Mother of God, no. 68% survival rate. That's good, they say. Encouraging. But that means 32% of people with this die. I don't like those odds. Those aren't odds to gamble your beloved's life upon.
He may die.
He may DIE.
There's no doubt that he'll suffer. Suffer those horrible treatments, day after day. I have to watch, and I have to bleed with him. I have to do everything humanly possible to make fucking SURE he's in the 68%. Because what will become of me without him? How could I let him go alone?