Both my uncle (a very close uncle) and my mother are living survivors of cancer. My uncle had a tumor in his cerebellum, very near to his brain stem. My mother had melanoma skin cancer on her left shoulder.<p>I can tell you that the way you deal with cancer (or any high-mortality illness) is an incredibly personal decision. My mother is fortunate that she caught the cancer early. A sub-2mm melanoma left here with a golfball sized scoup of flesh missing from her shoulder.<p>My uncle has it far worse. The damage to his cerebellum and hippocampus means that A) he can no longer balance using his inner ear mechanism, and B) he has a difficult time developing new long term memories (yes, a lot like Memento).<p>I love my uncle so much it almost brings me to tears just talking about it, but knowing what I know now, I'd have understood perfectly if he decided to forego the radiation treatments that have literally caused his teeth to rot out of his head. I'd have understood perfectly if he decided to forego the debilitating chemo treatments that felt like (in the doctor's words) "a bad case of heroin withdraw". I'd have understood perfectly if he decided to forego the resulting divorce from his wife.<p>To say "cancer is a bitch" is a gross understatement. Even when you survive, what lies on the other side is a great amount of uncertainty. My uncle continues to be grateful for every day of his life, but I'd understand perfectly if he weren't.<p>Our lives are the one thing that remain our own until the end. We all decide how we'll live and die individually, and for our own reasons.