It's March 18, 2005 in Clearwater, Florida, and Michael Schiavo is in maybe the last place he expected to be,

clinging to the top of an eight-foot fence. Michael is balanced precariously, peering over the far side.

His brother-in-law John is standing below. Michael gulps a little, laughing, nervous. He's a big guy,

but even for him, it's a long way down. It's a blue-skied spring afternoon in Clearwater.

Michael lives in a plain bungalow-style house with shade trees in a quiet cul-de-sac.

At least it used to be quiet.

Now, though, it's a media circus.

A bunch of reporters are camped out front, practically on Michael's front lawn.

A dozen cameras line the sidewalk, all waiting to catch a glimpse of Michael Shibow,

the man at the center of the biggest news story on the planet.

The media had been clogging his street for days when Michael finally got the call.

The feeding tube was out. Michael's wife, Terry Shivo, was finally going to die.

Michael didn't want the reporters to see him leave the house.

So he sneaked out the back door, climbed a ladder to the top of his own fence,

and now he's hesitating, eyeing the drop.

From the ground, John whispers, go, go, go.

Michael takes a breath, then jumps.

He lands with a thump in the soft grass.

Anne feels his right knee pop.

He staggers, then limps through the neighbor's yard.

Unmarked police cars are waiting for him.

They whisk him away to Florida Hospice of the Suncoast.

...