On March 4, I got an email from Chris Kahn. We had only been friends on Facebook for about a year and a half, but I’d come to like and respect him. He remembered that I’d had a bout with cancer last year, so he had some questions.
“I have not gotten the results from the biopsy yet, but my gastroenterologist and oncologist are fairly certain the tumor in my esophagus is cancerous,” Chris wrote. He said the doctor was making plans for chemo, radiation and surgery. “I am not really happy with the idea, but there may be no other option. If you have any thoughts you’d like to share, I’d appreciate it.”
Just 41 days later, Chris was dead.
After his initial message about the surgery, I posted the details of his situation and asked others for treatment options. Nothing interesting and viable turned up.
I didn’t keep up with the specifics of how he was doing, but I knew he was getting treatment. On March 12 — just eight days after his initial message to me — he posted on Facebook about the way his situation looked.
“It has started to spread,” he wrote. “The reality kind of sunk in today. This may kill me.”
UPDATE: No, I really haven’t died; I’ve just lost my sense of purpose
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