Before I lost my tongue to cancer, having friends over for dinner was my most common form of hanging out: No sane person wants their tongue removed, but having it out and not being able to swallow …| The Story's Story
For many people, taking a psychedelic like psilocybin is one of the most revelatory, profound, bizarre, beautiful, notable experiences of their lives. I’m one. It’s hard to enumerate al…| The Story's Story
I keep thinking about what happens to my wife, Bess, after I die; there’s a recurrent image in my mind, about what happens to her after I’m gone, that I can’t seem to shake. Bess …| The Story's Story
If you find this piece worthwhile, consider the Go Fund Me that’s funding ongoing cancer care. Alex Tabarrok writes about how “when the FDA fails to approve a good drug, people die but the bo…| The Story's Story
I’m entering hospice. It’s time, and realistically past time. The squamous cell carcinoma tumors are growing, and the two doses of spot radiation I got on June 10 and 12 have utterly destroyed what…| The Story's Story
Some things about the clinical trial process—and the behaviors of the drug companies, hospitals, and oncologists that are part of the clinical trial process—puzzle me, because I notice problems and…| The Story's Story
I’ll admit a disappointing answer up front: I don’t know. Because I’m dying, I’ve been saying goodbye a lot, but even after a bunch of practice I still don’t know how …| The Story's Story
My wife, Bess, wrote this. For more context, see “I am dying of squamous cell carcinoma, and the treatments that might save me are just out of reach.” Jake is sitting on the couch besid…| The Story's Story
I stand on the scale and it flashes 137.8 lbs, which elicits cursing because 137.8 lbs is dangerously low and I’ve been trying, futilely, to gain. Though I’m dying at an accelerated rat…| The Story's Story
After he dies, my husband wants me to not just survive, but thrive| bessstillman.substack.com
My wife, Bess, wrote this. It’s 11 p.m. and I’m shaving my dying husband’s head. We’re in the bathroom, lit only by a curlicue of nightlight. I’m wielding a heavy pair of metal clippers in my right…| The Story's Story
This essay is by my wife, Bess. “Are you taking care of yourself?” Francesca asks. It’s a fair question: my husband, Jake, is dying of a metastasizing squamous cell carcinoma. I say I don’t know wh…| The Story's Story