death in packets of three

First it was a very old lady who fell at home, fractured her hip and developed pneumonia in hospital. Then it was an enormously fat man (he weighed 25 stone) who also got pneumonia, in large part due to the weight of fat pressing on his chest.

Then, finally, and worst of all, another patient, like the other 2, whom I had known since I started in general practice in 1979, also succumbed to pneumonia. But this last man was a real favourite of mine, a really excellent human being, but who like me, had smoked since childhood. Unsurprisingly, he had lung cancer, which I discovered just 2 months ago. Even for such a grim scenario as Ca lung, this was a very rapid decline. The poor bastard had come into the surgery to see me only last week, accompanied by his daughter, who informed me that it had taken him all his energy to get himself there. Slightly abashed, I agreed to visit him at home from now on. But I never got the chance. On the very day, 1 week later, when I had arranged to go and see him at home, we received a call from the hospital to say he hadn't made it.

Yet there he had been, cracking jokes with me, me telling little lies about how well he was doing, you know, considering. We spent much of last week arranging services like an oxygen supply and visits from cancer specialist nurses. In the event, none of these proved necessary.

If and when I get cancer, or some other terminal nasty (and as I like to say to my
patients, you've got to die of something, and it won't be a bit of a cold) will I be one of the ones who slip away in a trice, like this poor chap, or will I be one of those cantankerous buggers who refuse to go quietly? Or will I take a hand and take steps to cheat the terminal disease, whatever it is, and take my own life (should that prove to be possible, which of course it often isn't) No one knows until it happens...