academics early in their careers, and others with loved ones with cancer. I found little such community on my own campus. I found little such support from my department. I found little such support from my dissertation committee members -- professors that I had considered my mentors. There was never any question, it seemed, that I would continue to teach, continue to write the dissertation, and all the while care take my dying husband and our son. Nobody offered me any alternatives; admittedly I never asked. I couldn't take a leave of absence from school altogether. My family needed the income. My family needed the health insurance. A month later, still in a daze from death and dying, I stumbled back into the classroom to teach. I don't remember anything about that entire academic year. I don't remember what I taught (although my CV indicates I did so). I certainly didn't write a word of my dissertation. Then at the end of that school year, I received a note from my department: I'd used up all my funding and there'd be no more teaching appointments available for me. (I was welcome to apply for positions in other departments.) I got a note from the grad school too: I'd have to finish my dissertation ASAP or apply for a special extension as I was coming up against the seven year deadline to complete a PhD. So I quit. I quit because I'd lost the stomach for being part of the institution