his favorite foods rather than hospital foods. He had no serious pain, and he remained high-spirited. One day, he didn't wake up. He spent the next three days in a coma-like sleep and died. The cost of his medical care for those eight months, for the one drug he was taking, was about $20. Torch was no doctor, but he knew he wanted a life of quality, not just quantity. Don't most of us? If there is a state of the art of end-of-life care, it is this: death with dignity. As for me, my physician has my choices. They were easy to make, as they for most physicians. There will be no heroics, and I will go gentle into that good night. Like my mentor Charlie. Like my cousin Torch. Like my fellow doctors. Ken Murray is clinical assistant professor of family medicine at University of Southern California. Expected from Zocalo Public Square, a project of the Center for Social Cohesion.
Explanation:
Tama po yan
Pabrainles po pls lang nag mamakaawa ako
Kailangan ko po talaga huhu
Fulluw me fulluw back