In a 2013 piece that was harder to write than it is to read, I remembered my good friend and long-time I contributor Rich Shereikis, who died of advanced pancreatic cancer at the age of 75.
By all accounts his final days, spent under treatment at a well-known cancer clinic at a major US city, were as unpleasant, as demeaning and as expensive as modern American medical science could make them. Which made it difficult to read this account of a man in precisely Rich's situation, save that this man had the good fortune to have terminal cancer in France.
I offer no further comment. Just read it if anyone you care about has gone through it, or if you still don't quite understand why paying for it is the least of the problems with this country's health care system.