“Hi, how’s it going?” the tall drink of water said. I could see he was not a kid. Maybe younger than the other fellow, but his teen years lay so...ewhere in the past. His nametag said “Austin.”“I’m doing great, now,” I said, peeling two bucks out of my wallet and handing them to him. I managed to prolong the moment when my fingers touched the palm of his hand, as if a message, Da Vinci like, might flicker from my libido to his in a subtle bolt of desire. If he noticed, I couldn’t tell. Meanwhile,. They tried everything: a different mix of chemo, radiation. We contemplated more surgery.Finally, when her doctors found it in her spinal fluid and said the next stop was her brain, we knew her time was almost up. I pleaded with her to continue with the treatments, but McKayla firmly told me that she didn't want any more."If I go through all that—the surgery, the chemo, the radiation—what's that going to get me?" she asked through teary eyes. "Another month? Two? And for what? Feeling like shit. More

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