I look like the kind of guy who has a bottle of beer in my hand.
I don't look like someone who leans on a mantelpiece with a cocktail in my hand, you know.
I guess I look like a rock quarry that someone has dynamited.
What kind of man would I have been if I had not been there to help her? I felt along with her - not the physical pain, of course, but all her mental anguish. You can't be detached.
The fear really hits you. That's what you feel first. And then it's the anger and frustration. Part of the problem is how little we understand about the ultimate betrayal of the body when it rebels against itself.