Many years ago there was a snippet in the Sunday Times saying a leading authority on heart disease had been found dead in his hotel room. He'd died of a heart attack but had a pack of antacid tablets beside him. It was that memory that made me kill the protagonist in my novel by the same denial.
Those tubes of big white tablets. I'd gone that route before I discovered Tagamet. It was a bit like having a house that's on fire and just buying bottles of water to dull the flames.