The sensation of falling was surreal.I felt like a kite whose string finally snapped, free at last from the hand that held it too tight.The wind screamed in my ears, but inside, everything was dead silent.For the first time in the six months since my stomach cancer diagnosis, I wasn't in pain.It had been too long.For half a year, my world had been reduced to the metallic tang of blood and the sterile stench of antiseptic.Every time I threw up, it felt like my organs were being torn out. Every time I swallowed, it felt like gulping down razor blades.To keep my wife, Helen Kerr, from thinking I was playing the pity card, I learned to flush blood-soaked tissues down the toilet and bite down on my hand to muffle the screams when the agony hit.I even hid my painkillers inside an old vitamin bottle.Because Helen once told me, "Reuben Baxter, you're a scheming bastard. Even if you died right in front of me, I'd hate you for ruining my floor."And now, I was actually dying r
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