My mom died of lung cancer. Her last couple of days were spent suffocating. They had her on morphine, but she was in agony, and they wouldn't give her more. They said it might be fatal, but they knew she was going to die within forty-eight hours anyway. Pure stupidity. When my dad was diagnosed with bladder cancer and given a few months to live, he got his affairs in order, then one night he popped himself in the temple with a .32 magnum revolver. Instant checkout, as opposed to weeks or months of pain and helplessness. If I were that dude on the moon, I'd have a nice long look at the earth and stars, then when the oxygen level began to get uncomfortably low I'd shoot myself in the head with a revolver (yes, guns work in space), or with whatever astronauts have--ray guns or something.
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