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While
I suspected the worst, it wasn't until I was taken home
for one day, prior to flying to Houston, that I really knew
I was going to die. Over two hundred people from all over
the country came to our house that day. I was really surprised.
I didn't think I had that many close friends. From the way
everybody was acting it was obvious they'd come to say goodbye.
My friend Dwayne Hamilton just broke down and cried.
Louise was pregnant at the time, and I thought to myself
how sad it was that I'd probably never get to see my baby.
By all rights, I'd be dead and gone before it arrived.
Louise was thinking the same thing and had made the arrangements
for further surgery at M. D. Anderson. Though the doctors
had told her there was no hope of my living, they said there
might be a slight chance of prolonging my life a few more
months through radical neck surgery. With that operation,
there was a possibility that I'd be able to live long enough
to see my baby before the cancer reached my brain.
We flew to Houston the next day. For the next two-and-a-half
weeks, I rested in the hospital to build myself up for the
surgery to come. I went into the operating room at 10:30
a.m. I spent eight hours under the knife and at 6:30 p.m.,
they gave Louise the news. I was going to make it. It had
been touch and go.
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