My father was a proud man. He spent the last year of his life bedridden and wouldn't go to the hospital because he didn't want the neighbors to know. He was so swollen it looked like his skin would bust open any minute, his skin and eyes were bright yellow, he couldn't keep anything down except diluted jello.
When he went into a coma, my step-mom finally called an ambulance. He died in the hospital about 4 days later. He was 58 years old; the age I am now. I am sober a little over 6 years. I don't want to die like that.