“When I stand before God at the end of my life, I would hope that I would not have a single bit of talent left, and could say, ‘I used everything you gave me.” ― Erma Bombeck
I’m still alive. I cannot feel anything, but I can certainly hear everything. I have cancer. Brain tumour, to its severe stages. The people already consider me dead. No they haven’t informed my family. I can hear them talk and they seem to plan on telling them this afternoon as soon as they confirm my death.
I cannot move any part of my body, not even my eyes. My heart skips almost every alternate beat and is slowing down every second. I can feel no pain. The doctors closed my eyes to prevent extra pressure on the optic centre of my brain, which was close to the sight of infection, earlier.
I know I am going to die, but I still am alive. I try lifting my hand, but I’m scared. I heard the doctors tell my family that even the slightest pressure in this stage can cause permanent damage, and I will eventually die. I do not believe them. I command my hand to lift itself, but it’s impossible. One part of my brain, the ventral tegmental area, dies with that very thought of action. Continue reading “I’m alive!”
