Well, I'll try to make this as simple as possible.
My grandad contracted cancer. He fought it with a combination of drugs and the immune system for quite some time, maybe 12-18 months. He degraded physically during this time, eventually he could barely walk and lost tonnes of weight. He showed me his foot once and it was literally black.
When he was healthy he was always had a massive appetite and loved his food, and he ended up barely able to eat anything. He was as strong as an ox, he could batter me at arm wrestling (I tried to avoid it, to be honest) when he was 70, but he just wasted away the last year of his life.
A few months before he died, the cancer became terminal and there was nothing the medical profession could do any more. By now he was pretty much totally dependent and eventually he inevitably ended up in care, although he was in and out of hospital as well.
I don't really want to go through everything that happened at that time because it's distressing for me to remember it, but it wasn't pleasant, and he was barely compos mentis.
I didn't see the last 48 hours of his life, but I know he was going in and out and back into consciousness as his body made its last futile attempts to fight the cancer, and the cancerous cells eventually took over his body.
Really the last few months of his life were pure suffering. And, of course, it's not pure suffering where something good might happen at the end of it, there is nothing to look forward to.
One of the things I found particularly odd was that no-one had told him that he was going to die. I remember my mum stating that he'd said while he was in hospital that he didn't want to die. And I also remember, I was very lucky actually, that one day when he was in care he showed a remarkable improvement over his previous state. He was able to eat half a plate of pie and mash (I finished it off and ate his pudding being the ever selfless person that I am) which I fed him, and we watched the snooker on TV and listened to Man United playing Spurs, and that was the last time he was really able to communicate.
And I remember being in the pub with my mum and her husband after they'd seen this improvement, and he is particularly a person who likes to look on the bright side of everything, and he was saying maybe there is going to be a miracle. And I had to say, look, he's not going to get better. I don't know what happened today, but he's got terminal cancer and he's not receiving any form of medication. He is going to die, you cannot think that way.
I can't imagine what it was like for my mum when she was sat with him the last 48 hours of his life.
I don't want to put people through that, and I don't want to go through that, it's as simple as that. I'm not scared of death, but I am scared of dying. When I deem my quality of life is no longer satisfactory to make living worthwhile, I don't want to live any more.