Death Be Not Proud (P.S.)
Language: English
Pages: 224
ISBN: 0061230979
Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub
Johnny Gunther was only seventeen years old when he died of a brain tumor. During the months of his illness, everyone near him was unforgettably impressed by his level-headed courage, his wit and quiet friendliness, and, above all, his unfaltering patience through times of despair. This deeply moving book is a father's memoir of a brave, intelligent, and spirited boy.
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Must be a form of treatment. He turned to me firmly and asked, “Does this mean that I have cancer?” Then he murmured to Frances later, “ I have so much to do! And there’s so little time!” 2 Johnny was discharged from Neurological on June 1, and he moved to our apartment. But he had to return to the hospital every morning for X-rays until June 20 when he was cleared to go to the house in Connecticut, a hundred miles away, for what we hoped, even then, would be an uninterrupted quiet.
Swing told me astonishing stories about a doctor named Max Gerson who had achieved remarkable arrestations of cancer and other illnesses by a therapy based on diet. Gerson was, and is, a perfectly authentic M.D., but unorthodox. He had been attacked by the Journal of the American Medical Association and others of the massive vested interests in medicine; Swing himself had been under bitter criticism for a broadcast describing and praising highly Gerson’s philosophy and methods of dietary cure. My.
Agog with triumph and excitement. He had done his experiment, and it certainly had worked. I had bought him some metallic lithium out of which he made anhydrous lithium hydride. The stuff was, he knew, highly inflammable. He did not know that it would burn right through a Pyrex flask, through a metal laboratory desk, and through the floor. Luckily his teacher was close by. Steadfastly, all these months, we had held to the diet, but now there seemed no point in going on. Not only, despite the.
Came in after a while, white. “ I got two handfuls,” was all he said. Later he told us that the tumor was growing so fast that the blood vessel nearby was thrombosed, that the malignant mass was even invading the scalp and that despite the depth he had reached, 11 cm., he had never penetrated to healthy brain tissue at all. I was up there early the next morning, May 2, and Johnny was not only conscious but quite talkative. The very first thing he said was, “Is all the work on the book cleared.
Springfield to see your son—Dr. Hahn, a neurologist. Here he is.” Dr. Hahn said, “ I think your child has a brain tumor.” I was too stunned to make sense. “But that’s very serious, isn’t it?” I exclaimed. Dr. Hahn said, “ I should say it is serious!” He went on, in a voice so emphatic that it was almost strident, “His disks are completely choked.” “His what?” “Ask any doctor in the world what that means—choked disks!” he shouted. He proceeded to describe other symptoms, and implored me with.