Suzanne,

I can't add much to the great replies here, but hope my thoughts and experiences with serious life threatening illness can help.

In June, a CT scan showed a large mass in my lung. My lung specialist told me that the size, shape, and rapid growth were consistent with cancer. Lung cancer can be very hard to diagnose. As big as the mass in my lung was, if it were cancer, I’d probably live for just a few months. After the initial roaring confusion and despair when the CT scan results were told to me, I got my bearings back and started planning for my final days.

It turns out that I have what is called necrotizing pneumonia. The mass in my lung was dead and dying tissue. There appears to be no cancer, but cancer is still a possibility. Cancer or not, I was VERY sick and at serious risk of dying from the pneumonia in July. My health is now much improved. The latest CT scan shows the mass has shrunk to it's probably smallest possible size...a scar. I still have pneumonia, but it's well on its way to healing. It left me with some emphysema, and an appreciation of every day as a precious gift.

My inspiration and mentor in dealing with this was my best friend who had died of liver cancer about 10 years ago. How he handled the last six months of his life was the example I decided to follow. This is somewhat of a eulogy. I hope you and your husband can get some inspiration and guidance from who he was.

Bill Edmonston was an ex-Marine warrior for world peace, and a deeply spiritual man. When he got the diagnosis of liver cancer, he accepted the facts as they were and his prognosis. Warrior that he was, he dealt with his changed circumstances calmly, powerfully, and with acceptance. First, he told everybody who cared for him about his situation. Then he passed on his many "retirement" projects to others who were devoted to carrying on his work. These included an Indian Literacy project with two local tribes and a free or low cost speech and language therapy foundation he founded (called Logogenics, Inc.).

When his projects were in good hands, he and his wife drove from San Diego to visit friends and family in Texas, New Mexico, and Washington state while his health permitted. As he became weaker and as his pain increased, he withdrew to spend more and more time with his friends, family and grandchildren. He metered his morphine to be aware and active when awake and with other people, and to be reasonably pain free when he intended to sleep and rest. Amazingly, he attended the college graduation party for one of my sons two days before he died. At the party, he joked, sang, and played the piano and banjo for us. Most of the other guests didn't know how sick Bill was.

Bills spirituality ranged from a deep involvement in the Unitarian Universalist Church, through a wide ranging lifelong study of eastern thought and ancient Greek philosophy. He had translated the ancient Babylonian Gilgamesh epic, and had sculpted a series of bronze statues of the ancient Greek goddess Demeter. Doing both helped him understand these ancient philosophies and spiritual paths. Besides being very smart, Bill was an accomplished artist.

Most of us will never achieve what Bill did or have the impact on others that he did, but we can live and end our lives like he did, with grace, power, caring for others, and acceptance of what is.

If your husband wants to continue fighting this, by all means he should explore and try whatever seems reasonable to try. But, as the saying goes, "Hope for the best and plan for the worst." I know that you and your husband had a future planned, and expectations that have been dashed by his illness. Nothing is hopeless. But hope and a state of grace can come in ways and forms that we don't expect.

These days and months to come can be the most rewarding and profound time of your lives. His health may not allow a wild romantic trip to Paris or Hawaii, but he and you may now finally have the time and motivation to talk deeply of your feelings for each other, regrets you may have, apologize if you or he feel the need, and share revelations, hopes and wishes for each other and love for your family, and plan for life after he's gone. You can bond like you never have before. He can give up striving and find peace, and so can you.

You both have my deepest sympathy, hopes, and prayers.