Warning: horrible story, sent for reinforcement purposes only:

Mylast memory of my mother speaking to me occurred as she lay in a hospital bed, after the first stroke but before the second (much worse) one, but already with orders to receive nothing by mouth, as her throat muscles were nonfunctional.

So...dId she say goodbye? Dictate messages for her beloved grandchildren? Ask me to water the garden while she was in hospital? No, she begged me to find her a smoke and a jug of wine, and she cursed me when I would -- could -- do neither.

She "lived" on for a couple of years after that, if being in a vegetative state is living, but seeing her use up her last chance to communicate with someone she loved in attempting to feed her vile addictions taught me better than anything how evil that sickness is.

Conquer it any way you can, but conquer it.

I'll be pulling for ya.
Claire