Here's a dramatization of a thought that's been going through my mind:
Scene: Lexington, MA 1999
Gina: Who are you?
Cancer: I'm cancer.
Gina: What are you doing here?
Cancer: I'm here to end your life.
Gina: Well, I'm afraid that's not possible.
Cancer: What do you mean?
Gina: I mean that's just not going to work.
Cancer: Why not?
Gina: I have two little kids. They're five and eight. There's just no way that I'm going to have their mother die at that age.
Cancer: Right, but...
Gina: No "but." That just isn't going to work for me. At all.
Cancer: What if I come back in five years?
Gina: Ten and thirteen? Not much better, wouldn't you say?
Cancer: Ten years? That's fifteen and eighteen - pretty grown up, I'd say.
Gina: I wouldn't. They'll be teenagers. High schoolers. Not acceptable.
Cancer: Alright, Gina. I want to make this work. I don't even know why I'm saying this. I've ended the lives of countless mothers and fathers, and children even.
Gina: Your point?
Cancer: I'm going to give you fifteen years.
Gina: Fifteen years?
Cancer: Fifteen years, cancer free. Just raise your kids, enjoy every second, and don't worry about me. And then I'll come back for real. That's the best I can offer.
Gina: Thank you.