Perspective by Jeffrey Davitz
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In April 2015, at the age of 55, I was diagnosed with one of the most lethal and aggressive brain tumors, a brainstem glioblastoma multiforme in an advanced stage. The prognosis was both grim and precise: Without treatment, I might have a few months; with treatment, I could last six months. If I beat overwhelming odds, I’d toast the new year one last time.
During the time my doctors were converging on my cancer diagnosis, interest was building here in California for a law, called “aid in dying,” that would allow physicians to help patients end their lives....
Then, I learned that while the aid-in-dying law had been enacted, it contained a procedural delay: It would not be effective until the following June, in 2016, long past my predicted death. I decided I wasn’t going to move to Oregon or another state that permitted assisted suicide, since it would eventually be legal in my state. I would wait if I could, and I would use extralegal means if I began to slip beforehand.... I was ready....
Then a peculiar thing happened: I started to get better.