“Nothing’s going on here, she’s dying, she’s dying right in front of me here at this hospital,” Chuck said, voice shaking.The bed beside him held his wife of 27 years. She couldn’t feel parts of her body. She couldn’t feed herself. One of her arms was drawn up at an angle, locked in place. She couldn’t swallow, and was being fed baby food.Chuck didn’t go home that night. He didn’t go home the next night either.He pulled a book from the stack he’d brought with him, opened it, and started to read aloud to her

.The man known for roundhouse kicks and one-liners had a question now, and no script for it: how do you fight something you can’t punch?”By the fourth, fifth, sixth night, the burning just kept traveling and I would go in and they’d say, well what’s wrong with you? And I’m like I, I don’t know. I don’t feel good. I’m burning. That’s all I can tell you is I’m burning all over. I feel like I have acid everywhere in my tissues, I’m just, I’m on fire,” she’d told the cameras later.huck couldn’t fix on-fire. He couldn’t roundhouse-kick a heavy metal sitting in his wife’s bones.o he did the only thing left.He stayed.