phoning from the hospital. Peg had beenadmitted for
severaldays.Heputhiscellonspeakersoshecouldtalk.
She sounded weak—there were long pauses when she
spoke—butshewasclear-voicedaboutthesituation.The
leukemia treatment had stopped working a few weeks
before,shesaid.Shedevelopedafeverandinfectiondue
to her compromised immune system. Imaging also
showedheroriginalcancerhadcomebackinherhipand
in her liver. The recurrent disease began to cause
immobilizing hip pain. Whenit made her incontinent,
thatfeltlikethefinalstraw.Shecheckedintothehospital
at that point, and she didn’t know what to do.
What had the doctors told her they could do? I asked.
“Notmuch,”shesaid.Shesoundedflat,utterlyhopeless.
They were giving her blood transfusions, pain
medications, and steroids for tumor-caused fevers.
They’d stopped giving her chemotherapy.
I asked her what her understanding of her condition was.
Shesaidsheknewshewasgoingtodie.There’snothing
moretheycando,shesaid,anedgeofangercreepinginto
her voice.
Iaskedherwhathergoalswere,andshedidn’thaveany
shecouldseepossible.WhenIaskedwhatherfearsfor
thefuturewere,she namedalitany:facing morepain,
suffering thehumiliation of losing more ofher bodily
control,beingunabletoleavethehospital.Shechokedup
as she spoke. She’d been there for days just getting
worse,andshefearedshedidn’thavemanymore.Iasked
herifthey’dtalkedtoherabouthospice.Theyhad,she
said, but she didn’t see what it could do to help her.