I mean, let us stipulate for a moment, that you have agonizing stage-4 pancreatic cancer and that you are crapping and peeing your hospice sheets, writhing in complete agony, screaming for death as a sweet relief to your continual pain. Let us also stipulate that you are give utterly no pain killers whatsoever and that your fingernails tear wounds into your palms because you are gripping them so tight. Let us also stipulate that your friends and your families are moaning and crying, watching your frail form as it bucks against the restraints, as you scream relentlessly in sheer tortuous nonstop pain.
Unlike that dastard Trump, who refuses to step out on his pancreas with strange alcoholic beverages.