In my early thirties, I lost my mother to a rare, but deadly, form of cancer that was growing around her bile duct. Sixteen years later, my father also died from cancer. As horrific as the disease can be, I remember thinking during my mother’s illness that the treatment was worse than the cancer. Watching our mother endure chemotherapy — and the effect it had on her physical, mental and spiritual well-being — both my sister and I seriously questioned for the first time whether we would choose such a treatment if we were ever diagnosed with cancer. To this day, my answer is still a resounding NO.
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